The Disease

by Rose Lynch, sagitarius - Not entered

I hate you with your chicalic fingernails.
Your acryllic butterflies and sweaty cheeks.
I'M NOT WHAT YOU WANT ME TO BE.
So drop your blood.
Say your prayers.
I'M HURTING BECAUSE YOU PLAGUE ME.
With your no lies policy.
Your calloused knuckles.
I'M FALLING NOW.
To the deep dark under.
Damp lichens
suspended from the ceiling.
Your southern slippers don't fit anymore.
Words are a choice.
I ask why?
You answer,
never ask why, but why not?
You march on though,
crushed glass in your palm.
You smile at me.
I shift.
Two little ice blue lamps
throw the light of agony across my face.
Pulses only in my mind.
Gently.
THIS ISN'T WHAT I WANTED.
Blazen, frozen.
THEY WILL HAVE TO HOLD ME DOWN FROM NOW ON.
Because I'm not your housewife or
your whore anymore.
Lick, crack,
come back.
Pain of power,
always stay.
But please, please just go away.
Just a person
that whispered off bitten lips.
And who prayed to white washed silence.
Lips parted DIE. Lips closed SURVIVE.

Reason for writing:

    I don't have specific reasons for writing poems, maybe this is because I am young and inexperienced. Maybe it is just my way. I write a poem when I get the urge,the words just come, and I write them down. That is the way I constructed this poem. At the time, I was dealing with severe depression,obssessive compulsive disorder, and the possibility of a learning disability. This poem reflects the agony of not being able to pull yourself out of the darkness, that place where you are not you,but something ten times worse, and ten times more painful.All you want is to function as a normal human being, and having no control eats you alive.    

Birth sign: Not entered
Date created: 1998-10-17 13:21:50
Last updated: 2021-03-03 14:40:36
Poem ID: 50809

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