Depression
-
My eyes turn towards where you sail,And, also swim.My eyes turn towards where you screamOn a subtle whim. You ride the currents above my stare,Because that is where my loathing has its bathing.You row oars across the sadness,Beneath the starry nightOf our mourning.You have chosen the straw closest to my heart,That was also the shortest.…
-
From my mouth, bellows howlsTo the moon, from the wretchedness I have become. From my eyes, there come steamAfter many long night in woeful screams. From my eyes, there soars the skiesAnd the creatures that sail upon my backDrink me, the martyr,The one who died for another.She lays floatingUpon a lake, with lifelessness to every…
-
She flew about the room with as much grace as could the swan find its course through the beaten river. For her eyes were laced with as much sadness and pity for herself, like a cat that had been extracted of its claws. She could not fight against the pushing tide of pain, coming to…
-
Look behind me,Or look away,For it does not matterWhich direction you choose.I matter less to a worldThat cannot loseIts mask. Stuck staresAnd reeking unawares.Life has a thousand souls apart,And I view it allWith bent back and shielding hands.There is nothing for me in this landBut the broken limbs of survivors. Place me upon the lake,Would…
-
Just a lie, Once jovial, with a crooked smile. Now wanting to lie Down on the brick surface, And face the sky Wanting to die. Because the world could not shy Away from my mask. They merely gasped, They merely whispered What they were glimpsing And who they were glancing With such a blow as…
-
“For art to grow and prosper, it must be treated as any other life upon Earth. We are creations of other creations, are we not? Therefore, if art is merely ‘anything’, then it is ‘nothing’, referring the creators of this art to be those to keep people in their poverty. They dislike when anyone rises…
-
Darkness is a brutal kindness In the coldest and warmest remembrances, Of each thing lapsed so far in the past, That I cannot tell What flavor are my tears. So much sheltered, Out of the cold, And so very bold When released, for me to see With eyes, ablaze On the only ever known cruelty.…
-
“As it is, a person becomes suicidal, not because of the presence of the abuse that life offers to them, but because of the lack of any nearby heart. That is, without genuineness offered, a person becomes lowered into that dark state. It is to say that the one cause of a suicidal mentality is…
-
In the snowOr in the haze of a winter’s eveningJust when wind is coming over your dress,You’ll ask to receive lessThan what I have ever offered.For in the coldness,You are quite like oldness. Quite like without graceOf an ill cat on the roadwayTo some morsel or scrap,To sate an appetite, so lifeless, yet so stirring.Quite…
-
The worn feeling,The pressuring sensation,To move.The dryness in my heart, where should stir blood,The motion of my form, against the songs of sadness,Bellowed from my lips. The loss,The emptiness,Inside of me.The beauty that was with you, something held upon like gold,The form you would give to me, as something to hold in one arm,Has become…
-
Miss Beauty,With all radiance to spend,Like what the sun does, to spread color,As you have done, to my mind of black and white. In losing you,My mind has turned to grey. I sought to see your hips move with the wind’s twists,And hear your sighs among the delicate sheets. Love was once all to be…
-
Her tears were for my cup,To count of every drop.Her eyes were the lakes for me to dip my feet,And to bathe within their frozen stare.Her pain and her sorrowWill last for every tomorrow. My beating heart,And her legs that walkThe miles across landscapes wet with the contentsOf her bleeding spirit.My beating heartResonates not with…
Modern Romanticism 