An English Writer's Mind

Several years have come and gone To this, I've been left to fawn over thoughts of what's undone My time has come once more That I should bleed, feed, and pour my words of affliction or rather addiction Drain from me like a festered core An abscess growth that needs to purge Oozing a pain to abhor, rather than something to adore.  

Born to a generation of limited technology Scorned by the realization of growing calamity I'm the first of my kind Living mentally blind A pioneer through my annals of time Hard work is what it took To live like a storybook But this concept's now hollow Taken away by those that don't follow Robbing all of us whole As we keep paying the toll Life quickly becomes static, pragmatic, and dull Siphoned of all including the soul But I'm one of the lucky ones I was not dealt the hardships of war Merely made poor, something I abhor Yet still, I'm one of the lucky ones I was not jailed because of my skin My gender didn't call the beatings to begin My sexuality never viewed as a sin Born a minority with issues within This culture acceptance came from my appearance Non-threatening they say allowed for perseverance No weapon was drawn through my incoherence No worries to grow about a disappearance. I was jailed for my ignorance, Beaten for...

A question of concern                                                              Words that spew out from the masses From those that will yearn                                            Never once seeing the thoughts full of caskets Hoping one day that they'll never learn                                             Visions of pain, infliction, and acids Early sight bemoaned to a casket or urn                                Forevermore fearing being buried in ashes Those memories are dear, deserving o...

Each new day brings a sun that's rising  My mind isn't compromising   It's comprising of thoughts not confiding in shots    Connecting no dots and idolizing dreadnoughts     Asking me always my thoughts on what a beautiful suicide means.       How do we act, how do we fall,       What's the best way to answer when Death gives us that call        I've seen how I die in most ways, not all         I thank my will my veins aren't drowning in ethanol         Though I can recall years against the wall          hitting a bottle of alcohol, like some repeat protocol           Just tryna end it all. That fate is one I must erase            Once and for all.            Why do I fight? I'm still asking to this day.            ...

How is it that when I seek help, try to find peace         I'm detained to a world of noise Distractions, televisions, monitors, a menagerie of people         And all I want is absolute silence Judging eyes without a chance to defend         It irritates, not stimulates the sense What they want from me is not what I need         Faltering my strength, my balance, my poise This society has taken everything from me         Array from the pain, the discord, and voilence Something these vultures do not comprehend         Peace from this, are they really so dense Just leave me alone So I can be free Mentally you bleed What must you atone You speak of solitude, but you know who you are        this journey here ventured has brought us thus far It's easy to hide, to reserve in a shell            ...

How many times have you met the Reaper? Your every breath will one day cometh To you become the eternal sleeper. But not today. Not tomorrow, Not any time soon. Don’t even come back. I’m alive and I like that. I am not a buffoon, No sorrow. Here to stay. I’ve changed my life, I’ve dug deeper. Eye to eye with the face of Death, My eyes, a proud demeanor.

          Her breath was rapid and short. Each stride that was taken was one that came from a need for safety. Beads of sweat dripped down her face, occasionally merging with the constant tears pooling from her eyes. Camille was not sure why she was running, nor was she aware that she was doing so in that moment. It was when her vision came back that she realized her movement. In a strange twist, it felt as if she had just woken from traumatizing night terror, but her body had reacted long before the nightmare was over. Run . I need to keep running. The thought lingered. The commanding whisper grew louder with each pressing step, as if she weren’t fast enough. Despite the burn of the lactic acid in her legs, Camille forced her feet to push harder against the ground. I’m not far enough away yet. Each inhale allowed her another set of steps until a sharp pain darted through her ribs; her body demanded pause. The sprint turned to a jog, wh...