Left for dead

Why write about hypothetically tortured artists,
Broken-down cities or horrendous catastrophes
When my mentality is filthier than the most
Godforsaken of all these brutal atrocities

Fingernails chewed to sore bloody knubs
Self-esteemless trash does not deserve to be loved
No value in worthlessness or lack of hope
While the death of dreams rises up to choke
Replacing life with thick, black deathly smoke

It twists and twirls, binds ankles and wrists
Securing a future without confidence or risks
It surely must be that I cannot exist
Void of dark shadows that eradicate bliss.


4 thoughts on “Left for dead

  1. Strong and deeply moving. I hope you are well and this honest poem is a residual of feelings that are not overbearing today. I send hugs from England xx


  2. This poem is very moving in it rawness and suffering. If that’s really you in there, just know that isn’t the you we’ve come to know through your poetry and fun comments. I hope you can find a safe place to get through this storm and just hold on. When it clears, you’ll be up and snoopy dancing again. Silly wee Willy Nilly likes Snoopy dances, he’ll dance with you.


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