deepundergroundpoetry.com
Pieces
I fall to pieces bit by bit, a little more each day.
All put together they won’t fit the original way.
This place, it chips away at you—it turns you inside out.
Denial overwrites what’s true and fills your mind with doubt.
Where survival, itself, might deign identity be lost,
For in the end the strongest reign while the weak pay the cost;
There’s times I sit alone and pray a remnant might be saved…
Some faded glimpse of yesterday upon the heart engraved.
But it’s hard holding integrity when life’s torn in a blink.
Still, giving in to self-pity, you lose more than you think.
Time slipping through your fingers panic rises to the fore,
But indecision lingers till the hope is held no more.
One day you just walk slower, another you just try less.
Yet it’s always a bit more than you’re willing to confess.
Until you look back wondering just who you were before,
And see the man who would be king in pieces on the floor.
The mirror doesn’t hold your gaze, but an image long dead
Unto the million different ways you right wrongs in your head.
Broken views of a broken mind, beneath a placid face,
That never cease to twist and bind and beleaguer the space.
This toast I give that passing thought may readily dissolve,
(In eulogy of life in rot), the last of my resolve.
All sanity brought to the brink where reality ceases,
But no one ever stops to think of picking up the pieces.
Published 15th Jul 2015
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15th Jul 2015 8:55pm
This pieces brought pieces of fright upon me, while reminding me that I haven't gazed into a mirror in years... No words, touched my core with this hun..
17th Jul 2015 2:41am
Whoever said that mirrors never lie lied to us all, Noire. I could care less what i see in the mirror, it's what's inside of me... what's left inside I should say, that scares the hell out of me. Happy this *touched you, but hope it wasn't necessarily in a relative way. Thank you so much for your reply... always a pleasure to have your warming presence here. :)
Michael
Michael
16th Jul 2015 4:54pm
"One day you just walk slower, another you just try less.
Yet it’s always a bit more than you’re willing to confess."
"Until you look back wondering just who you were before,
And see the man who would be king in pieces on the floor."
~hot tear spill here.. the beginning felt more reflectiionary until
your Bam.. of these two sets.
Pieces always fall apart but..also,.. fall back together when poured juuust right, my babe.
think your virgo on that awhile ..and *hugs fer the place you were when feeling this way.
*kisses & lovestuffs
~T
17th Jul 2015 2:52am
Thank you for the (hugs) love. Not sure where I was physically when i wrote this but in all actuality, the dark and heinous place I was when I wrote this is the place I exist now mostly... right in the center of my skull. not sure I can ever be whole again babe, but I thank you for loving the pieces of me, and for the effort. :)
*kisses
Michael
*kisses
Michael
21st Jul 2015 7:47am
Shine_of_Darkness, luv ~ :-*
This poem I find immeasurably intriguing, mayhap because betimes I fall apart myself... ;-p I begin to believe a thing betimes, luv, a thing that may sound insane and, probably (definitely?), dangerous; nonetheless, it teases about in my head.
I posit: tis necessary to relinquish the pieces, let them fall apart (which they may not, you see) for it is our desperate attempt to hold them together that causes us the most grief. Now, let me unpack that further, luv. Bear with me, please. In the case of trauma, for instance, sometimes we try so hard to maintain rigid control over how we feel - stoicism is cultivated as strength, yet expression of those emotions is what we need and that feels like falling apart and is to a degree.
We NEED, us humans, to fall apart in order to put ourselves back together wholly, healthily. We require safe space in which to do this and time to process through. Falling apart is essential periodically when we have suffered a great deal. If that never happens and we keep shoving all that down, compressing it inside, endeavoring to make it go away, well, it does not. It seeps out of the compartments we endeavor to lock it into; eventually, if left untended and undealt with, twill cause systemic failure, mayhap, shutdown for a time (even catatonia?) until tis processed, until pressure is relieved.
Mayhap. Mayhap, luv. I find your poem, a brilliantly written piece (I have not yet determined whether that pun is intended or no :-p), clearly written by your clever and skillful craft, rife with potential, luv. You feel to me as though you are on the cusp of massive realizations and epiphanies, positive life-changing possibilities. Falling to pieces here does not seem to me to be the rot that you describe; I rather love this metaphor:
Until you look back wondering just who you were before,
And see the man who would be king in pieces on the floor.
Tis well-nigh perfect, luv. The man who would be king...let be the king, tis false construct; the God resides inside... :-*
This poem I find immeasurably intriguing, mayhap because betimes I fall apart myself... ;-p I begin to believe a thing betimes, luv, a thing that may sound insane and, probably (definitely?), dangerous; nonetheless, it teases about in my head.
I posit: tis necessary to relinquish the pieces, let them fall apart (which they may not, you see) for it is our desperate attempt to hold them together that causes us the most grief. Now, let me unpack that further, luv. Bear with me, please. In the case of trauma, for instance, sometimes we try so hard to maintain rigid control over how we feel - stoicism is cultivated as strength, yet expression of those emotions is what we need and that feels like falling apart and is to a degree.
We NEED, us humans, to fall apart in order to put ourselves back together wholly, healthily. We require safe space in which to do this and time to process through. Falling apart is essential periodically when we have suffered a great deal. If that never happens and we keep shoving all that down, compressing it inside, endeavoring to make it go away, well, it does not. It seeps out of the compartments we endeavor to lock it into; eventually, if left untended and undealt with, twill cause systemic failure, mayhap, shutdown for a time (even catatonia?) until tis processed, until pressure is relieved.
Mayhap. Mayhap, luv. I find your poem, a brilliantly written piece (I have not yet determined whether that pun is intended or no :-p), clearly written by your clever and skillful craft, rife with potential, luv. You feel to me as though you are on the cusp of massive realizations and epiphanies, positive life-changing possibilities. Falling to pieces here does not seem to me to be the rot that you describe; I rather love this metaphor:
Until you look back wondering just who you were before,
And see the man who would be king in pieces on the floor.
Tis well-nigh perfect, luv. The man who would be king...let be the king, tis false construct; the God resides inside... :-*
23rd Jul 2015 1:59am
Dear Savaja,
I am so grateful you have visited my page, and with such a comment as this as well. I wanted to let you know I have read it through...but will need to do it again in one setting in order to give you a proper response, (Been the most hectic 10 day stretch in my life). I read your genuine concern in this, and I thank you for that as well.
Michael
I am so grateful you have visited my page, and with such a comment as this as well. I wanted to let you know I have read it through...but will need to do it again in one setting in order to give you a proper response, (Been the most hectic 10 day stretch in my life). I read your genuine concern in this, and I thank you for that as well.
Michael
