Dictating An Existence That Doesn’t Exist… Call It Life…

Holiday In The Unknown

Waiting for your words
Waiting for anything
I’ve become bored
Staring at a wall isn’t for me
Thoughts come seeping back in

How I wish I was dead
That life is meaningless

They don’t mean much said only once
Over and over until they won’t leave my head?

How I wish I was dead
That life is meaningless

Distracted for a time
Thought the thoughts had left
I’ve always been wrong
This only proves it
Suffocating under the weight
Of a feeling I can’t escape

How I wish I was dead
That life is meaningless

Reminding me how not to forget
Over and over again

How I wish I was dead
That life is meaningless

Waiting for your words
Waiting for anything
I’ve become bored
Don’t think I’ll ever change
Thoughts never left me
Only distracted for a time

Reading all that they have to say
How I wish I was dead
This life is so meaningless

 

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Normally I do two poems in the same post… but this one was so sad and dark… I couldn’t find a companion poem that didn’t cheapen this one… This one is pretty personal… not really something I want to talk about… demons I battle in silence… demons I’m distracted from for the time being… a normal feeling?… no… has it become normal?… sadly yes…

I can’t stress enough that I am doing a lot better… perfect?… no… but that is life… I am fighting the want to express what this poem means to me… and I’m not going to because… this poem needs to be about what you want it to be… just know that there is help out there… know that people care… it may seem like the right thing to do… the easy thing… but as with everything in life it only seems that way because you are so close… try taking a step back… see the bigger perspective of this thing called life… we all have our place… have to be here though to find it… 

 

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Short and to the Point

Life is a struggle no one could ever dispute that, but what if you already failed? What is life then? A constant disappointment broken into insignificant sections. Living them over and over, day after day, making it harder than it has to be. A constant drain on ever lasting thoughts. Making choices that I know will end badly. It’s not that I don’t care, but really I don’t.

I don’t see a greater outcome. I don’t see a future that I change. All I see is struggle. A struggle to be this or that, to get this or that, to be the best at anything. Even when I try to push it away all I can think is, “Is this really what I want?”

Do I want fame? Do I want people to care that I have something to say? Do I even have anything really to say? Breaking down these thoughts on paper isn’t helping either. A cross between a suicide letter and a list of complaints. Maybe all or none of this matters? All I know is that I am dying either by self infliction or by those around me. Living life has become more than a struggle but a self-imposed suffering. Broken bones and torn joints. Maybe this is all I will ever be. An after thought to a broken life.