Poems of the Self

by LJ Chaplin 18 days ago in sad poetry

Words That Haunt The Soul

Poems of the Self

Purge

It took me an eternity

To purge you from my blood.

I drank a lot,

I cried a lot too.

I abstained from loneliness

And bathed in the radiance

Of another

But I could not shift the

Bruise that was you.

The black and the blue

That has stained me like ink,

A constant reminder

That I wrote too much

About you.

Night Addict

Photo by Clint Patterson on Unsplash

I feel at peace when the lights go out,

Rooms grow darker,

Walls blacked out like permanent marker,

Senses become sharper,

I have never felt calmer.

In the arms of the night I ask for dominion at its feet,

I become submissive,

My mind is less aggressive,

My heartbeat becomes percussive,

I find comfort in being passive.

I dream of drowning in an ocean of moonlight,

A whitewash tide that purifies sin,

Where unknown lovers dive right in,

Cleansed by light that's paper thin,

And sink into an abyss of divine origin.

Walls

Photography by LJ Chaplin (me)

If these walls could talk,

It could rewrite the history

Of my being.

They'd speak in whispers,

In hushed tones

So that only my demons

Can hear them.

I dare not speak,

Entangled in creased sheets,

Lingering in a midnight void

Somewhere between peace and paranoia.

Crystal Ball

Photo by conner bowe on Unsplash

Dear crystal ball,

Tell me who I am,

Am I whole and full of life

Or just a shell of a man?

Can you see my future

Or is it in plain sight?

Will it be written in the stars

As I turn off the light?

Can you conjure up a plan,

So I walk the straight and narrow?

Or will I swim with hungry sharks

Far beyond the shallows?

Dear crystal ball

Please tell me where to go,

I'm forever in a tug of war,

An existential limbo.

Heavy Rain

Photography by LJ Chaplin (me)

Sometimes I wish my words

Would fall from the sky like rain

So that my heart doesn't always

Do the talking.

Or maybe when the storm clouds

Roll over the horizon

A torrential downpour will

Wash out the bad taste in my mouth.

I even hope that a flash flood from

My frown lines to my jawline

Will wipe the frustration away

And leave a smile on my face.

sad poetry
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Read next: I Am A Bullet.
LJ Chaplin

24, poet/writer, UK

See all posts by LJ Chaplin