My....

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My....

My brain I fear has turned to mush,

My morbid thought, they make me blush.

My feelings always raw yet numb,

My words come out and I sound dumb.

My karma's bad I guess you'd say,

My racing thoughts please stop I pray.

My wilted spirit is almost dead,

My mood is mostly of panic and dread.

My discomfort with life should be a sin,

My 'demons' keep raging and raging within.

My longing for acceptance is as big as the sun,

My dictionary doesn't know of the word you call fun.

My heart is so tender, yet surrounded by brick,

My reflection in the mirror, it does make me sick.

My need for control has an OCD tinge,

My relationship with food is to starve or to binge.

My 'box' is the place I hardly do leave,

My 'box' how ironic gives me no reprieve.

My radar is always on the highest alert,

My ears waiting for 'you're nothing but dirt'.

My fear of abandonment is scary and real,

My defense mechanism makes me unable to feel.

My head, it's so cloudy like a deep dark, dark haze,

My thoughts so uncertain like an unsolvable maze.

My question that baffles, is will I get well?

My answer, is maybe, before I reach hell.

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Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion.

T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) American-English poet and playwright.

Qsangel’s Poems (47)

Title Comments
Title Comments
spaceman 0
d~e~s~t~r~o~y
~e~d
0
either way.... 1
ReStLeSs 0
Rubble 0
Weeping Soul 0
Can't... 0
Voiceless.... 2
Nothing More 0
The Bleeder 3
My Heart 0
Desecration 0
So I do Nothing... 1
whispers 0
the candle 1
death of a soul 0
unwritten 0
Dammit! 0
closed 0
building 0
unlearning...
.
1
my demons 0
waiting for it to happen 0
to the point 0
love is like 2
damaged 0
sometimes... 0
true self 0
Shouldn't 0
without--i wrote this when i was 16 2
hmmmmmmmmmmm 0
I will 1
Ominous me 2
the naive cynic 1
the 'un' me 2
praise hurts her... 1
Inquiry 0
My War... 3
My.... 0
mind........ 1
Image.. 0
Boo Hoo... 3
PANIC... 0
I wonder... 0
She..........
.
1
53 truths about me 1
Novacaine 0