Shifting, Twisting, Convulsing


Wrote this in the wee hours of the morning, sort of in a trance like state. The words you see before you haven't been edited to sound better. So the grammar might be off and formatted wrong. But hey. It was like 4:30am when i wrote it. 

The girl in the mirror is a different person every glance.
A different face. A different shape. 

Shifting. Twisting. Convulsing.

Where is the meaning in the life she glimpses in the mirror?

What life? 

Shifting. Twisting. Convulsing.

it's different when no ones looking.
She can be who she is. Who she wants to be. A figment of an imagination that is constantly

Shifting. Twisting. Convulsing.

A life she will never know, a life contained only in the fragments of her numb brain. 
Numb to the world. Numb to who she is. Who she could be. Who she wants to be. 

The world breaks her down. Life breaks her down. The people that care most, fading away. The life she once knew. The simpleness, the windy days, the running around, the childhood carelessness that swept away all the unknown cares of the world. Constantly

Shifting. Twisting. Convulsing

Write it out they say. Write it all down. Write young girl. 

Will it fix it? Will it bring this grand life created in the dark to life sized images behind her fragile eyes? 

The girl in the mirror. She changes with every passing glance. 

She shifts. She twists. She convulses.

Until perfection in no longer just word spoken in prayer, whispered in the wind. 

Clinging to perfection. Stolen words. 

Write it down you sad unmotivated creature of ignorance, pathetically living life in a robotic manner. Taught by the society who stares ahead with blank eyes and vacant expressions. 

Feel no emotions. Live their life as if running from the plague of being a nobody. 

Make money. Be successful. Recession. World end. 


Write it down they say. 

Dear Agony. Just let go of me. Suffer slowly. Don’t bury me. Face this enemy. I’m so sorry. Is this the way it’s gotta be? More stolen words. Words not my own. The words of a nobody who has done everything she wants to do and has become a somebody. 

"I do write it down!"
Always screaming at society, society who is mute to her cries. 

She does write it down but……

It makes no sense to their imbecilic ears. 

It constantly shifts, twists and convulses.

Copyright to Breaking Benjamin for Dear Agony. 


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