Something seems to be missing
Something big
I can physically feel this void
Haunting me
The problem is, there is no problem
I'm doing just fine
Contentment has kissed me hello
But happiness still lurks in the dark
There is no noise, no voices
Torturing me
I have no clue as to where this feeling comes from
But it sure isn't nice
Apprehension has me captured
I can't stand it
I know something is coming, that's what's missing
It won't let me enjoy the little sun I see and feel
I have my umbrella at hand, for the storm that's all too real
When it hits, it'll hit hard
On my entire life will it bombard
I sigh of dread and tiredness
He has a plan, and there is no way around it.
He will protect me, but he will get in the way
He always does
Consumes my life, mind, my everything,
Like filet mignon all dressed up on a silver platter
But it doesn't matter
What's to come will come
Doesn't matter who it's from
I will await the storm to be done
In spite that it hasn't come yet
Soon
Very soon
I'm afraid the loony bin is awaiting my arrival
Idk about my survival
Of course this is all fear talking
Out of this I should be walking
But instead I am subconsciously stalling
Eventually I will again be falling
I can feel our future encounter
The feeling gets louder as things get better
Drives me mad
Wishing for more that I ever had
Happiness is an alien from a completely different dimension
Our attempt to meet just causes tension
Idk what I'm doing, or what to do anymore
So I just lay on the carpeted floor, staring up at the ceiling
Contemplating
Waiting for the storm,
Just let it come already
I have my umbrella at hand
I just don't understand
I can't be bad, nor good
God, I would if I could
But I can't
So I shan't
Emptiness my soul will forever chant
Yearning for the slightest chance
It'll all be good
Just like it should
But that window has closed
I throw on my pajama clothes,
Ready for the night
Reluctantly getting prepared to fight.
So, bring it.
YOU ARE READING
Random Poetry Collection
PoetryThis is a collection of bad poetry I've managed to compose through the slurs of ink we've come to know as letters we form into what we know as language. The '*'s indicate that this poem is a little on the sad/darker side.