Bash My Head
The world sits outside my existence like a country I've never known the language of.
Slowly slipping beyond the reach of everyone. Not knowing I'm alive. The world sits outside my existence like a country I've never known the language of. Vomited words splinter deep buried in the place where I used to stand. Something strangles me with bloodied talons. Doesn't announce itself. Just tightens. The dust of past torment. The light of broken flares glaring gleefully toward the dark gleefully, I don't understand. Sitting alone. Standing alone. Tired and forbidden. I disallow substance to flow. To freely glide over myself. I am the one doing this. The moon may guide me. The sun refuses to shade. Tonight or tomorrow the day will cease and the pain the head refined.
A poem isn’t up for debate. But it is personal.
Tell me what it did to you. Where it landed. Where it missed. What it reminded you of that you didn’t expect. I’m not looking for praise (albeit I appreciate it). I’m looking for your honest response.
The comments are open. I read every single one.
I opened a dusty box and discovered forgotten poems. It was decades old. I have compiled them in an eBook for sale.
‘The world sits outside my existence, like a country I’ve never known the language of’. This is the part that most struck me. I know that feeling. Internal separation from what seems to be normality for everyone else. I don’t know whether it’s frightening or enlightening to feel that way. Maybe it’s a bit of both at different times.
Nice poem!