The Speak of Death & Messed Up World
so I wrote two poems.
Title: The Speak of Death
Author: resurrecting_corpse
happiness seems to be a figment of my imagination.
I used to know what it was like. to be happy.
but those were simpler times and now I’m drowning.
I feel like a wet dog in ten feet of snow.
nose cold and coat wet.
not even the armor of my skin can help me.
it is the beast inside me, the dog, that as taken over.
all it brings is pain pain and solitude.
being alone isn’t all bad.
but feeling alone just makes it feel worse.
feels like you’re suffocating for every last drop.
every ounce of what you remember the outside world looked like.
because to you freedom is wide open circles.
and loneliness is a jail cell of confined space and limited resources.
you’ll carry on the way you’re living. Alone.
because what else do you have to look forward to.
being buried underground.
and
Title: Messed Up World
Author: resurrecting_corpse
living up to my lie is getting harder everyday.
I can barely stand the look of my face.
I’m tearing myself up over minor details.
but it’s all about to change.
it’s all been weak.
today I set my heights up further.
my self destruction is boundless.
I will leave no visible mark or crack.
but will be eternally painful.
this is my vow to myself and no one else.
self destruction has me.
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I'm in a slump so my poems basically reflect that.
it's only a whim if it's not meant to be.