Poetry I wrote while being slightly depressed
The Time We Have Left
I am an ocean
of blood, draining into a
dark, misty abyss
The Path Ahead
I am a feather
Jet black, drifting through skies of
Arcadian cities
The Heavens Behind Us
I choke on gasoline fumes,
Summoning courage to break,
These gilded, granite walls.
Corroding in these small rooms,
Eating myself alive to make,
It out of these ascending walls.
I’m not okay, the floor’s stained,
Fighting my apparitions,
Lonely in the mirror.
Rain cleanses my old pain,
The garden whispers visions,
Reborn, I won’t fear her.
Nightingale
Night falls like an eternal city
Turning the angels into birds
Their scratching screeches are more pretty
Painting facsimiles of words
Pain, reprieve, life, rest
my thoughts align inside the nest
and songs collapse into the text
Therapy
I haven’t eaten for days
I haven’t showered for days
I haven’t slept for days
Do you know why
I don’t
You will be fine
I won’t
It’s funny how you study empathy
But once it’s your job it’s useless to me
Aroma
Do I choose to be alone
Do I choose to stay at home
Do I choose to learn mistakes
Can I find another way
Was I born without a sense
Was smell always useless
Was it wrong to look for love
Can I find something above
Will feel happy this time
Will I leave it for a lie
Will I still ask what if
Can I accept myself
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