Thursday, September 15, 2022


 These voices are talking,

The shadows are walking,

The walls that surround me,

Know everything about me.

The whispers are screaming,

And darkness is beaming,

The opposite becomes real

When I don’t know how to feel.

Emptiness overflows my tank,

My canvas of words is blank,

Feeling nothing is too much

Even when evil isn’t touched.

These bottles stuffed with pills,

Cost more than their bills.

Numbing my head to it’s core,

A ghost of who I was before.

Reality is blown out of proportion,

It’s frozen in a state of distortion.

In a moment of brief panic,

The Empty becomes a permanent manic.

Yes, I fell for society’s trap,

‘Cause the empty is even more a handicap.

Yes, I’ll keep what hurts me the most,

Cause letting it go means becoming a ghost.

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