Regards to My Somethingness



No trace of rapture lingers in torment.
She, who cannot love herself,
is without peace in mind and body.


Bound within a vision of insanity,
this point-of-view, a fantasy,
is disturbed, although never woken.


They are my calling,
these remnants of corrupt self-loathing -
this surreality.


I am outcast.
While my remains will be forgotten,
play forever, my fractured harmony.

This poem is about: 


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741