deepundergroundpoetry.com
your face
it has become a topic of thought, i ask myself
do you know that your face, it is also mine?
and how.. oh how i desperately wish for the mirror
the one that clutches to ....
a ghost of your smile, to s̷̼̔͑̀͌̍̄͗̇̀̀͒͝ ̴̢̖̣͈͉̬̠͓͓̝̭̜̑̓̾̽̀͝͝ṕ̸̡͚̼͉ ̴̢͙̞̬̝͈̫̬́́̐͛̏̂̋͗̍̐̾̀̕͝l̸̛͎̞̞̯̙͍͙͇̮͕̤͌̂̔̿̀̊̋̍̀̋͘͜͝ ̷̨͈̱̣̞̤̬͚̼̥͙̪̥̳̎̎͂̊̅̐͂͆̈́͘̚i̵̜̲͓̖̐̓̇͋̋͌̆̐̃͗̌͝ ̵̛̩̠̎̍̑̽̓̈́͝͠n̴̖̘̞̈́̐͋̀̋̎̍͆̅̂ ̷͇̩͖̜̞̣̹̞̪̜̟̻̒͛̃͂̆̓́͑ͅt̷̡̨̨͇̥͖͕̱̜̠̬̙̗̹̼̂́̆̈́̚͠ ̶̢̡̹̪̦̏̎͛́̅̈́̔̈́̒̅̿͂̈́͘͝ ̶̪̞̼̖͉͍͇̾̂̔̃̓͛͠͠͝ę̴̧̛̠̱̥͔̯̼̥͈͒͋͆̈́̔̒̑́̇̈̄̊̓̉͜ ̴̬̣̓̊̐̿̎̍̀͠r̵̞̗͔̪͍͉̠̱̒̏̐̾̂̎̒̐́̌͜
for the fragments hold remnants, your toxic brand
melted my skin to the hollowed bones, i have your face.
could i turn myself outside in; to melt the remnants
i hear your anguish in every attempt, each time... each...
t̵̡̞̮̘̰̜̺̹̞̯̤̄h̸̤́́͒̓̊͐̂͆́̉̄̃̚e̸͉̞̫̟̮͙̓͒͋̀͋͠ ̵̡̛̛̟͇͙̪̹͖̝͕͍̮̻͉͑̓̿̀̀̓̍̍̑̚ͅs̵̢̫̼̻̹̺̈ͅc̵̲̲̻̗̎̎̄͋͌̍͊̀̀̋͝͠ŗ̵̨̼͔͈̳̙̜̳̭̯̝͖͙̌̒͜͝ě̸̡̨̘͉̯̟̟̙̪͕̋̌̀̅̾͌̒̌͒͒̑́͝͝â̶̦̹̿̉͋̈̎͊̎̓̈́͂̓̀̕m̷̩̫̳̘̬͚̮͕̼̰̗̘͈̭͊s̵̺̐
FRAgMEnTed.
i've stopped making the attempt, sweet mother
blame me, you've branded me in with s̵͙̱̑̓̅̈́͑͑̽̉̓̑̃͐͆͘͝h̴̡̡̛̘̠̖̳̓̅̍̀̈̈́̇â̴̢̧̧̠̘͕̖͐͆͆̔̇̕͜͠m̴̧̘̗̱̲̝̝͉̟͆͆̿͊̀͐͌̋̿͜͜ẻ̴͖͙͊̏̓͗͠.
to clutch to the apron strings that flow like sand
(mother, please. i don't know how else to ask.)
i have your face, mom and honestly, i am filled,
remove this perpetual compulsion, please save me.
with terror, i will fall before i repeat, you will bury me
a ç̵̹͇͙̘̖͔̘̟̟̞͇̘̻̿̈̌̿̑͘y̷̙̘͖͒͐͊̽͒̓̀́̅c̷͓̞̹̠͍̹̝͈̤̈́̕͜l̶̡̗̙̖̟͖̮̳̮̪̑͂̀̋̇̊̕ȇ̷̡̩̳͇͚̼̥̍̅̋̿͒͘,̶̢̫̬͉͍̉̃̅͌̚ ̴̣̪̬͇̣̣̯̪͈̬͂̐͊̈́̒̀c̴̝̳̣̯̘̙̠̤̟͍̱̣̍̅̆͌̈͑̍̒̏y̸̡̝͇̯̗͓̟̞̲̝̥̝͚̐̃̌͜ͅc̶̼͚̫̯̝̤̺͈̝̙̦̗̤͋͛͠ͅl̸̟͚̱͙̜̆̍̽͂̓̌̀͊̀̓̕̕͝e̸̮̒̈̓́,̸̺̀̉̓̓̀̍̂̆̇̈́̉̈́̈̃͝ ̶̢̠̩̩̮͙̥̲̭̠̥̪̹͚͚̀̑̓̂̽͑̇͂̆̊̏̽͑c̵͈̫̜̺͓͋͗̃̽͗͝y̶̛̗̱̬̞̘̫͍̩̘͍͉̫̮̾̑̊̿̒͆̇̀̐̕l̷̨̨̨̡̧̧̳͖̪̠̮̬̞̹̎́̒̀̀̊̅̓͒͝͠ȩ̶̡̘̭̟͓̹̤̰͓͕̰͂̔̅̉͆̎̐̽̈͊̐̚͝- i will have your face forever.
and my heart struggles in vain to survive this too.
but you have lost me for good.
and your r̷̢̨̞̳̱̣̩͕̳̘̦͕̻͕̱̈́̑̋̾̾̕͝a̸͇̲̯̮̱̬̪̝̲͉̩̫̱̓̆͌͐́̇̓̈́̅̔͆͆̿̕i̷̧̧͕͇̞͍̖̭̣̭̗͓͖͔̐̓̈́̊̔́̑͜n̴͑̋̉ͅb̸̤̪̯͇͚̜̲̘̰̓͆͐́̈́̄͐̔́̆ͅơ̵̯̤̄͌̇͗̆̾̔̄̈̚̚͜͠w̶̡̢̡̛͚̦̳̲̲͈͎͕̪̫̉̓͌̎̉̕ͅ will forever,
oh mother, I understand your pain...
be mute and your world rendered grey.
do you know that your face, it is also mine?
and how.. oh how i desperately wish for the mirror
the one that clutches to ....
a ghost of your smile, to s̷̼̔͑̀͌̍̄͗̇̀̀͒͝ ̴̢̖̣͈͉̬̠͓͓̝̭̜̑̓̾̽̀͝͝ṕ̸̡͚̼͉ ̴̢͙̞̬̝͈̫̬́́̐͛̏̂̋͗̍̐̾̀̕͝l̸̛͎̞̞̯̙͍͙͇̮͕̤͌̂̔̿̀̊̋̍̀̋͘͜͝ ̷̨͈̱̣̞̤̬͚̼̥͙̪̥̳̎̎͂̊̅̐͂͆̈́͘̚i̵̜̲͓̖̐̓̇͋̋͌̆̐̃͗̌͝ ̵̛̩̠̎̍̑̽̓̈́͝͠n̴̖̘̞̈́̐͋̀̋̎̍͆̅̂ ̷͇̩͖̜̞̣̹̞̪̜̟̻̒͛̃͂̆̓́͑ͅt̷̡̨̨͇̥͖͕̱̜̠̬̙̗̹̼̂́̆̈́̚͠ ̶̢̡̹̪̦̏̎͛́̅̈́̔̈́̒̅̿͂̈́͘͝ ̶̪̞̼̖͉͍͇̾̂̔̃̓͛͠͠͝ę̴̧̛̠̱̥͔̯̼̥͈͒͋͆̈́̔̒̑́̇̈̄̊̓̉͜ ̴̬̣̓̊̐̿̎̍̀͠r̵̞̗͔̪͍͉̠̱̒̏̐̾̂̎̒̐́̌͜
for the fragments hold remnants, your toxic brand
melted my skin to the hollowed bones, i have your face.
could i turn myself outside in; to melt the remnants
i hear your anguish in every attempt, each time... each...
t̵̡̞̮̘̰̜̺̹̞̯̤̄h̸̤́́͒̓̊͐̂͆́̉̄̃̚e̸͉̞̫̟̮͙̓͒͋̀͋͠ ̵̡̛̛̟͇͙̪̹͖̝͕͍̮̻͉͑̓̿̀̀̓̍̍̑̚ͅs̵̢̫̼̻̹̺̈ͅc̵̲̲̻̗̎̎̄͋͌̍͊̀̀̋͝͠ŗ̵̨̼͔͈̳̙̜̳̭̯̝͖͙̌̒͜͝ě̸̡̨̘͉̯̟̟̙̪͕̋̌̀̅̾͌̒̌͒͒̑́͝͝â̶̦̹̿̉͋̈̎͊̎̓̈́͂̓̀̕m̷̩̫̳̘̬͚̮͕̼̰̗̘͈̭͊s̵̺̐
FRAgMEnTed.
i've stopped making the attempt, sweet mother
blame me, you've branded me in with s̵͙̱̑̓̅̈́͑͑̽̉̓̑̃͐͆͘͝h̴̡̡̛̘̠̖̳̓̅̍̀̈̈́̇â̴̢̧̧̠̘͕̖͐͆͆̔̇̕͜͠m̴̧̘̗̱̲̝̝͉̟͆͆̿͊̀͐͌̋̿͜͜ẻ̴͖͙͊̏̓͗͠.
to clutch to the apron strings that flow like sand
(mother, please. i don't know how else to ask.)
i have your face, mom and honestly, i am filled,
remove this perpetual compulsion, please save me.
with terror, i will fall before i repeat, you will bury me
a ç̵̹͇͙̘̖͔̘̟̟̞͇̘̻̿̈̌̿̑͘y̷̙̘͖͒͐͊̽͒̓̀́̅c̷͓̞̹̠͍̹̝͈̤̈́̕͜l̶̡̗̙̖̟͖̮̳̮̪̑͂̀̋̇̊̕ȇ̷̡̩̳͇͚̼̥̍̅̋̿͒͘,̶̢̫̬͉͍̉̃̅͌̚ ̴̣̪̬͇̣̣̯̪͈̬͂̐͊̈́̒̀c̴̝̳̣̯̘̙̠̤̟͍̱̣̍̅̆͌̈͑̍̒̏y̸̡̝͇̯̗͓̟̞̲̝̥̝͚̐̃̌͜ͅc̶̼͚̫̯̝̤̺͈̝̙̦̗̤͋͛͠ͅl̸̟͚̱͙̜̆̍̽͂̓̌̀͊̀̓̕̕͝e̸̮̒̈̓́,̸̺̀̉̓̓̀̍̂̆̇̈́̉̈́̈̃͝ ̶̢̠̩̩̮͙̥̲̭̠̥̪̹͚͚̀̑̓̂̽͑̇͂̆̊̏̽͑c̵͈̫̜̺͓͋͗̃̽͗͝y̶̛̗̱̬̞̘̫͍̩̘͍͉̫̮̾̑̊̿̒͆̇̀̐̕l̷̨̨̨̡̧̧̳͖̪̠̮̬̞̹̎́̒̀̀̊̅̓͒͝͠ȩ̶̡̘̭̟͓̹̤̰͓͕̰͂̔̅̉͆̎̐̽̈͊̐̚͝- i will have your face forever.
and my heart struggles in vain to survive this too.
but you have lost me for good.
and your r̷̢̨̞̳̱̣̩͕̳̘̦͕̻͕̱̈́̑̋̾̾̕͝a̸͇̲̯̮̱̬̪̝̲͉̩̫̱̓̆͌͐́̇̓̈́̅̔͆͆̿̕i̷̧̧͕͇̞͍̖̭̣̭̗͓͖͔̐̓̈́̊̔́̑͜n̴͑̋̉ͅb̸̤̪̯͇͚̜̲̘̰̓͆͐́̈́̄͐̔́̆ͅơ̵̯̤̄͌̇͗̆̾̔̄̈̚̚͜͠w̶̡̢̡̛͚̦̳̲̲͈͎͕̪̫̉̓͌̎̉̕ͅ will forever,
oh mother, I understand your pain...
be mute and your world rendered grey.
Published 11th Mar 2020
Author's Note
it speaks for itself and no, i am not okay.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
22nd Jun 2020 11:31pm
I have similar feelings in regards to my father. See: progenitors wake. If you like. Though my reactions or causes were not violent. But it was invasive, all encompassing manipulation... my mirror... it took eons out of me not to see his reflection
This looked incredible.., wow
This looked incredible.., wow
