The abyss releases its loud and torturous cries.
I can hear the rumbling of trapped souls in agony.
My own fate is contemplated;
I am shaken.
Tag: Mental Health
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Nothingness.
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Tortured spirits bellow. The wretched place gives up its cries. Contorted faces stare intently through the soul with wide eyes. Zombie like figures through muffled cries, point with apprehension to where the toxic billows rise. The blue skies turn grey; the smoke overtakes the sunlight and all is covered in darkness. A red ribbon is caught up in the foul wind and swallowed by it. My lamp is heavy and my kerosene is low. Shadowy figures move in and out of the smoke filled darkness to and fro. The unbearable sounds of anguish go up into the clouds and are infused with the toxic smoke. The stench of it reeks; the sounds of sadness and unfulfilled dreams cause me to weep. The darkness inhales the smoke and is euphoric in its exhale. It is intoxicated with the sounds of suffering. The earth is heavy with the saturated tears of the oppressed. The oceans roar in anger and the earth’s core erupts. Measured steps are taken, lest I fall into perpetuity. Crows fly overhead en masse. The realm is turned into black pitch. The treacherous bridge swings and sways as I attempt to walk over the abyss. Save my dimly lit lamp, I am blind in the darkness. Crippling apprehension fills the void. I am consumed in desolation. I recite the works of Dickinson and Poe. With heaviness of heart, I will write works of my own torment and sorrow. I will walk in the dark and horrid place and blend in with the shadows, in hopes that hopelessness won’t know.
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Walls witness tears in dark rooms.
Debilitating illness drains strength
And leaves one listless and withered.
The venom of fear infiltrates bloodstream
And relentlessly infuses itself.
Movements are slow and measured.
Lethargy renders the once youthful
Spirit to ashes and dust;
The chaos of the mind is manifested.
War rages behind bloodshot eyes.
Days of the week are forgotten
And become useless and irrelevant.
The sun is not felt or seen for months.
Time is measured in moments of reprieve.
The toxicity of it is potent, and unforgiving.
Pain is purged through tears and loud cries.
Thoughts of existence are contemplated
And weighed in the balance. -
In dark and isolated places
Where suffering is endured,
Tears of sorrow are not seen,
And whimpers of agony are not heard. -
Dried teardrops are invisible. The heaviness of sorrow lingers. Agony of unrealized dreams are consumed by the darkness. Remnants of pain are left on a razor’s edge. Angels weep.
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The billows of peril blow;
The smoke of never ending agony
Is involuntarily inhaled,
And enters the bloodstream;
The torturous moments
Are replayed over and over.
The body tries to rid itself of the invasion,
But once it starts, it cannot be stopped;
It must run its course.
It is difficult to remain calm as panic ensues.
Descent into the abyss seems imminent;
The darkness is frightful and consuming.
Afflicted souls cry out
And reach for a place of light;
Hyper-vigilant eyes scan corners
In the darkness of night.
The pulse rate increases
And the heart palpitates.
The cries of the sorrowful
and the afflicted are seldom heard;
The dividing line between sanity
And insanity is easily blurred.
Windows to the soul are bloodshot
And clouded with tears;
The emaciated appearance
Is the result of the hardship of the years.
Curiosity of passersby cause them to look
Deep into the eyes;
The suffering of the soul is seen;
They quickly look away in horror—
And many cry upon witnessing
The utter desolation and ruin of that dark place.
Tired Souls listlessly huddle together in pitch darkness,
And together await the dawning of the sun;
So that heaven can hear their plea,
In unison they continuously hum. -
Her silence is not golden. It is hard for her to speak. She is listless and tired. Her eyes are the written volumes of her life. Read through the pages thoroughly, and in deep concentration. See the torturous blood that flows through her veins; feel her sorrow. Hear the agony in her voice.
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The darkness drains me and leaves me listless. I stumble around in dizziness and shortness of breath. My dark feathered friend the crow, tilts her head, and looks at me through keen eyes with a certain peculiarity. I wonder if she can sense my pain or see my despair. I was in love once, but my beloved abandoned me once I arrived here. I was asleep and was awakened with fright; I reached for her but she wasn’t there. She left a sordid note stating:
My love,
I love you, but I can no longer stay here. I care for you, but I can’t deal with the darkness and fear. I’ve tried to understand you, but it’s all just too much for me to bear. Here’s your ring back, and you can cancel the wedding arrangements we made for next year.
Sincerely,
AlynaI could feel the darkness taunting me and laughing at my sorrow and tears. The darkness wants to take from me, leave me with nothing and strip me bare. She would leave me when I needed her most, in the middle of the night, under the pretense of care.
It was that night, that the darkness embraced me tightly, and whispered foully in my ear: They will all leave you, but I will always be here.
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In the pitch darkness of desolation, the sun doesn’t shine;
I have my sight, but in the deep darkness of sorrow I am blind.
Intimate Compositions 