PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Torrents of hazy clouds begin to block out my happiness as I sit waiting for my mind to release me from my perpetual imprisonment from these chains of broken people and run down lies I tell myself to keep aloft in these dark days. As I look around, bare gnarled trees flex their fingers and are the only witnesses to this hell that I have incarcerated myself within. The sky goes darker as I find nothing within me to brighten the few stable thoughts that I have recycled too many times. My affection for the desire to breathe and take my revenge cements the chains and acts to drive the few things around me that have not already made their escape from my black hole of cycled misery. The grass goes black and the ground dries to a bone like state as I scream to stab my torturers.

The field is dead and I am its killer, so filled with loathing that my acidic personality caused it to shrivel and become a lifeless waste where even the worms of self pity and vultures of depression dare not tread in fear of dying due to the lack of prey: My happiness long since dried up and the few ideas of self righteousness consumed by my horrible self. I try to unclench my fist but as I do so, my bones break and cease to be flexible. I shriek in an effort to portray that I care about this, but I don't.

I know I don't.