Dark Poems

Colorless
Sometimes
I wonder if what I'm doing is really okay.
Is it right for me to be living this way?
The world is meant to be explored,
So why can't I be the explorer?
Someone tell me,
Tell me the secret to happiness.
Teach me to live a carefree life
Like all the others.
Someone, please tell me.

Tell me how one is able to live a life of wonders,
Full of adventures, old and new,
Filled with bittersweet emotions,
While I rot away
In this never changing abyss.
Tell me, why can't I feel these emotions, too?
Why am I not allowed to feel like they do?
But, I do feel.
I feel just enough
So as they cannot call me a corpse.

Some would call me black and white,
But I am not,
For I have no color.
I am neither black nor white.
I am not faded either,
For that would be better
Than what I actually am.
I am monotone,
Translucent.
I am colorless.

Oblivious
To all of the brilliantly vivid colors in this world.
I want to experience these colors, too.
Every shade,
Every tone.
I want to see them all,
Feel them all.
The annoyance of yellow,
The calmness of lavender.
I want to feel as if I have lived.

I want to be happy.
Oh, how I want to be happy.
I want to feel sadness,
Anger.
I want to be elated,
Surprised,
Disappointed.
But most of all
I want to experience
Fear.

The one thing
We humans
Are blessed with from birth.
I want to be scared,
Fearful.
Scared that I will remain the same,
Never leaving this awful pit.
Scared that I will be
The only constant
In this ever-changing world.

I am colorblind.
Unable to see
The extravagant colors
This world has to offer.
I want to see these colors.

I am emotionless.
Unable to feel
The emotions
That make us so called "human".
I want to feel.

I want to be colorful.
Magnificently colorful.
I want colors
To paint my life
Once again.

I will take up some colors,
Little by little,
I will make my
Pallet vibrant
As it once was.

If I want to have any chance
Of surviving
This grim,
Unforgiving world,
I must have color.

Over time,
Ever so slowly,
My eyes
Perceive the colors
My life once reflected.


A Picture on the Wall
When we are born, 
We are given a picture of ourselves.
When we are older,
We take our own picture.
We then gather those two pictures
And display them on a wall,
A huge wall,
With only two pictures.

Once our pictures are hung
We show them to our family.
Our family, upon seeing the pictures,
Pins up pictures they have taken.
In these pictures we are captured
Laughing, playing and just being us.
We smile as we look at each one
And think, this is who we are.

Next we show them to our friends.
Our friends see the pictures
And want to pin some up, too.
We want to see what they have
And gladly allow it.
Once they are all up,
We stand back and admire
Our wall full of pictures.

But then our family and friends
Tell others about our wall,
And they want to pin something, too.
We don't refuse them,
Wanting to fill our wall
With as many pictures as possible.
We watch as strangers
Fill our wall with more.

Once the wall is completely filled
We stand back
And once again admire
All the pictures our wall holds.
But something is not right.
The pictures are not of us
But of someone with our likeness.
Is this how others see us?

We search every picture
Looking for us,
But the more we search
The more the faces
Become unrecognizable.
We tear pictures from our wall
Only to be welcomed
With more unfamiliar faces.

We frantically search
For the face we call our own,
But to no prevail.
We have long since forgotten
Where our picture was hung,
Now lost in a sea
Of faces
Unknown to us.

We look closer at the pictures
Torn from our wall.
Some of them are distorted
Making the face seem
Odd and alien.
Other pictures reveal
Only a monster,
A beast.

We desperately try
To take another picture
Only to find the twisted pictures
Revealed in the background.
No longer knowing
Which face is ours
We reach out and grab
One of the many pictures
And start a new wall
With a new face.

My Insanity
My insanity is a feral cat,
Fur as black as night,
Wandering all alone,
Eyes glowing in the darkness.

My insanity is a feral cat,
A nuisance to society,
But rapidly growing,
Unwanted.

My insanity is a feral cat,
Appearing out of nowhere,
Disappearing with ease,
Hiding in the shadows.

My insanity is a feral cat,
Surviving on the scraps of others,
Afraid of the slightest touch,
Untrusting.

My insanity,
Always there.

Death Is a Returning Friend
Death is a returning Friend
Always Near
Forever Waiting
Lurking in the darkest Shadows

Always Near
Eyes Unseen
Lurking in the darkest Shadows
Awaiting your Demise

Eyes Unseen
Masked in Fear
Awaiting your Demise
Each day drawing closer

Masked in Fear
Ever present
Each day drawing closer
Unsuspected

Ever present
Forever waiting
Unsuspected
Death is a returning Friend.

1 comment:

  1. Dude! This is so deep. It relates so much to me....like I don't know if that's a good thing or not, but I LOVE THIS!!!

    ReplyDelete

Quote of the Day

"Beware the barrenness of a busy life."

-Socrates

Word of the Week

rain

noun


moisture condensed by the atmosphere that falls visibly in separate drops.


verb

rain falls.


"The girl was a pluviophile, always standing in the rain. For in the rain she liked to think, while the droplets washed away her pain."


pluviophile

noun


a lover of rain; someone who finds joy and peace of mind during rainy days.