Torn Apart.
torn apart.
forever you say,
but not till the end, right ?
More Posts from Pulchra-potens and Others
"Tomorrow needs you."
But does it?
I have no connections anymore.
I contribute not.
Tomorrow needs something, and I am nothing.
And I will be more of nothing, still --
s i l e n c e.
Nothing left but words lost to a fucking blog.
V.R.
You know something matters,
When you associate items
To that special something,
Like an animal to a friend,
A phrase to a show,
Memories flood your brain,
And you realize that you,
You trust them wholeheartedly.
I have been wondering,
if its my fault that she is becoming a monster.
and if it is me, i might be doing a good job.
and it scares me.
“I understand. That’s the trouble. I understand. I’ll understand all the time. All day and all night. Especially all night. I’ll understand. You don’t have to worry about that.”
— Ernest Hemingway
Identity
Who am I, if not a poet? What am I, if not a writer? What is my existence, And what is my purpose?
How do I relieve myself of these emotions, If not by bleeding myself on paper? How do I express myself to the world, If not by baring myself for everyone to see? What is my comfort, if not being vulnerable with words? Where do I go, if not to pen and paper? To whom do I share my happiness, sadness, My sorrows, and guilt? Where do I let out my anger, Before it turns me cold and sharp? Where do I pour out the storm, Before it drowns me? Tell me, what do I do, If not write?
Who am I, if not a poet? What am I, if not a writer? What is my existence, And what is my purpose?
©Pen_Pain_Poetry
— Henry Dumas, Knees of a Natural Man: The Selected Poetry of Henry Dumas; "Saba"
it’s just me and my blurry vision against the world
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