Hate For The Pain

Anxiety, pain. Hatred for horrid situations.
If only I said what I see, memories for years there, remembered.

Daily life?
Only done through ignorance.

Going through,
Especially from youself,
The only way to continue,
Only way to get by.

If only it was seen,
If only.
Anxiety, scars caused by such the simplest things sometimes,
Memories of how they are always remembered.

If only,
The minds of people,
Could see the effect they have,
Wounds they inflict,
The bloodied mess they can leave upon a mind.
Worse still,
Making one unravel,
Until its doing the dirty work itself.

A torture beyond torture.

Mind racing as panic sets in.
Too tired to continue writig, but I must.

Seeing a desolate landscape,
A deserted field.
The bleak.
All tried to be ignored,
Only goes so far.

With pain deep, panic grows. And harm already done.

Just finished writing the last poem, thoughts were flowing through my head and I need to write another. Thinking about blame, miscommunication and the lack of truth encountered in daily life. I am too tired to write this, 2 hours of sleep for the last 3 nights. But I must, otherwise I probably won’t get any anyway.

People saying one thing, blaming another, blaming for not doing when it was done or blaming for explaining a situation. It’s funny. Clarification often in real life is blamed. I would never as it is either useful or at worst it’s totally useless. A win-win situation. This produces anxiety, worry, concern and my own paranoia. Even now, before bed, memories stabbing at me. From even weeks ago. Even a lot further than weeks ago. Recent. All the same. If only instead of anxiety, it would produce hate in my mind rather than self deprivation and hurt, then I would be less anxious, but would show a lot more anger considerably. Something I’ve controlled. Quite frankly, I’m too scared of myself getting angry than anything. I can remember times being angry from even the age of 7, rage and thoughts running through my mind, even specific causes and moments. I was, an scared of getting angry. So I have purposely not, hide it, calm it, release it slowly in angry but empty thoughts.

The Last Light Dims

Demons we have,
Demons we share,
Places found,
Times fought.

As the song dies to close,
As the last night dims.

Demons live,
The mind just sees.

Even with it all.

Better or worse,
All the same,
One mess of existence.

Mind racing,
Forced onwards.

Again and again the demons drag me,
Forced on,
Hating without feeling.
Mind brings me,
Darkness traps me.

It all ruptures,
Till I stop noticing.
Emptiness from everything.
My mind fighting the pain,
Wanting to turn the pain, into a game, adjusting, coping, taking control.
For why should I be tortured? I can at least get used to, and smile during.

Sadness gripping,

Let this last light dim.
Candle blown out.
It all ends.
Cold and darkness consumes all.
Just pain. Getting used to. Becoming known.
So it never feels.
So it is the complete norm.

Feeling marginally better today as of the last 2 hours, watching Punisher, my favourite Marvel character. I like him how I like Rick and Morty, living in total pain, but doing, but everything is empty anyway, but just going on.

Been thinking about my worry, cycles of panic, where mind racing, mistakes making, only leading to more worry, mistakes and anxiety. It all is a perpetual cycle of worse.

Sadness, emptiness, a beautiful feeling.
In such a morbid and dark way.
Like starvation, a challenge, an achievement. Harm, feeling good, because anxiety, unsure, a penance.

It’s unusual, the stage between pain being the normal, then unfeeling and then even good? I guess the mind, adjusting to what has just became so nornalized.