Burning (All is Flame)

I slam my head against the wall that I built before my fall I can’t stop this burning.

This flame inside my mind, that tells me I am nothing, that all I am is dust and envy with nothing to show and nothing to gain.

Still, I slam my head into this wall and bleed and bleed with nothing to show for it but pain and rage.

And yet, I still exist, I still reside, in this empty life with this empty smile of mine.

Burning, burning, burning, I can’t seem to stop this incessant yearning.

Fingers moving across the letters, fingers moving and dripping red blood.

The ink drained from my soul, writing out my life and letting go the flood.

I empty myself out, pour it onto the page and all I ever get is filled with more and more rage.

I exist and I bleed and I cut with these words, cutting out the blood to silence the scream I need to release more and more.

This endless rage, this endless seething, leaking blood red fury in a sea of green envy.

Too foolish to admit, to kind to blame, all I am is alone, and everything is bright red flames.

 

Repeat

A scratching silence fills my life, repeating repeating an endless loop.

Nothing changes, nothing moves, the needle on the record skips and skips, an endless loop.

Repeating, repeating never moving, nothing new, always used, left behind.

No reason to smile, no reason to be, this endless repeat is all thats left of me.

Grey Moment

Standing on the shore of what was, I watch what is drift away. It left me behind standing stranded on a beach with no name.

A place long in the past but never outside of now. Where nothing matters and nothing cares and all the world is gray nothing in the span of a single moment that stretches forward into eternity.

I stand there, waiting, and nothing passes, nothing moves. There is only myself and that grey moment, and the silence of the weight of the ashes that have become my home.

Remember, you’re not alone.

While I don’t talk about it much, and I tend to not share personal thoughts, I can say that I have my some issues to deal with up inside my skull. I don’t like voicing them outside of poems, not in such a public forum I suppose, it strikes me as complaining and the voice in the back of my head tends to rail at about how little I have to complain about.

I’ll be honest, if my head wasn’t on a bit wrong I wouldn’t have much to talk about, but then my muse wouldn’t be much of a muse then either I think. Which might be something to look into at another time. However, while that’s all well and good, I wanted to talk about that little voice that, to some extent I feel everyone has, self doubt I suppose? Louder for some than others but it’s there, and some have it worse with the level of, cruelty exhibited, but to some extent everyone gets jabbed by something like it I feel. If I’m wrong feel free to correct me here, but others deal with it more regularly than some, and for others it’s always there. I know that’s to a large extent true for me.

Now this isn’t so much about complaining, or saying I have it bad, I deal with the cards I got, I can’t change the hand I’m dealt so I might as well make it work. Granted I’m in a bit of a zen mood at the moment, the fact it won’t last is a forgone conclusion, but all of this has something I’m leading up to.

Just remember, you’re not alone in this, if you’re ever having issues, any issues, talk to someone, write it out, do something, even if its going for a walk to somewhere away from people to just scream out the frustration of it all, do something. It helps me at least, to find a way to get it all out.

I just wanted to say that, and to share a bit of a gem I found that I really like and is fitting for this subject anyway. It’s a song by a YouTuber that goes by Chris Ray Gun the song being “Reality Calls” and well, listen to it, it’s pretty fitting all around for the experiences I’ve gone through with my problems anyway. I don’t know if that’s true for your experiences, but I hope, whatever problems you’re going through, big or small, they all get sorted out. (Linked video below)

Reality Calls by Chris Ray Gun

Shifting Shades

Shifting moods like shifting shades, greys and whites drifting together as black shadows of ink run down the page.

Shifting moods like shifting shades, like the changing shape of molded clay, unfinished and unrefined,  I’m constantly shifting, this unsteady mind of mine.

So I attempt to change my colors, and shift this shade, I’ll alter this picture with the words put down on a page.

I’ll capture my sorrow, that deep grey tone, I’ll capture my fear, that inky black I’ve always known, I’ll paint my self free with these words of mine, since I can’t pick up the brush I’ll use this pen to put upon the finished touch.

I see my muse, that sorrow I know, and I’ll raise the stakes, I’ll write myself free of this dreary state. I’ll let myself go with these words to change these shifting moods.

My shifting shades.

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I don’t usually write a message or an after thought on my poems. Normally my poems are just things I have to get out of my head when I’m in a particular mood. It’s amusing I suppose that I try to tell people that I don’t normally have much inspiration past the thoughts in my head, the things going on and I feel must be said. This time though I can’t quite claim that, I can say quite clearly this came to mind after reading a rather wonderful piece by the author of this wordpress briannadawn. I wanted to be honest on that part because I feel reading that and then immediately posting that without at least a nod to them would have been rude. (Should the author of that page want the link and mention removed I’ll do so, I’ve never really done this before but I tend to keep to myself normally so I’m not really sure how these things work.)

Sorrow

You see my friend the voices are back, they chat and whisper so.

They show me shadows, the twists in the light and tell me secrets only they do know.

They feed on sorrow, this pain I know so well, and turn this to words and worlds, stories and poems to share and tell.

The sorrow is my mistress, my creator and my muse, without I’d be little at all, it defines me so.

Bright/Shadow

I see my friends and they shine so bright, their life does hold such glow.

I look to them and take a step before I see my shadow encroach upon their show, their star lit scene.

I turn my head and retrace my step, to go for help, to ask for aid would douse that light I hold so dear.

So with head hung low and defeat upon my shoulders and fear gnashing on my heels,I dash my tears and retrace my step.

I turn my back and fade to black, I know that light, that bright love for life, is something I could never know.

I’ll taint their glow with so selfish a need and so…and so my pain is something they’ll never know, as off to the dark I go, carrying my tears and sadness I walk into that cold

By myself, alone.