Disclaimer: I write dark poetry as a coping mechanism.
Trigger Warning: Suicide or Suicidal Ideation
Is it loud in here?
Or is it all in my head?
Is it fear from my dreams
That keeps me trapped in bed?
Or fear from reality
That’s filling me with dread.
Am I lost, never to be found?
Weight of my soul,
Keeping me on the ground.
I am tired,
Exhausted beyond the bone.
All I truly want,
Is to go home.
But it’s been 5 years,
And I can’t stand to be alone.
You called it flying,
In the childhood you stole,
And now I am dying.
Is it dark in here?
Or did I finally close my eyes?
I wonder what could be
My final paradise.
dark poetry
Bedtime Prayer – Dark
Idle Hands
Inspired by “Idle hands are the devil’s playthings”
Idle hands are unwise
Idle hands wield knives
Idle hands cut deep
Into skin so fine
Fretful minds are unsafe
Fretful minds play with lies
Fretful minds disrupt
Hope so hard fought
Distractions are temporary
Distractions always pass
Distractions giveaway
To numbing pain
The Devil controls the hands
The Devil corrupts the minds
The Devil creates false hope
With fickle distractions
