not a poem, but a poem


it is pay-back
time in which the days were good,
of remembering the fun,
the laughter we shared,
caffeine we used to down
all yours now
and where I am left alone,
a string of insecurites
accompany my solace.

it used to be
that I could say it all
through words,
hands entwined,
eyes interlocked
during days of ‘reality’,
not endless dreams
or being forever awake.

I’m returning it all,
your heart,
attention and life
not because they’re not wanted
nor needed
but because you made me
you made me sad,
it’s crazy.

You were a storm
that caught me off guard
and I was swept
by your every wave
in all possible ways;
I felt the darkness in me
and falter
until the empty spaces were filled
of you.

I don’t want to pull you in.

© since 2015

I wrote this poem back in September, inspired/influenced by other members of the community I joined for my depression. I thought I would share, but not count it as one of my own- entirely. I hope you enjoyed.

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1 Comment

  1. A muse often becomes a mirror for words that share light reflected from the soul, the psyche, the heart of love … !

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