As a child, I'd sit in bed
I'd sit and listen to the thoughts in my head
I'd contemplate mortality and how mine would end
I'd contemplate my life of sin
I'd sit and pray to let the light in
But I heard back nothing and these thoughts worsened
Why aren't they like vampires asking to be welcomed?
Am I different or does everyone have this problem?Am I even real? Or am I someone's imagination?Is the world real or is it a simulation?
I feel like a ghost in my own bodyWhy does my brain try to haunt me?Am I even worse the oxygen?Am I even worth people's attention?Should I end it all?
I think about my funeral, but I'm not suicidalI think about killing people, but I'm not homicidal Am I dangerous? I walk through life trying to figure it out Oh, the profanities I wish to shout
What if I'm already dead?Why do I think these thoughts in my head?Why do I overly question things?Why can't life be as it seems?Thoughts are like people who come to the doorYou beg them to stop but they come once more.
Why do I think this way?Are these just things I'll never say? It's like my life is a train wreck that's lost the many plotsIt's like I'm being suffocated by my intrusive thoughts.
YOU ARE READING
The Garden of Creativity
PoetryThis is a book of poems, and short stores written entirely by me. I may use a writing prompt, but if I do I will credit the prompt. This is something to help me with coping with loss, and my depression as well as numerous other things.
