The poem as prey, as blood luscious, elusive. The poem as the locked room.
37 posts
Pic Via Pinterest
Pic via pinterest

Is it normal to grieve yourself?
And still yearn the grief?
To know you'll be eternally hurting,
Why is it such a relief?
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More Posts from Unlikelyanonymous
Losing a friend
Ask me where it hurts
Everywhere I'll say
Ask me if I miss you
Everyday I'll say
The grave that I call my home
Where love doesn't exist.
The monster that I call my father
For whom peace doesn't exist.
The demon that I call my mother
For whom compassion doesn't exist.
The nightmare that I call my world
For which I dont exist.
The despair that I call myself
For whom joy doesnt exist.
The curse that I call my life
Where living doesn't exist.

he called me neurotic
but what i think he really meant
was that the roots of my anxiety
are growing deep within my head
-
sometimes my thoughts run far
away, escape all rhyme and reason
the seeds of logic overthrown
by the fruits of anxious seasons
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i just take my time to breathe
and think up a solution
i take a minute and i trawl
through the depths of this pollution
-
poison planted in my mind
by words and dirty looks i catch
in a net of pure self hate
in which fearful thoughts hatch
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he called me neurotic
and sure, ill take it on the nose
my garden of fear and self hate
truly needed that last rose.
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(photo via)
Tw: self harm
Broken mosaic
Broken like a mosaic, this grief is beautiful.
Cold as a grave, this silence is peaceful.
A pain drenched tartarus was what made childhood.
A longing filled asphodel is what makes life cruel.
Sinister evil spirits, they whisper in the dark.
Cold harsh voice, it will shatter up your heart.
The silence kept saying with such delicacy.
But mind kept begging for sincere secrecy.
So close your little eyes, home is full of ghosts.
Hide your own self, it is terrifying to be known.
Shred your skin, once again you'll be filled with relief.
One last cut; an eternity of sleep.
I wish I was religious so atleast I could pray to something.
But I talk to god and the sky is empty.
For nothing can restore my faith,
This is not the world I wish to live in.
I wish I was what my parents wanted me to be.
But I look in the mirror and I am empty.
Nothing can restore my self,
This is not the body I wish to be in.
I scream and cry and yell at you to have given me this life.
Birthed me ugly,broken,tarnished and useless.
Ruined me and made me hate myself.
But what right do I have to blame you or anyone else?
For no one has been as cruel to me,
As I have been to myself.
You didn't ruin me; I just hate myself.