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I don't want death,
I crave the breath
Of a dawning day.
And yet my
Insecurities are on display.
I think I might die,
And sometime soon.
My depression is in bloom.
I see vivid flowers,
All caught in my dreams.
I always leave them in tatters,
Painted in my screams.
I don't want to sleep,
Especially for twelves hours.
But against these powers
I find myself
Buried down deep.
I've lost the wealth
That made my character rich.
Life's become a ditch,
And now I'm just ignoring
The mediums I find so boring…
Like living and breathing.
I’d rather be six feet
Down into the deep REM
Than to face another defeat.
It's all a hole and I'm on the rim
Of some great, inevitable revolution.
Unfortunately, it may mark my conclusion.
The words are gone, and so am I.
This year marks the year I die.
(Just something I did to have some fun with prose. Kinda angsty, I know, but what are you gonna do?)
NyanaCreation
it's a good poem, but it makes me worry a bit.
i hope your okay otherwise you did a really good job with writing that.
WritingThot (Updated )
If it gives any context (which I'm not sure it's right of me to give) this was written when I was in a pretty deep stupor a month ago. All I did was sleep and go to work, nothing much else. Sleep is the cousin to death, or so I've heard, and when you can't do much more then lay in bed and sleep, you can really feel like your dying. It's one reason why I've jokingly started calling sleep an opiate recently, cause it is pretty addicting.
If this is my first poem you've read, I'll go ahead and tell you that I usually channel most of my really darker emotions into prose. It kinda helps me come to terms with myself (Hell, there's one poem I have in my library on here about patricide). Your because reading my therapy lol.
Anyway, glad you liked it for what it was. I'll probably wait a few days till you see this then delete it. I always feel so pretentious explaining what my poems mean to me.