Disregarding all attempts at
trying to walk the same road as others
as our twisted hallucinations of those
colorful smoke
rises and vanquishes
these rainbows are puked
from the empty eye sockets
of those standing lifeless bodies
with mouths wide open
and their hands hugging their own chests
Well, this is what we are seeing
nothing much, nothing else
the world spins yet we are
trying to stay still
like a withered tree
witnessing the slideshow of the starry sky
dark, cold, yet glittered with hope
but we will never get there
forever rooted to dirt
Just curious
how are we supposed to know who we are
if all we do is melting our wooden selves
motioning this... stillness
to occupy the holes that others have dug
for themselves, by themselves
like a defective raincoat
the holes are worn over us
as the storm presses down onto us
squeezing and shaping us
until we can barely fit
until we can exactly fit
the depthless hole
and like the hole
we become nothing
Stinking putrid scent of a skunk
vomiting into my nostrils, now I've debunked
the myth that all
our lives are in pain
the world is spinning
so who are we
but this fantasy inside our minds and souls
Shivering in this broken concept
day after day
night after night
our lives are broken in this
hated prison
trapped inside this room of cobwebs
three gray walls
and a row of steel columns
blocking all light from seeping in
as we fall deeper and deeper into this
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YOU ARE READING
Nebula at Sea
PoetryThe journey of a man venturing into a world of insecurities, apathy, and strangeness. A story of growing up. A rhythm of escaping into the fantasy of the self. This is a collection of poetic stories through sufferings, hardships, and recovery. A rev...
