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A poem and my head space

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Well-Known Member
To the power of reading and not knowing who you are!

Surreptitiously alone and evocatively aroused, with calculating intensity I begin.

Page 1.

At first I don't belong.
The story is too long.

But then I begin to understand.
All the quanta of your mechanics
And all I want to do is keep you at-hand
But then I panics


The plot got tragic
And I am manic

The middle

Now, being less surreptitious and more gregarious onward haste I make .


Page after page I go
Being reborn every time I turn
Watch me grow
Can't you see it upon my quivering crown

The end

Now no sense of time, just with a rushing storm of unbearable wonder and dread I finish

What, no, why
I had not enough time
Oh my God I'm just going to cry
This ending is not fine

Do you not know how much I loved you.
All the shattered pieces of my heart are not fine.
What can I do now without you because all I needed was for you to fly.
Ain't I just such a swine.

Surreptitiously again I cry. All alone, no book, and in aloud thought inside my head I sigh

That was me.
Now who is am I

I know it's a terrible poem. I used to write poetry a lot but like most things deppresion stopped that.
I'm just feeling sad which is strange because an hour ago I was feeling happy. But the end of a book always puts me into a depression.
These last three weeks have been really hard on me. I feel like I am losing all sense of self. I am happy when I am distracted (SF chat does wonders for that)
But I am also hurting people because I'm tired, I'm exhausted more then I can describe. And it has made me bitter and grumpy. And I hate that so much. I know how it is too be so scared and alone and if I make other people feel that how am I any better.
For a second before I climbed into bed I honestly contemplated making sure I was not here in the morning. It wasn't depression or anxiety it was just a thought of I could and should I, is it the right thing to do.
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