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...Driftwood
By SolApathy
Too much chaos in the evolution of
my thoughts
Never asked for these internal battles I fought
You never seemed to see
Darkness churning deep within me
Exposed in maniacal outbursts of revelations known only to me
Juxtaposed with the silence of reflection of unmet needs
All I ever wanted was your hands through my hair
Just a notion that you really did care
To see your eyes pierce into mine—Stopping time
That was never us
I was never really me, not after 12 or 13 you see
Broken into too many pieces—Falling through the cracks
A whispered cry of “please come back”
You never seemed to know
Or perhaps care that I was thinking of letting go
If only my body would agree, so.
At these pills I stare~and not a care
Poetic chaos
Emotional entanglement of one that doesn’t quite remember…
…How to feel
So, she kneels
Sexual pleasure a replacement for something that can’t be measured
Tethered to the hope of a memory that can’t be bought
In the silence of my smile I cry a lot
You’ll never know and that’s ok
I am the broken ornament that fell off the tree that day
I’ll never be right even under the greatest of care
This poem will never be done
For everyday I wake I am on the run
Never asked for these internal battles I fought
You never seemed to see
Darkness churning deep within me
Exposed in maniacal outbursts of revelations known only to me
Juxtaposed with the silence of reflection of unmet needs
All I ever wanted was your hands through my hair
Just a notion that you really did care
To see your eyes pierce into mine—Stopping time
That was never us
I was never really me, not after 12 or 13 you see
Broken into too many pieces—Falling through the cracks
A whispered cry of “please come back”
You never seemed to know
Or perhaps care that I was thinking of letting go
If only my body would agree, so.
At these pills I stare~and not a care
Poetic chaos
Emotional entanglement of one that doesn’t quite remember…
…How to feel
So, she kneels
Sexual pleasure a replacement for something that can’t be measured
Tethered to the hope of a memory that can’t be bought
In the silence of my smile I cry a lot
You’ll never know and that’s ok
I am the broken ornament that fell off the tree that day
I’ll never be right even under the greatest of care
This poem will never be done
For everyday I wake I am on the run
Unauthorized Copying Is Prohibited.
Ask the author first.
© 2020 SolApathy
Published on Wednesday, February 27, 2019.
Filed under:
"Poetry"
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