Out of Focus.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Holy hell, this is a lot longer than I had thought it was, it only took like 3 minutes to write. Oh well. Please comment.

Submitted: December 25, 2007

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Submitted: December 25, 2007



I am out of focus
I am unclear
I cannot think straightly
Through these voices I hear
I drift in and out
And never do I sleep
I can only writhe
In my fallacious pain so deep
I suppress it
As best I can
But I am not well
And I have already began
To slip into insanity
These random thoughts
And repetitions
All my poetry the same
No name
For this thought that creeps
So very deep
Into my mind
My morals it binds
I’ve already used this rhyme
Multiple times
But it is my curse
Not a blessing
Just depressing
I had a dream last night
Though I never slept
Visited by that dark angel
Though already she is dead
But I cant get her out of my head
The midnight poet
Writing on me
She was taken
By this abstractity
That now grips at me
And I see
Why she could not bear it
She could not endure it
And can I?
Do I even care
Perhaps it will grant me
What death has not
Think deeply
Upon my words
They flow from my heart
As they did hers
My moonlit goddess
Condemned to hell
And I yell
Within my own damned mind
But I cannot find
Through this state of mind
What I had sought
Only what I did not
A staircase?
Leading up or down
I cannot tell
I tried
And failed
To grip its rail
Stained thick with blood
I am an iconoclast
Of all that exists
I create destruction
How oxymoronic
The opposite of war
Bringing battles
Perhaps rather ironic
But either way I don’t care
I am out of focus
And unstable
Within my own fables
And fallacies
I thought I could see
Through abstractity
But I am a mere slave to it
And I do convey to it
And never will I be free
For freedom is but a figment
Of our imaginations so wild
I am but a child
And still I thought
That I knew
But I am just ignorant
And foolish through and through
Perhaps I was wrong
About knowledge and truth
About this abstractity
Perhaps its just me
Deceiving myself
Than perhaps I am free
From these fallacies
And maybe I could climb
This staircase that taunts me
To heaven or hell
Perhaps they exist too
I should go to church
Perhaps my mother was right
Perhaps evil is birthed from night
And the cold
And salvation I should seek
For I am truly weak
I should never have sat
At my desk to write
And avoided this fight…
Well f*** that!
There's nothing wrong with me
I am an artist
And abstractity
Has no rule over me
I CAN see
Through these fallacies
I will not die in vane
I’m already insane
And I’ll take you all with me
Well, we’ll see,

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