A Slow Mental Bleed
Shaun Cloonan 1978 (Fountain Valley)
So much rage feels like my brain is raining razor blades. Cutting and slicing my thoughts up into tiny little violent fantasies, bare-handed felonies, premeditated melodies, bone-crushing catastrophes, blood-curling screams of pleas, free cost of entrance fees, into this theme park of abnormalities. Sometimes I scream at God for peace, to give it all to my sweet little niece, life’s forced me down to my knees, stuck in a state of disbelief, I don’t know when I became such a thief, this wasn’t what I pictured when I was three. What the hell is it that I need? Definitely not a life full of greed. I’ve never felt convicted to breed, or maybe there’s something wrong with my seed, prolly due to way too much weed. I was just trying to become freed, from this darkness that seems to enslave me. I don’t know why it’s always so mean, or why I can never seem to stay clean. I’ve never been successful at trying to ween. All my senses have dulled, no longer keen. Full of resentments sitting in the canteen, I don’t remember giving away everything. So many past mistakes, ugly deeds, like trying to outrun a swarm of angry bees. Falling all the way down the regret tree. Tired of having cops yell at me, screaming to freeze! I’d rather just try to outrun, feel the breeze. Lost the ace I had hidden up my sleeve, prolly fell out when I sneezed, I seem to have an allergic reaction to me. What I wouldn’t give for some wings, fly my ass in the Fall to back east. The only thing that seems to bring me any peace, those beautiful colors of red, purple and green! I swear I feel God’s hand on me, protecting myself from me, thick with Grace and Mercy, don’t stop, continue please! Nothing in this life is owned, it’s all but a lease. I hate all these insecurities within me. I wish I could just let go and be released, and get to go sailing on the seas of cheese. Before my body shuts down and starts to seize, from some new strain of future disease. Or from severe loneliness, six-foot distancing. I wish I was more like you, easily pleased. Washing myself from head-to-toe drenched in bleach. Sometimes I have to remind myself to continue to breath, cause it feels like there’s a hand on my throat trying to squeeze! My minds slowly dying, a slow mental bleed. Spent a lifetime trying to perfect, “a selfish appease.” Empty handed, hollow-hearted, sit your ass down, don’t be tardy, welcome to Salvation Army.
©️shauncloonan
About this poem
It’s written in English
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Written on July 15, 2022
Submitted by RamblingsOfaDerangedMind on July 07, 2023
Modified by RamblingsOfaDerangedMind on July 18, 2023
- 2:12 min read
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Quick analysis:
Scheme | A |
---|---|
Characters | 2,462 |
Words | 442 |
Stanzas | 1 |
Stanza Lengths | 1 |
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"A Slow Mental Bleed" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 11 May 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/163420/a-slow-mental-bleed>.
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