Shut me off please
I beg of you to
Turn off the switch that
Keeps me up at night.
I ache, restless
I'm tortured and cornered.
Stuck in a rut, stuck in time.
Stuck writing this useless rhyme.
That no one will hear
Unless I scream but I fear
Myself.
I'm helpless and tired
And sick and I'm wired
These thoughts pound
And pound at my door
I implode and hold
All the frustrations
And its wrong.
I cannot stand
And I cannot lie. I try
To take out and show you
What's inside.
My heart feels heavy weighing down on me.
My eyes tear and my vision is blurry.
I close my eyelids but
My mind shifts into somethin I can't capture.
3:33 am it's been hours since
My last attempt to sleep.
I turn and toss I count sheep
Across and over the fence
I pretend things will be okay
When I sleep my nightmares begin.
It dragged me on the floor
Showing me things I've seen before
Then to a dark grizzly corridor
Statues with faces of torment
And rage and eyes that can peer
Into my soul and to excavate and retract
My inside intact within.
I begin to cry but my eyes won't let me
I'm dry.
It dragged me again and still I contain
These fears and eagerness to break from
A spell.
I yell I shout
I dabble with words and ideas
Just anythin that can help me out.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Senses
In the morning: As I walk with the unrelenting chip on my shoulder, chains around my ankles and dust in my eye, I follow the only sense that guides me under the bright lights.
My digestive tract barks and I cover my ears intolerable to even the slightest click from the changing traffic lights.
I ignore the obnoxious rays that tamper with my gentile eye lids and kick dirt to spite my complete disposition, all the while keeping distance from the hordes of stampede lined up in fashion in every possible direction.
A single touch might tick me, hit me and I'll make sure you won't use your peripherals again. I am not your friend.
In the morning I go back to the future of Mr. Grumpy, kind of clumsy still my heightened sense of sniffing out the goons might save me.
Only in the morning my nose knows best.
My digestive tract barks and I cover my ears intolerable to even the slightest click from the changing traffic lights.
I ignore the obnoxious rays that tamper with my gentile eye lids and kick dirt to spite my complete disposition, all the while keeping distance from the hordes of stampede lined up in fashion in every possible direction.
A single touch might tick me, hit me and I'll make sure you won't use your peripherals again. I am not your friend.
In the morning I go back to the future of Mr. Grumpy, kind of clumsy still my heightened sense of sniffing out the goons might save me.
Only in the morning my nose knows best.
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