I feel like a windup toy, somebody else is making me tick.
Lacking any semblance of a stable centre. This is me trying to be me again.
I’m not living, my breath stinks worse than the fly s**t and I don’t care. My dreams flicker off. Hours and minutes recede through the cracks in the wall - I was never here.
I don’t exist, these words are figments. I don’t exist.
If you can hear me, wake up and come alive. Brush your teeth and swat those b*****d flies.
Sounds like a note to self by someone suffering from depression? Someone who can't even concentrate on personal hygiene who are trying to remind themselves to step back into the world?
I hear you and hope you’re not okay. I finally am getting around to reading other writings and I must say you have a writing voice that is really captivating. Bravo!
Very good! I was skeptical of the use of flies in the beginning, but your connecting sentence was extremely invigorating. Perhaps you could focus a tad on narrative transition/expression; I was unsure of who the speaker was of the last two lines-- the original narrator? a desperate friend? But, those are things you don't really need to fret about right now. Great poem. :)
I agree with poetic beauty
yes you are here,
yes we can hear you
no I cannot see your flies on your wall only you can
swat them or let them s**t
up to you but please breathe and live x
This poem conveys a mind seeking hope and order in an inverted, swirling abyss of chaos. What's right-side up and up-side down, and how can you find your path in such darkness? It's beyond pain and misery, it's desperation. That's what I take from this piece. Original and intriguing imagery, too.