deepundergroundpoetry.com
What Were You Expecting
Morning darkness lays
its web of lamentation across
these legs, numb and cold,
aching to move.
Its become a procedure to come
back from these dreams: anxiety reaches
a pinnacle and I have to coax
myself into being.
Connecting to anything
or anyone is jarring. It sometimes feels
as though my insides
are being squeezed through a shredder.
I'm not entirely sure I've properly
learned how to love people.
Or maybe I love too much, and it's
loss I can't reckon with; so I cover myself
in a layer of razor-wire, enough
to keep me surrendered and lost
to the murky depths that my psyche
continues to live in.
Here there is no loss
no pain
no
no
no
nothing.
its web of lamentation across
these legs, numb and cold,
aching to move.
Its become a procedure to come
back from these dreams: anxiety reaches
a pinnacle and I have to coax
myself into being.
Connecting to anything
or anyone is jarring. It sometimes feels
as though my insides
are being squeezed through a shredder.
I'm not entirely sure I've properly
learned how to love people.
Or maybe I love too much, and it's
loss I can't reckon with; so I cover myself
in a layer of razor-wire, enough
to keep me surrendered and lost
to the murky depths that my psyche
continues to live in.
Here there is no loss
no pain
no
no
no
nothing.
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