More to Me than the First Piece
09/02/2020 & 09/05/2020 Auto Immune Disease, no depth of connection to friends & financial struggles
Every day stomach sick, sharpness comes, swallow some, but the pain still grows. Synthetic, organic, biologically tearing apart at the seams, falling down over reveries. Chemically drained. Nightmares and torn decisions soak through frail skin. time lost, call it a trance. Or is it just life? Blink, here. Turn, there. Step, next year? Sick sad, lost, mad, elated, explosive. I'm on fire, the building is torn too, yet you still chose the highest quarters. When we fall, all those old faces flee. Collapse? Just for the f*cking TV? Pop your freedom, go to sleep. Sh*t, it's morning, now more pain to reap.
About the Creator
Melissa Oros
Macbre poetry. In 2013 I had an emotional breakdown. I notice now most of the inspiration comes from the darker place since then (before 2013), versus my older poetry being light, funny, passionate in love, etc.
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The Antagonist of My Life Story
When your rock wall crumbles, like it has no mind left to spare, and you have nowhere else to turn. You may be quivering with quick past pleasure, but at the moment words mean nothing. Never will they grasp the hurt unless they reap such a dead seed. The depth of this root eats at her soul, depression brings darkness; she can no longer see sense in deserving color in her life. Hide, sad girl, behind your wispy veil, the woman is missing in action-or she wouldn't be so weak. Is there truth in these words? Pain overtakes, mind goes static, rage bursts forth. Tears cut path's regret; pointless endeavor. Yet forgiveness handed so freely, underserved, as she is blind to what they see. The me I don't see. Beneath these eyes I see what lies-the negativity rules this life of mine. In this beautiful life, so full of light, why must the shadows guide? I am the shadows, giving off no light of my own, only absorbing every tiny refraction into the void that is me. I'm not only the darkness in my existence. In tough times, I bleed a black sea, flooding small ones sweet dreams, and staining his stunning green rings. Where do I go from here? The abyss is scaring me; I'm too afraid of the dark to fight for the sky. Can she embrace the light, losing one fractal, of what lurks inside, at a time? One tall crutch of support, weaves beneath an arm and around slim clavicle, to pull me high, and a petite cane intertwines fingers of strength, so fine, to keep her from hitting the ground. Whimsy loose in the middle, lost without connection, she'll struggle to breathe. It's the ink between these lines that flow free to share the antagonist of my life story…
By Melissa Oros3 years ago in Poets
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