This Pain

Old poem I wrote when I was like 13.

This pain she feels inside is trying to hide. Her callous heart is tearing apart all that was left to die. Numb to everything around her; she lay there in the silence watching her insecurity grow. Urges of the past come back and fill those empty holes.
People she thought she really knew turn out to be freak shows, just like everybody else she knows.  A rush of blood goes through her head crazy thoughts show up instead.
 Remembering the good times she once had, seem so far away now from where she’s at.
All alone she is to face this insane society, locked away in some room where nothing quite makes sense. Nothings there to calm her, nobody’s there to care, and nobody seems to be watching her as she dodges each fear. Quietly she submerges to her lowest on the scale ,feeling like a failure with nothing left to fail. Complicated and complex is her life, dealing with so much crap and strife. Hurt overcomes her burdened soul and she feels like digging a hole. Burying herself doesn’t seem so bad; looking over at what she could have had. Suffocating, gasping for breath, as she takes a look back in full regret. Dieing within herself over and over again, the same thing keeps happening when will this all end?
 Her life is deteriorating, falling into pieces, shattering on the ground, wishing somehow she could find something profound. But breaking the stillness all around was simply the tears nobody found.  Crying in the night with not a soul in sight, pouring her heart out, drowning in her doubt. The temptation, to grab a knife, was stronger than she might have liked. Feelings that felt so real started to make her think that maybe she couldn’t deal.
Reaching out for her knife she stabbed open her life. Nauseous inside, she falls to the ground hoping no one will falter to tell. Her hideous life flashed before her eyes as she quietly moaned and sighed. “What have I done? I have nothing to hide. I’m sorry I just couldn’t take my heart crying inside.”  The pain was just too much to bear she couldn’t stand another second laying there. In the tranquility of the night her soul passed on by up to the heavens it did fly, leaving earth quietly saying good-bye.

 

Reviews

[Pax Analog]

You know this pain is all too often the case with sensitive souls.

The common world frequency is pitched too low. The psyches that feel displaced are feeling this.

Fortunately, the psyche itself has access to the a priori spiritual. Not religious distraction, mind you, but the Clearing available from a will to transcend the needs of subject-object. Even as one longs for better relatedness, another part of oneself realizes a greater need to be free of such slavery.

Your prose poem, written so young, has a fine touch. I just offer this two cents of the perennial wisdom out of empathy for the kind of pain souls of all ages and times are prone to.