I think it's time that I finally came clean. I don't think that I'm very good at poetry, yet the words just seem to bounce off of my pencil so effortlessly.
It feels like there is an ongoing hurricane inside my head and I'm sitting here at 4a.m. trying to find myself in all of this mental debris, but the mess is massive and the Monsters inside are cruel and beastly. Don't try to play hero, myself sabotage will snap you in half so easily.
I tried to make it better by locking myself in the cage of robotic indifference and swallowed the medicated key, but I guess even that couldn't work for me.
Complacency. Dependency. It's always blocking the road of opportunity. Internalized screaming. Screaming in agony. Withering away in this self-sabotaging catastrophe. My tongue forever coated in the better taste of defeat. When I look into the reflective glass, I do not recognize the person staring back at me. Instead I am gazing into the eyes of a person that is caught in the middle of various identities. Am I a he? Am I a she? Or am I perhaps non-binary?
I cannot handle these demons living inside my head. They're all just variations of myself, but I want them all dead.
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THC Meets Poetry
PoésieSelf medication meets art. Keeping it both mellow and dark. TRIGGER WARNING: Some of these poems contain topics like self harm, sexual assault, and drug/alcohol abuse. Viewer discretion is advised
