My life
she saved
not once, but
thrice.
Letters in jail,
heroin,
and
from my myself.
But my reflection now-
endless black eyes,
and milk white skin.
A memory of a stranger
the stranger of a memory.
I have fallen away,
into a deep abyss,
hollow,
and out of place,
and for a reason,
that only,
a dead man knows.
Through the last door
I walked
and now remains the sweet aftertaste
of
just
nothing.
About the Creator
Zeno Antonius
a rider on the storm
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I Have Just Found This Prose Beat Poem! This Is a Decade Old!
My mind is a highly inhospitable place for a soul like mine. My entire existence is just one flawed chemical imbalance. A bipolar one at that. To say I was a psychopath would be incorrect. I feel empathy, but not for myself. Not for me. The lights are on but nobody’s home, actually it changes, sometimes the lights are off but somebody is home. A crazy man running around in the darkness in his underwear with a blender, throwing random objects in, his grandma’s ashes, tampons, regular mail, all the norms of daily life being construed into a single inanimate object, the man proceeds to drink it, projectile vomiting the averageness of life all over the bathroom mirror. There’s a knock at the door, the lights turn on and the man is gone. Routines. Routines. Routines. Without routines where would be? Well routines are responsible for my trip off the mountain off sanity. The same thing every day, every second of my life. My room is bright orange. I’m not entirely sure why; I think I read in one of those ‘positive impact’ life magazines that the colour of your room can cause great mood changing vibes. Waking up to a bright colour will change your day for the better. That’s bullshit. I feel like I’m constantly being highlighted. That my 10 metre squared bedroom room is part of a government plot. Or that my whole life is just a test by some sick twisted fuck of a God to wreak havoc and enjoy the pure entertainment of a man slowly lose his mind and there’s not a single thing I could do about it. It took me a while to figure out this fact and I assure you to stick by it. Don’t take anything personal, no-one is out to get you, you’re not important enough and neither is anybody else. Bad luck is as bad luck does. The last year of my life has been without a doubt surreal. Some sort of a dream but yet I feel more alive than ever. The brittle fragility of life only has one cure; don’t step around it, just run straight into it, destroy it. Who the fuck cares about winning an egg and spoon race anyhow. Out of the blue and into the black.
By Zeno Antonius9 years ago in Poets
Thinking of You
You Are My Poetry, I Write About You In My Daydreams... Just Call Me Lover-Boy, Undoubtedly I've Been Known To Throw My Heart Around... Just Wake Me Up If I Fall Asleep, Because I've Been Waiting All My Life For Someone Like You... Someone Who Wants To Love Me Right... Someone Who Wants To Dream Of Me At Night... You Are My Love Song, I Sing To You, Every Morning In The Back Of My Mind, Even When There Is No Music Around... I Asked The Mountains To Remind You, That I Love You! I Told The Moon To Watch You Sleep At Night... I Whispered To The Wind, To Blow You My Sweet Kiss... I Laughed With The Sun, And Asked If He'd Share With You, The Good Energies, That He Shared With Me... I Wonder If You Could Feel Me, Gathering Sentiments of the Leaves, When You Are At A Distance And I Wish To Be Your Tree... I Will Stand Still For You, but If I Dare To Move, I'd Surely Want You To Follow... So Just Like The Change Of Autumn 🍂 Will You Thrive With Me... Like A Hand Printed On My Heart You Will Remain With Me Forever Imprinted In My Memories...
By HandsomelouiiThePoet (Lonzo ward)6 days ago in Poets
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