When the Darkness Wins

I dream of an infinite darkness
so impenetrable, it is like nothing
I have ever witnessed. I watch
as it sweeps across the surfaces
of my mind, leaving the corroded
charcoal of once good memories
in its wake, the black powder
billowing across all that has been
razed to the ground. I know now
without the need for confirmation
what this agony surely means;
the darkness inside me is winning.

The condition of my internal body
parts has contaminated every inch
of my foundations which can no
longer stand without the assistance
of another. But who alive would dare
commit to such a grievous endeavor?
My confidence was one such victim
of the nuclear haze that blurs the senses
of my fractured mind, belittled by
the pains of life, and where others
may see happiness, all I ever look
upon is a never ending damnation.

If only past lovers could see me
now, would they have ever really
loved me at all? Would they smile,
so graciously, knowing that they
jumped the flooding ocean liner
before it started sinking?
Nothingness has a hold over me,
much like a boa-constrictor, and if
the light does not shine through
before the dusk settles over
the horizon, I fear that when the
morning comes, I will awake no more.

It would be so much easier to end
the savage journey now, than live
with its continuation looming over
my shoulders, which falter as though
the weight of the universe is applied
to my body. I would exit the world
on the same day that I was entered
into it, for could it not be seen
as a mistake if I, a broken soul, am alive
in the first place?

If normality is not indeed my brethren,
do I not deserve to die? If not for me,
then for someone else, to submit a favor
upon the minds of others, because to
gaze upon such a wretched beast is surely
not good for one’s well-being. I would
strike my flesh with a razor, and strip away
my bruised exterior, to reveal unto
the world outside my own how red
the blood of a pained individual can be.

But what of the fingers of a famed heroine,
who gently caresses that which the razor
has not yet touched, and removes the jagged
metal from my fingertips before I can
ruin my body some more? Nobody would want
me if I were mutilated flesh, for many have
a problem with my suit of skin the way it is
already. My hope for invisibility is removed
in the instant that I am touched by gracefulness,
for in the end that is all I ever did want;
to be noticed by an affectionate hand.

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About totalovrdose

I am an online journalist, video game reviewer, mental health advocate and post graduate university student. I am a massive video gaming geek; a lover of intellectual conversations; an award winning procrastinator; a devilishly charming nuisance and the definition of 'fun' (sometimes). My blog is filled with many a soporific love poem, and is simply the beginning in my quest to become a published author. Please stop by and say 'Hi!' (that rhymes!) :D

Posted on November 9, 2013, in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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