I write poems that go unread
Sometimes because I forget them before they escape my head
Other times I write them
But hide them instead
I hide them because who they are for
Leave me feeling unsure
I write for myself
I write for others
I write for those that get left on read
Because sometimes it is all in your head
And sometimes
You’re just not in the right place
Even when wonderment is staring in your face
I write
Because it is the last sense of control I have
As life spins ever faster
It feels like jumping from one disaster to another
The only comfort is not being alone at home
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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 drafts7 days ago in Longevity
Comments (3)
Omgsh do I feel this. I don’t know about you, but to happen upon one as I browse through my old works, pulls me into the moment I first wrote it
Great poem.
Relatable! Great poem.