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

Broken Records

Poetry

Oceans unaware, eyes tied
Seagulls faraway screeching
Waves pushed aside like blankets
Anxious routines, broken records keep on circling
Blinds closed and then opened
Feeling the air, empty handed
Phrases repeat themselves
Never been used to silence
The light is also blinding
That screen is an exception
Same programme from 7am
I’m still paying attention
Another day, it’s all the same
Prepared beds, medication ready
They shut the lights, I try to drift to sleep
Counting from a thousand to zero
Backwards in threes

Cracked Foundations

Poetry

In a hideaway
A flower peaks through
Distorted stone walls
Who would have thought
Such wonder could be found
Inside a cracked foundation?
If I gave you a little glance
To my broken heart
You’d see a flower
Growing out of the cracks
Because over time
Even a lost soul can blossom
And like migrating birds
Fly into a paradise

Debt

Poetry

Rats play chase inside the cupboard
My empty storage space
When I come over to open it
They scratch their nails into the wood
Glare through me and hiss
Like the broken boiler in the other room
I look around but there’s nothing there
It’s hard to walk but I’m used to seeing in the darkness
Who knows how long it’s been?
The numbers, the letters, the loans
I’m in debt, but who cares, who the hell cares?
Love is still attainable and free

 

Specimen

Poetry

Between two walls
She is framed inside a cedar box
Like a rare insect specimen
Nailed on the edge of the hardboard
Under glass enclosure
For their close inspection
Are her eyes bright enough?
Is the head still intact?
Why is she positioned like a broken orchid?
Never right enough, never good enough
Constantly observed
Tired of having dried up wings
Disintegrated legs made of wooden sticks
Forcing more made up smiles, a trapped fly
Self-destroying parasite
Over-thinking, self-analyzing
Unnecessary introspection turns the faucet on
She chokes on salt-water, if nobody’s watching
When it’s appropriate

Bleeding Fingers

Poetry

My poor bleeding fingers
Emptiness lingers
Traces on the bed sheets
He found me, made me shiver
Torn into little pieces like a tissue
Used too many times- unsuitable for wiping tears
Falling apart

He was a demon, thirsty incubus
Succumbed to his sweet talk
Made me think the unthinkable
I wanted to kill him but he kept moving so quickly
Teeth bulged through the bed sheets
No voices- just dripping
My questionable christening

He obliged to be my God
I tried to sob out that I lost my religion
But I couldn’t stop being his open scissors
I want to become clean again
The martyrdom stains are like ink
He called me his dirty, filthy bitch
Choking on his hard omnipotence

Finally finished, he left with a smile
Shut the door, I heard the lock
For the time being, he’s gone

I touch myself and stared into bleeding fingers
He captured me and now I serve
I wish I knew for how long, the contract was never given
Little bird in the cage, without a feeder
If only I could escape
And take his heart out with my poor little fingers

Glass Pillow

Poetry

Weave her a rope to hold on to
Strong enough for such weak hands
Listen if she speaks in your ear
If not she’ll soon disappear
Blood is scalding deep inside her
Like that rosemary tea you drank up
It was comforting, no it’s not
This life is drinking you up
Can you feel it?
Lay down on your glass pillow
Sleep if you want, but you’ll never wake up
Pay attention to what she wants to say
She’s your life and she’ll never go away
You could hang like an ironed shirt
But don’t be a coward, embrace her
Open your arms and run
There’s heaven and hell inside of us
And the unknown is just another day