In between Pages

By BentButBrilliant

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Poetry, of all that is and could ever be in a wise, yet childlike, 17 year old mind. "We're all mad here" -A... More

The burning

Can't even think of a title rn..

1 0 0
By BentButBrilliant

I'm done-

sick and tired

(so tired)

of 

every

little 

thing

existing on planet Earth

choking me as

I sleep. 


I just want to sleep.


I want to be free 

of this relaxed intensity,

of this careless 

and passionate-less 

existence. 


If I can't feel 

anything,

then I don't want to be anything.

But still, I stay for you. 


It's sad when I can still remember 

the roses' lovely fragrence 

yet  bring them back to my lips and nose

and not even the smell of the spring air 

greets my waiting inhalation. 


I don't even want to die. 

I want to not exist. 

To have never existed. 


I want to go back in time and give my mother

a different child,

a better child,

a happy child

who can give her the grandchildren 

she so desires. 


I'm a fuck up. 

And I can't even kid myself to think, "Maybe one day, I'll change."


So I'll settle for denouncing my entity and returning to God. Or the ground. Whomever will have me. 



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