This isn’t anything special. It’s just a poem I wrote at 5 am. Even though it’s not that great, it describes my inner turmoil.
I want to talk about this pain,
That I’ve felt was always in vain,
Do you really not see,
What’s become of me?
On silent nights,
I always fight,
As tears run down my eyes,
Each teardrop breaking my ties,
My ties with this world,
As I am hurled,
Into this insanity,
Which will never set me free.
My teardrops slowly become red,
Food for the blade that I’ve fed.
They tell me that all will be well,
While I slowly rot away in this hell,
Could they not tell that I am shackled,
To the voices inside that always cackle?
These voices they tell me, “You are mine,”
Everything will never be fine.
I fight this battle everyday,
But my world has slowly become grey,
The colors have faded,
They’ve become so jaded,
They have turned my world into black,
And I finally feel myself crack.
So goodbye, goodbye,
I silently cry.
My demons they call for me,
They tell me they can set me free,
Free from this hell,
But I can tell,
Those are just lies,
For my demise,
So goodbye, goodbye,
Tonight will be the night I try,
Tonight I will fight,
Maybe one day I’ll find the light,
Goodbye, goodbye,
Tonight I will not comply.
2 comments
I wrote similar poems in my 20s. I know the hell. I still feel it sometimes. I wish I could give you a big thumbs up. Things can get better, just not best. My inner voice tells me that I’m dead, that I killed myself. Which I did try to do years ago and failed. For people who love life, our pain is impossible to understand. What they see as grand, is a hellish prison to us. I relate to your poem. That dark well is deep. I hope you can climb out enough to see the sunlight, green grass and trees. I wish I could be more upbeat, but the ‘season to be jolly’ wears on me terribly.
Thank you, I’m trying. I just hope one day I can, that we all can, escape it this horrible place.