I sit in my room. Consumed by emotions, feelings, and thoughts that I've concieved but do not understand. I feel the walls closing in on me with every breath that I take. I feel the cold dense air consume me as if I were nothing but dust. The everlasting ticking of the clock breeds content on forcing me into insanity and the only thing keeping me from the breaking point, the edge, is the thought of who and what I will leave behind. I race through my mind to find a glimpse of my sanity, but only find the damp and bloody hand of evil. The ticking of the clock grows louder and louder as if it feeds off my sanity that is being ripped from me. I once again race through my mind but this time to find my consciousness. The clock still ticking and proving to me it's content on bringing me into what I call hell, and you would call insanity. My body struggles to have control over what's left of my consciousness and is drained by it's everlasting attempt to hold onto my mind. Afraid to move I begin to cry. Everything's on hold. The tears streak down my face and cleanse my heart of the evil consuming me. I feel the tension on my sanity begin to losin as the evil takes pitty. The ticking of the clock now sympathetic begins to soften, reluctently, slowly, so that all is left is a dull hum. I open my eyes and find myself ripped back into reality. I have won the battle inside of me. But I still know that evil lurks in many places, waiting for me. As if to intentionally bring me to parannoia it reminds me through the act of people that you are NEVER far enough away to escape the grasps of evil, untill you are dead and laid in your final resting place, in somber for eternity.
Reason for writing:
Well this one isn't really a poem, but I wrote it and it explains/expresses me and my feelings.
Birth sign: Capricorn
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View more poems by Thomas Pickering (Elen).