Monday, May 15, 2017


It’s so zoetic.
So immensely pathetic.
That I breathe my obsessions
That fuel my depression.

I’m envious.
I’m full of pettiness.
When I’m angry I can break things.
When I’m scared the anxiety stings.

Because my mind scares me
When I go from mood to mood.
Because my heart it scares me
When it beats faster than I want it to.

It’s so zoetic.
So fucking prophetic.
That my past will dictate
every move that I make.

It’s convenient
That I’m irrelevant.  
When I ache I can break down.
When I cry I curse the sound.

Because my thoughts frighten me.
How can I possibly make it through?
Because my feelings frighten me.
Tell me what am I supposed to do?

It’s zoetic.
So extremely poetic
That my falls don’t mean I’m out.
Isn’t that what life is all about?

It’s a consensus
that I’m overzealous.
When I’m high I can’t calm down.
When I’m low I’m flush with the ground.

Because my soul it terrifies me
with my constant negative point of view.
Because my obsession terrifies me

with the thought of losing myself to.

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