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Call

In tranquility, speckled with sunshine and flora,
alive with the breath of all creation great and small,
there is a call to destruction unanswered

inside the mind of the idle,
well and unwell,

thriving through sweat-stained joy,
yet still licking dried chaotic bloodstains
long since cleansed by the quiet of contentment,
yet still hearing cacophonous whispers of tedious conflict

Fires ravaging behind distant eyes
without rhyme or reason,
fanned by the winds of melancholia
without so much as a flinch

the call is wild,
though my response is mild,

In tranquility, speckled with raindrops and pavement
alive with the breath of all seasons warm and cold,
sleep now, calling, for you’ve no place here

(though you’ll always have my number)
Written by MgAl
Published
Author's Note
A poem about the occasional feelings of wanting to do something completely destructive or unhinged, even though my life and my relationships are more or less going well. There's always been an unanswered aggression in me that I feel I've always had to release in some way, whether it's through writing, singing, screaming, breaking something, punching something, etc. But never to cause actual harm, because I scare myself enough into realizing that things aren't all that bad, especially if I happen to be in a bad mental state. And then once it's all out of my system, I feel like I can go back to normal. Though it never really goes away, either. Inspired by one of my favorite songs, Hyperballad by Björk.
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