Thoughts in the Dark

It's twisted and black,

seething with demons and utter scum

and it just about sums up

everything thats wretched in this world.

It can't seem to find any fulfillment

and the only thing it allows into its depths

is a treacherous cavern as deep as the oceans themselves,

as whirlpools whisk away any trespassers

it deems to be an enemy. 

It's radars pick up dozens of red blips

and the heavy artillery is heaved out,

saved and stashed away,

yet used nonchalantly and recursively 

as if the bloodiest of civil wars were now the norm

and no longer weighed enough to reach newspaper headlines

let alone be the topic of conversation in a corner cafe.

And although a temporary armistice is brought to the table,

passionate lovemaking can only break down so many walls

until there are no more walls to break

and the two sides are just facing each other

with their bare behinds

uncovered

with swear and blood and tears from the battle

glistening in the sun.

Embracing the others' sweat

and blood

and tears

they stand there weeping, consoling themselves

and consoling each other and as things finally start to look up,

one forgets how to stop crying

as the other forgets how to shed tears in the first place.

And in the end,

all that's left is the sweat

and blood

pouring from open wounds

freshly cut from trying to rebuiold the decrepit walls by hand

as they endlessly are torn down one by one.

But when one side builds up their defenses so high

that the other side finally gives up and surrenders

and says come back to me once you're ready

the other just watches from afar,

atop their silent safehaven.

And they just sit

and stare,

along with the occasional conversing until one finally turns away

and says that's enough

and the radars shut off

and the walls once again hurt to the ground

and the treaty means nothing

because there is no meaning between the two anyways.

And how it wishes it hand't been so black

and so wretched

and acted in such monstrous way,

then perhaps reality and it's dreamland wouldn't have had to mix

and it's deepest darkest fears hadn't been brought to life

with it watching as it breaks down the very city

it so lovingly built with its own bare hands.

And it thinks to itself as it watches 

as the townsfolk rebel and light the civilization ablaze

that it truly is a monster

and that it brought this upon innocent people,

people that deserved to pave their own path.

But now they can,

and it came to the realization

that it's something that doesn't deserve

to continue in such a bright place

as it creeps back to the trenches of the filty,

decrepit 

sewer it once came from.

Author's Note

Super free verse, written on my phone at like, 2 in the morning in a burst of depression. Questioning if it can even count as poetry.

Reviews

[MajaM]

I wouldn't say poetry of form, but still poetry in terms of thoughts; though that holds for so much contemporary writing that I probably lack the experience to say what kind of form I am searching for these days. Maybe there's too familiar a feeling to this piece to really judge whether it's good or bad - probably none.
Though thank you for these two lines (while I read the whole three times and will still probably read again, these two made it to my memory)


I guess that is not the most useful review, sorry about that.