Self-Preservation

Poetry

Blank faces lost, pale like corridor walls
Scarce in self reflections, hammering on doors
Lock combinations forgotten
Rats roam around labyrinth
Thinking with damaged brains, half dead
There is no exit
Imminent isolation incoming
Incomplete for eternity
Their eyes blink senselessly
Life will always end in apathy
Wounded after attacks, miscalculated strategies
Fools thought that killing each other
Will lead to survival and self-preservation
There is no one left standing
Flies circle past the pitiful sight
The weeping walls of the empty corridor
Seen too many desperate attempts
People who were trying to find themselves
Filled with lies
Swamp nesting in their minds
Reality suffocated, useless humans
Relying on blank faces to pretend

 

 

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The Wrong Kind of Medicine

Poetry, Writing

It’s the wrong kind of medicine
Misdiagnosed prescription
The pills swallowed whole
Floating in the toilet bowl
The taste reminds me of regrets
Anxiety induced tongue twister
They said I should despise myself
And be afraid of everything
Become a rotten wooden raft
In the middle of nowhere, shaking
I wear the mask of self-fulfilling prophecy
When the storm hits, I allow it
Thanks to my useless education
Hollow advice from cold hearts
I am part of the cause for this tempest
It’s the wrong kind of medicine
Labels injected deep into skin
Slowly turning into a part of me
I am the church of self hatred
Practice my holy beliefs and hate me
Drink from the goblet of expectations
I have many tears to waste
It’s easy for a walking disgrace
That’s what they said in my head
Those voices are always correct
If I was a painting I would be dripping in red
Thoughts like mine always bleed-
The self destructive taste
Cannibalistic way of living
I pray in my own altar in front of the mirror
And break like glass, silently shattering
It’s the wrong kind of medicine
To think of yourself as a burden
Clinging to the victim status
Has never treated anyone