Smooth as a heartbeat, chest heaving, rain pouring. All sound finds its death as my veins pump with living realization..
Realization turns to numbness; it's already reached 3:30 in the mourning. I can feel something within me, if I gather all my concentration.
But the only thing I can feel through that method.. is something no one should feel when they are alone...
Clawing, surrounding, the guilt that will forever have me bested; you held me through the angst, the fear, the depression to which I was prone.
So many times you rushed to my side, baring storm and trial for my sake. My mental health would never withstand loneliness.
Little did I know, you- yes, how LITTLE did I know you to assume your emotions weren't fake? When it came to you, I was not only clueless...
But I didn't CARE. You hinted that you weren't feeling well, of course, but I drowned it out with news of my own pains.
And now my insanity is becoming larger every day; with every passing hour much worse. my own mind has now become, of my existence; the bane.
Because you weren't well either, oh lover of mine, as was proven in the night with a gun and badly placed rope.
Of course, when I tried the same thing in a similar manner, together our hearts were woven, and through me surged new hope.
It took you four minutes to die. I think of that often, with temptation to feel the same agonies you went through.
As your brain lost oxygen on two fronts; so symbolic, of our nation crushing your windpipe and me feeling so alive once I became new.
But you were left in the shadow I could no longer see; one you lifted me out of with little to no effort given. The bane of my existence.
YOU ARE READING
The View From Above
PoetryThis is a book full of feelings. maybe they aren't my feelings, maybe sometimes they are. If you read it, try to relate to the feelings being portrayed. We'll see what happens.
