Poem #326

This journal is a testament to my destruction.
In the quiet of the night I pray that the worst
parts of me don’t win.

I searched for something in everyone else
because I didn’t see my own worth.
And now I can no longer see myself.

This body is a shell that could break
if you just push it too hard.
But I’ve left it, I can’t feel what is done to it.

I wake up out of habit,
wondering why I make it each night
when every day is the same but
Somehow worse that the previous.

I live outside of the flesh and skin,
in a place where I am forced to see myself sink.
I stopped wondering how I got here.

What is left of me is floating up by the ceiling,
scared to come back to its dilapidated home.
I don’t exist anymore.

I am a ruin, a memory of what used to be a person,
an echo of a thousand screams.
I am what is left behind in absence of humanity.

The poem is inspired by a character from a book I have been working on called “Little Rebellion” and I hope I will be able to share it with all of you one day. For now, you can still enjoy my published poetry book Rehab

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