POEM -

Do you ever get this overwhelming and simply obscure feeling

That you actually might be slowly losing your grip on reality

Reading between the lines with heavy breathing

Unsure if your thoughts come from actual logic or disguised insanity

It’s a tragedy and it’s as though my thoughts no longer have real meaning

It’s agony and it’s demeaning… reality it is escaping me

It’s erasing me waiting patiently for a chance to relate to me but well, maybe

That will never come, when i am basically an astounding example

Of an amazingly unique waste of fucking space, you see.

It’s like now I can’t actually tell if it’s paranoia or just a really spot on instinct

That line for me has become very fucking blurred after each trauma that’s occurred

This isn’t unheard of, it’s a trauma response that makes your perception seem absurd

But it’s because we can’t decide which is actually right, to let it go or have some words

Because making the wrong choice ends up with everybody hurt.

And then you end up being told you’ve made it worse, made something out of nothing

In fact you’ve actually really overreacted and granted an explosive response can be automatic

I can get erratic, to tell you “fuck off” is classic, said without thinking first

Full of panic and probably a little bit manic which feels normal to me after these toxic dynamics

But im also not delusional, although sometimes I wish I was, im actually very self aware

Which is why im able to share how I feel pain, feel weak, feel scared

And im always prepared to respect when im wrong and show again that i care

Which sometimes doesn’t feel fair because when ive been hurt there’s not someone there

To insist it wasn’t deserved and when they think of me they love so much that they wouldn’t dare

Being self aware is shit because I see destructive behaviour unravelling and I can’t even stop

It’s like I forgot how to be human as if for a century I’ve been underground in a box

Covered in locks, above me is 6 foot of earth and heavy rocks, and the time never stopped,

On goes the clocks… and then someone drops a bomb just to thicken the plot

And a century later I am alive suddenly free from the box, being told to be calm

And be grateful to god? I’m not grateful for this life,

it was never something to be wanted, just something to survive.

So when I die it’ll be the most poetic goodbye you’ve ever felt in your life.