deepundergroundpoetry.com

Smash the Mirror; You Aren't Here.


It's just like a little urge to throw yourself into oblivion, the want to be torn into tiny molecular pieces and inevitably cease to exist. Look at the reflection and stare into what you are and where you are, but know that there's no real impact. Seeing the future is as if looking into the vast emptiness of the center of the galaxy, faintly tasting of raspberries with the burn of cold rum. In the end you realize there is nothing there once you've taken this odd little path that decides to drop ninety degrees when you least expect it.

Once the void you know and grew to loathe is finally covered up with a thin satin sheet you can tell everybody that you're okay, you're used to it, everything's fine. Watch them all get ahead in life while you stare at the void that always pushes the sheet in and out, never knowing when it will suddenly disappear and suck you back into what seem like the endlessness of eternity.

If you ever hear the birds sing you know they're trapped in a cage, like you are. If you ever hear the wind blow you know it never reaches you to give your breath back. If you ever see another smile you know they're actually pitying you. If you ever see a mother walk away, you know that.....

Let's break this down into something like string theory, where you can branch off in every little direction, where in fact it becomes more complicated. Doing this creates all of these, yet doing that creates all of those.

Eighteen was the worst inescapable decision of my life. It's impossible to be an adult when you were never allowed to be independent, watching others succeed around you while you just looked on through a thick plate of glass, being fed every once in a few hours by the hand that feeds.

Suddenly the hand is gone.

You sit in this little room with a bed and chair, watching everyone else go about their ways while you starve and smile, cry and cringe, die and live. Feel yourself withering away as everything in your room turns sickly and unkempt along with yourself, knowing that no one could give a rat's ass if you suddenly ceased to exist.

It's a funny feeling that makes you want to do stupid things.

Ruin yourself.

Poison your body.

Become a sell out.

Curl up in a corner.

Bleed until you're happy.

Black out.

Forget.

Yet in the end everyone abandons you and you have no choice but to....

You already know.
Let's face it.
I'm meaningless.
Written by Chandler (Gleana Snipoms)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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