Laughter,
usually such a blessed thing
rains down upon my grief
poisoning my corrupted mind
transforming grief
into depression.
For then I wondered
what I had done to shatter
serenity into a hollow distant
friendship?
Or so I had hoped:
she laughed,
I crumbled.
Fallen into a state of
slow motion reality,
I continue on
as if I could just shrug it off
but the weight of eight months
bore down on me.
Eight lousy months of happiness
left me as a hollow core
of the person I used to be.
Will he be back?
Author notes
I had a dream last night about my ex yet again. She still troubles my conciousness so I thought I'd try some poetry therapy. Doubt it'll do any good, but I figure it's worth a try. Maybe I was stupid in trying to hold on to the friendship after the relationship died, but I sure didn't know that my efforts would reward me by amplifying my grief into depression that still shows no sign of abating.
I want my old self back.
Comments
-
I particularly like the ending to this piece. It's obviously quite personal. I find when I write something this directly personal it isn't therapy at all, but a way of extending and focusing the punishment. Hopefully it helped you though. Will she be reading this ?
-
-
Sorry about the ridiculously late comment here. I've been online so I really don't have any excuse, I just forgot and such. As for whether this poem extended the punishment or serving as therapy, I really don't know. Writing stuff like this seemed to help in the past, but this once and former relationship just seems to have left me damaged, physically as well as mentally, alas.
As for whether or not she'll be reading it, the only answer I can give to this is I doubt it. I just wrote it for myself really, and decided back in February never again to contact my ex, so if she sees this, she'll have looked it up on her own. I suppose it's possible, I gave her links to my AP site back when we were in a relationship. But I doubt it, she doesn't seem the type to dwell like this as much as I am.
-
Adding your comment:
