The sharpening spurs my frenzied mockery of jollity
The faster I step, the quicker my pain escapes
Billowing like fog hovering over the coast of the sea
Every boiling note, a searing indictment
Not one seems to display the spark of insight
Lurching forward into the scummy, undulating sea
I chaotically gyrate and flail as I sing
Wailing my anger, my anguish, and my anxiety
Allowing the truth to ring out
A siren against the crashing waves
As I disappear into the hurricane of
Remorse and guilt shed in indignant fear
K.B. Silver
About the Creator
K.B. Silver
K.B. Silver has poems published in magazine Wishbone Words, and lit journals: Sheepshead Review, New Note Poetry, Twisted Vine, Avant Appa[achia, Plants and Poetry, recordings in Stanza Cannon, and pieces in Wingless Dreamer anthologies.
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More stories from K.B. Silver and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Vassel Kingdom of Vrator
Tucked between the outward edge of the Tranquil Forest and the Dobryan Hills is the ancient dominion of Vrator. A picturesque and varied landscape where the Empire's best wines, ales, and cheeses originate. The ten counties of Vrator are left to administrate their affairs for the most part unbothered by Imperial oversight. As per the contract between the Vassel kingdom of Vrator and Banden Crampmire Megantani to secure their knights and cavalry's assistance in the war against Reophate.
By K.B. Silver Exclusive • about a month ago
Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts5 days ago in Longevity
Comments (1)
This piece is incredibly powerful, and the feeling of trying to outrun psychological pain is deeply relatable. I was immediately struck by the power of your simile: comparing your pain to "fog hovering over the coast of the sea." That was a visceral, haunting image I could not unsee.