Why

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Photo Credit: SpellboundMisfits at deviantart.com

Why can’t you be ready?

Why did I have to rush?

Why are we locked
in these separate prisons,
scratching at open wounds,
cement floors?

Why am I here
and you are there?

Why do I have
all these feelings
that bury me,
suffocate,
until I am broken
and dead?

Why do these flowers wilt
at my touch
and why do the windows
seems so foggy,
so empty?

Why do I need these things
that need to be burned
instead of nurtured?

Why must I keep going
until I’m lost in deep forests,
torn between want and need,
good and evil?

Why am I so fucking damaged?

~Patience

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4 thoughts on “Why

  1. Good lord, I’m working my way through your poetry and I can hardly continue but cannot stop. It’s a long time since I’ve read poems that, word for word, without so much as a misstep, speak straight to and from everything that dominates my every waking moment. I feel your agony, your loss, your desperation, your beauty, your constant fear and disorientation. I believe that I do, because each of those things are also my own. I do not know if that can give you any comfort. I just know that you write like a broken angel and I do not think there is any natural ‘justice’ in that, or in anything, for that matter, but that people like us are perhaps made to feel the way we do for some kind of greater reason. Our else it’s all just some kind of preposterous aberration and we are rolling though time until our much dreamt of release from it all.

    Liked by 1 person

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