I feel Broken
And so I stare,
At the blank wall,
At the broken cup,
Unsure and possibly despairing
Bland, whispers that treasonous voice,
You are boring, it emphasizes
Our own demons imprison us
Like no one else can
And mine have reached,
The point where the back of my head
Is a shrine to them,
Dusted with the darkness they propagate,
Carved and honed so beautifully,
From every single one of my insecurities,
Into scars that run deep
Creating mirages that offer hope
Only to brutally rip it off
At the slightest provocation
Existence is poison
And death is but cloaked oblivion
Which I don’t fear as much as detest
Dumbledore said, Death is but
The next great adventure
But what do you do when
Your great adventures
Are a swirling mess of agony in your head
When even happiness turns to pain
When rubbed against the jagged edges
Of your mind’s vicious valleys
And when I try to bleed out,
To vent, to seek comfort
The darkness closes around me
Arousing my doubts
Picking at my choices
Until I distance myself
Succumbing to it
But today
I will bleed out
On paper, if not on human souls
We have all been victims to destiny
I want to be a beneficiary for once
