Poetry Blogs (self doubt)

I have a beast within my head
He hews my heart I wish him dead
He turns my passions into pain
A mocking echo of loves refrain
He defiles my tender dreams
Turning whispers into screams
I fear to enter filled with dread
I have a beast within my head

I have a cold and lonely heart
T’was warm once till he did start
My passion leaked through every pore
Through rents inflicted by his wick...

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It’s easy to give in to being depressed
To savour life’s taste and yet feel second best
To challenge yourself to win the prize
Only to find that it’s empty, worthless and composed of lies.
What’s the use of trying hard?
When others don’t and can still reach behind your guard
To juggle the balls and keep them in place
To use every bit of effort and find you weren’t even entered in the race.
...

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I carry a kettle in my head

And I'm turning up the heat.

Turning up the pressure,

self doubt, and insecurities.

Tumultuous clouds forming 

High tension that won't subside.

I'm the one who's created 

the storm raging inside.

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Today I woke with the all too familiar feelings again. Those never changing Feelings , except perhaps always only in depth. The Familiarity , like the type of stranger you've known all your life, rattles me every time .Each time it happens I feel something stirring deep inside me, a shift at the depths of my core. The slightest of movements almost like a wisp of air it silently flutters ,briefly ,...

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"Um... (sigh)...I feel, and this is just how I feel, but sometimes it just seems that...and I don't know if this is more about me than you but...it just seems that... (clammy)...do you think that....it might.....we might....I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, but I...uh, I...I may be way off the mark, you know....well, I hope you know....I wouldn't say anything if I didn't care....if I wasn't passion...

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served by the slice  

this body, cut through in the redesign for a different life,

whistles a frayed remembrance leaving naught but remnants

when falling for the suicidal hiatus of a tethered tale

in these days, of the child’s exultation, sing your song

as a lyrical dog chases damsons and damsels and the first and

furriest flavour the dustiest corpse of trees; dark...

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