Moments

Moments

 

There must have been one point in your life when you were secure, when your view of the world was unworn and pure, not filled with cruelty and utter despair.

It was a time that you think better forgotten, hidden in the euphoric passion your first induction, was a moment that brought you near to ruin.

Influential in a manner you are likely never to share, it seemed that there was never really someone around enough to care.

Must wear faces to hide your crippled heart, hiding away your inner woes an outer image must always be imposed.

You can carry on wearing that plastic veil deceiving people with a highlighted smile, appearing to be joyful despite your own perception filled with revile.

Shambling along in this day after day cycle, you stifle your grief no matter how painful, drowning it in yet another bottle.

Fighting down your lacerated soul’s cries for mercy, the only thing left is for you to do is get a taste of apathy, with its total removal of empathy, and all-encompassing melancholy.

Inside of your mind it grew, feeding on every thought every desire and every dream you ever knew, feel the chill as your brain gets rewired, its hold of you now unrivaled.

A hollow husk with no joy, love, or desire, is what remains of your broken figure, no moral battles left to be won, since the only thing left of you is numb.

Apathy is all that is left inside you, dead to all there is to see, dead to all there is to be, another one falls into its grasp, another one falls into the clasps.

Stay locked down in these icy chains, never compelled to explore the wonders this world contains.

Finally to escape this torturous domain you decide to end it all, scattering your brains across the walls.

Maybe you’ll learn after you burn and are placed in an urn but your loved ones will still have to mourn, at least until their lives are gone in turn.

People who harken to this humble outcast or have randomly amassed, I request that you remain steadfast and not dwell in matters of the past, stop lambasting yourself for blunders that have amassed, but see that they have already passed. . . 

 

-Chris O'Mara (Sketchy Etchy)

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
My country
Our world

Comments

Sketchy Etchy

This thing took me way too long for how short it is but at least it's somewhat decent, can still use some tweaking though lol

 

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