Doom

If I take much of it,

I'll be afraid, I'll opt to stop and perhaps I'll feel like I'll never be able to be sober or alive again.

But hold on;

Before I took it.

It felt so cold, so overwhelming, so painful, so depressing, so devastating, I'm even suicidal when sober, I'm super scared when sober and when they say I abuse drugs, I wonder how lone they want me to be.

.

I can't sleep

The genuine rest I have is after taking a pill

I can't be happy

The genuine laugh I have is after smoking pot

I'm not honest

The truth come out only when I'm in pain

I'm never clear,

The confidence comes out when I'm high

I'm always in the closet

The clear image of me is after you've seen me broken

I hide alot

I let out especially in pain in shame in regret

I like the thought of being left alone after everyone's dead but it dawn's to me that I'll die before them.

So when I take a little just to sleep or laugh or be sane or say what's been nagging me, let me have my closure in peace. 

Poetry

Weird

Encounter weird that felt like I was his sucking balls yet his cock was already hard, so weird that I missed my steps some fucking times till I was hopping,I tripped nigga, conversation so weird the problem wasn't clear and still it felt wrong that I stood there eager to leave yet I was supposed to stay, could have been a romantic moment awaited in ages,a phase so weird yet it wasn't ending.

She may be someone or something unique ,so weird yet dark in brighter way, she's someone I don't know yet I have alot to tell about her, she's not around but always there, she's a foe to people who know nothing about her, she can be sang, she can be rapped, she's an awesome psycho, she's a consoler and listener to some, she's an escape route yet the pain giver when meditated on, she praises even the darkest minds, she's the source of the  voice,the urge to scream out and say it loud what can only be heard in silence,

She's an instrument that brings about peace, she's diversified and perhaps something that comes from the heart, she's poetic she's poetry, the home of houses lived and unloved.

Happy world poetry day.

In memory of her

''Why don't you cry at funerals?''

My best friend asked while clearing her nostrils, she might have caught a cold I bet from mourning the dead, she looked sad, confused that God was unfair yet still his consoler, she looked miserable and I always found this funny, I don't know how many times I held my laugh awaiting the end of the burial.

I don't cry, 

I cried at 3 am when she had her life together yet I was breaking lose,I cried at 3 am imagining how death would hurt though now it doesn't, I cried at her coldness towards me yet she was at ease, I cried at her praises her jubilation her progress, I cried at how she had everything figured out.

I don't cry since she didn't have everything figured out liked she seemed, I don't cry because of her foolishness her pettiness her spite towards me, her irritable nature around me, I don't cry since I'm sad am mad that she chose her own death, I don't cry because I can't cry at her speck of her left, she's not here anymore.

Fuck! Why don't I cry at funerals?