Suburban Bohemia

just a mishmash of thought, it doesnt really have a form or shape as such,like my life, my poems never do

The grogginess tears at my limbs
Beating them into a submissive slumber.
Even as I write this now
I know the Black Dog’s got my number
The truth is, I lay awake most nights
Thinking, sinking into my mind
I cant keep up theses internal fights
Its not a question of right or wrong any more
I know what I am, I’m depressed.
And its not down to tension or stress
I’m stuck in this rut, I cant break free
The darkness covers everything in sight
People asking what’s wrong with me
I wish they’d piss off and let me be
I’m feeling way down in this state I’m in
I hear the lunacy laughing as it sucks me within
Deeper, thicker, faster until I’m lost
The weight of my invisible, illogical pain keeps me pinned
This mood without cause, I’m such a prat
Why cant I shake it off
And why do these shadows cascade and skulk around me
All your good intentions and affable gestures cant answer that

Reviews

[Freddie Stradlin]

Thanks Atticus appreciate it.

[AtticusBlack]

This poem is too relatable, it's scary. Suburban life is exactly as you write here, supressing and depressing. You say it's a mish mash of thought, but if that's what it is then it works, like AHouseOfChambers says you really should give yourself more credit, this here is good.

[ALifeAquatic]

You know as a fan, I won't write a review that isn't glowing once again I'm going to tell you that you don't give yourself enough credit for what you are able to write! I like this lots