dissociative-poet-blog

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Quill

Fragrant parchment,

Scratching quill,

Emptying inkwell,

Pages, I fill.

Late night dreary,

Eyes are sore,

But there is no raven

Quoting "nevermore".

Utmost importance,

Impending doom,

I must finish my work

Before I leave this room.

Obsessed and crazed,

There is no deadline,

But frustration builds

From these words of mine.

If I were to leave,

My work incomplete,

Continuity disrupted,

Rendered obsolete.

So in this place,

I must stay,

Until I've said,

What I have to say.

[dissociative-poet-blog]

TAKE A LOOK AT LANG’S BOOKS HERE.

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And every time I look at you I’m reminded of thousand pains Of love unsaid and unrequited.

shirai hisaishi (via wnq-writers)

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dante claims there were nine circles of hell but i think there’s a tenth one, hidden beneath the carnage and sin it’s being cursed to loving someone  who will never love you back

no flame burns me as badly as this one

(cc, 2017)

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I promise to love you with all the heartbeats that are given to me .

Kriti . G (via wnq-writers)

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Artists are prisoners of there own creations.

echo7foxtrot11 (via wnq-writers)

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via @extramadness

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via @extramadness

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Best Guess

I think it's safe to say that I'm depressed.

These days it's quite difficult to smile,

And lately I've been really stressed.

I don't want to mention karma, or something in the air,

I know it's just a chemical imbalance in my brain,

And quite frankly, I simply don't care.

I'm at that point of depression where the sky starts to bend,

And in the moment before it's about to break,

I realise I have no one to turn to, foe or friend.

While it may be a sad realisation, I couldn't care less,

I've accepted my fate, but when that end comes,

Well that's anyone's best guess.

[dissociative-poet-blog]

Wrong

I thought I was good,

I thought I was fine,

I thought I'd changed my mood,

I thought I'd crossed the finish line.

I thought I was doing better,

I thought I was improving,

Followed the instructions to the letter,

My heart still isn't moving.

Medication is meant to help you,

Keep the bad thoughts at bay,

It's supposed to make you feel new,

Morning and night, two a day.

But I don't feel like myself anymore,

I feel like a different person.

Decaying and rotting, down to the core,

I was meant to get better, not worsen.

So I stopped taking my meds,

And now I'm just paranoid,

I'm being torn to shreds,

My spirit is destroyed.

I thought I was good,

I thought I was fine,

I thought that I could,

Tame these monsters of mine.

I was wrong.