Ripped

Poetry, Writing

I am a rose, my petals fall
Not due to the seasons
But inescapable time
Passing by like hourglass sand
Through dry fingers
Still walking, all broken
The thoughts in my mind
A heavy weight, crushing me
I am a ripped bag, I fall apart
And cry, and cry and cry

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Forlorn

Poetry, Writing

I’m nothing and everything at once
Thoughts closed inside a box
Day turning into the night
I see, the moon is suspended
In the sky from a tight rope to hold on to
Or to end your life with
I’m always in the middle of everything
An island made of ice, floating to an unplanned route
without a compass- not for an adventure but for some answers
My mind is torn, after all, I’m forlorn

Cigarette Smoke

Poetry, Writing

Thoughts conjured inside my head
The sharp doubts like a failed acupuncture
Scraping the brain cells into pieces
for consumption of strangers
I don’t know why I think and how I’m supposed to
I allow myself to be forced into patterns of self-destruction
A clown bowing down to lick dirty shoes
Face paint ruined- “I laughed too much” –
Will be a good enough excuse
For all I know the end keeps occurring
It throws us off balance
Into the empty pool of darkness
Where I cannot seem to find anyone
And me- I always feel it
How she’s approaching from a distance
The void hissing her teeth
My conjured thoughts will erase me someday
And I will fade like a cigarette smoke into nothingness