My Head - Tilted Forum Project Discussion Community

scarebearjinx · 04-28-2003, 02:29 PM

The pressure...
It builds and builds.
It hurts my head.

It won’t stop.
I want to explode.

There’s no release...
Release for my anger.
Release for my pain.
For my suffering.
For my sorrow.
For my loss.

I shed these tears...
These tears I could not release before.
These tears that refused to come.
These tears that are black.

So many questions...
Not enough answers.
Not enough of life.

Why can’t I sleep...
Sleep for now.
Sleep for a day.
Sleep for a week.

Why can I not be verbal?
Why must I write?
Why must my feelings be put on paper?

Why me?
Why did it have to happen to me?

Why did I have to be the one...
The one it was done to.
The one that was taught to be cruel...
Taught to be cruel through cruelty.

Why do I feel alone?
So alone...
My world is empty.
Nothingness around me.
Blackness is a cloak of protection.
But that cloak is out of reach.

I’m afraid...
Afraid to sleep.
Afraid to eat.
Afraid to do anything but sit.

Why did I have to know that torture?
Why was I the chosen one?

What did I do to him...?
Do to him that offended him.
Do to him to deserve such treatment.

Why was my mind ripped from my head?
Why was my heart ripped from my chest?
Why was my soul ripped from my being?

Why was my happiness melted in suffering?
Why was freedom bound in torment?
Why was my innocence eaten by guilt?

Am I such that of a horrible person?
So horrible that I must be hated?
So horrible that instead of merciful desertion,
I am instead tortured?

Am I that ugly that I must be made to feel that way?
That ugly that I must be made to look like so?
That ugly that life turns it’s back on me?

Am I that which is naught?
Am I that which will never be?

In this world of strange and normal
I loose my grip on life.
I sink into depthless bottom.
No help can bring me back.

I’m cradled in the arms of eternal rest.
Nothing bothers me.
No one for me to hurt
No one to hurt me.

Lebell · 04-28-2003, 04:45 PM

I cry with you.

little limey · 04-29-2003, 07:16 PM

This reminds me of my friend's poetry who has chronic, debilitating migraines. She just stays inside all the time and is completely isolated. I am one of the few people she still communicates with and I moved across the country two years ago. I'm glad she still writes to me though.
Anyway, I guess I'm trying to say that i feel isolation coming from this poem.

04-28-2003, 02:29 PM	#1 (permalink)
scarebearjinx Psycho Location: in a deep, dark hole where rainbow creatures attack me to eat my fingernails.	My Head The pressure... It builds and builds. It hurts my head. It won’t stop. I want to explode. There’s no release... Release for my anger. Release for my pain. For my suffering. For my sorrow. For my loss. I shed these tears... These tears I could not release before. These tears that refused to come. These tears that are black. So many questions... Not enough answers. Not enough of life. Why can’t I sleep... Sleep for now. Sleep for a day. Sleep for a week. Why can I not be verbal? Why must I write? Why must my feelings be put on paper? Why me? Why did it have to happen to me? Why did I have to be the one... The one it was done to. The one that was taught to be cruel... Taught to be cruel through cruelty. Why do I feel alone? So alone... My world is empty. Nothingness around me. Blackness is a cloak of protection. But that cloak is out of reach. I’m afraid... Afraid to sleep. Afraid to eat. Afraid to do anything but sit. Why did I have to know that torture? Why was I the chosen one? What did I do to him...? Do to him that offended him. Do to him to deserve such treatment. Why was my mind ripped from my head? Why was my heart ripped from my chest? Why was my soul ripped from my being? Why was my happiness melted in suffering? Why was freedom bound in torment? Why was my innocence eaten by guilt? Am I such that of a horrible person? So horrible that I must be hated? So horrible that instead of merciful desertion, I am instead tortured? Am I that ugly that I must be made to feel that way? That ugly that I must be made to look like so? That ugly that life turns it’s back on me? Am I that which is naught? Am I that which will never be? In this world of strange and normal I loose my grip on life. I sink into depthless bottom. No help can bring me back. I’m cradled in the arms of eternal rest. Nothing bothers me. No one for me to hurt No one to hurt me.

04-28-2003, 04:45 PM	#2 (permalink)
Lebell Cracking the Whip Location: Sexymama's arms...	I cry with you. __________________ "Of all tyrannies, a tyranny exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive. It may be better to live under robber barons than under omnipotent moral busybodies. The robber baron's cruelty may sometimes sleep, his cupidity may at some point be satiated; but those who torment us for our own good will torment us without end, for they do so with the approval of their own conscience." – C. S. Lewis The ONLY sponsors we have are YOU! Please Donate!

04-29-2003, 07:16 PM	#3 (permalink)
little limey Psycho Location: Room Nineteen	This reminds me of my friend's poetry who has chronic, debilitating migraines. She just stays inside all the time and is completely isolated. I am one of the few people she still communicates with and I moved across the country two years ago. I'm glad she still writes to me though. Anyway, I guess I'm trying to say that i feel isolation coming from this poem.