Rememberance of a Dying Soul by Viidith22, literature
Literature
Rememberance of a Dying Soul
The light is fading
It tears me apart
Have you ever felt the struggle
Of fighting your own mind
The thought of something inside you
Keeping you from what you can do
What an enemy
Depression
Kicking you
Taking everything from you
Happiness dissipates
Please just spare me now
I don’t want to sink lower
This depth is where I have left my monsters behind
Where everything molding my foolish innocence
My childish confidence
My potential happiness and dreams of a new
Better world than this one
I am breaking every bone to keep myself awake
Alive
In this real world
Don’t suck me back in
I don’t want to be in a darkened place
Or a
God is a playwright.
He sits in the back row
of velvet seats and claps
160 bpm after every act.
He closes his eyes when
the audience laughs together,
cries together.
His play is very good,
and He knows this.
After the show,
they always ask,
“How did you make
the characters so
vulnerable? So
honest? So real?”
He shrugs in his tweed
jacket with elbow pads,
frowns slightly, says,
“The characters got away from me.
I did not make them this way.”
I have begun to resemble
the flowers drying
up high
on my closet walls
that crumble
day by day
as the seasons change
and I reach for warmer clothes.
A bit of me
to the boy I first kissed;
our lips
new to sharing space,
cautious euphoria.
a pile of petals for the man I love
who tried his best to love me.
(I'll never have
my whole heart again
and I like it that way.)
A few yellowing leaves
for the one I shared the stars with
before he decided
it was not love.
Until I'm down
to a spinal cord stem,
cerebral existence:
enough life not to give up
and die.
They called me The White Whale.
I dreamed of carving off my blubber,
perhaps learning to breathe
for minutes at a time
so I could sing,
because whales are elusive.
The ocean is vast. I could have lived
without another pinch, another poke, another
he only loves you for your tits. Get a tan,
go for a jog, are you gonna eat
or assimilate?
Their harpoons were steady.
They had no remorse, a close friend told me,
"I just want you to be healthy." She braided my hair,
complimented the color, my eyes a drizzle,
said there was a mermaid
hiding in my shape,
I started smoking the next day.
I used to pace from the cabinet
to the basement with armful
Canvases that hung themselves
speak softly of their suicides
in dialogues thick with shame
for the things on their faces,
filthy with images
of man devouring man.
Washing down slaughter
with Chardonnay!
They, who held the keys
to the spiritual,
distracted by deviance,
succumb to a drought
of beauty and soul.
Living among the living
in agonizing pursuit
of truth on the wrong side of their skins.
Look,
instead,
within.
I don't like to call
them 'inner demons'
because
frankly that shit
sounds
too
artistic.
And anyway,
they're more
like the things
you might find
at the bottom
of a hoarder's trove,
gnawing away at years
of useless things,
newspaper wishes
and
egg carton aspirations,
yogurt cup kisses
and
paper plate pipe dreams,
Pizza box promises
and
magazine clipping hopes,
whose absence or presence
is only realized as a whole
because the only one admiring the details
is me.
And still, here's to mediocre poetry.
psychology defines schizophrenia
as an impairing, delusional disorder
borne in the person’s inexorable inability
to tell right from wrong,
hopeless fantasy from harsh reality,
or even suspicion from acceptance
but aspen is a lovely, flexible woman
with names of imperial animal races
that never belonged to them,
with the countless colors of her eyes that
she makes up with named numbers
written in cursive sharpie on her palms
she takes pills that seem to
dampen & take away those charming
things she always says to me;
the voices don’t haunt or tease her,
they’ve always respected the way she
counted with willpower & the way sh
Inwardly I scream
Waiting for a day to show my worth
Outshined be my predecessors
Every medium
Overanalyzed and polished to perfection
By any and all to attempt
To take the insecure plunge
To reach brilliance
Intellect
Art
Charisma
Leadership
Athleticism
Musicality
Beauty
Never strengths compared to the brutes in all aspects of the word
I curl into a ball
And watch my possibilities disassemble themselves
As I try to find worth
What point is there?
If the good are better
The better are best
And the best are legends?
What difference can I make to the world?
If I am nothing if not the best to the public eye
The views that count in life
As