Sickly Hollow

Hopeless, hopeless...what a recurring theme...come up, fall down, lie still...crawl, then to our knees...walk...then down again.

Oh God help me; I know not what I'm doing;
this world keeps turning, and blurring,
and I don't know where I am going.
It is constant, constant this aching strain of my heart;
Sick, I'm sick, my soul festering, I am so infected;
I just keep waiting, waiting for the healing to start.
Shut up, shut up, these voices inside my head;
the dark is closing in, air is heavy, life makes me claustrophobic,
and I feel silent, still; so silently still and dead.
 

Author's Note

No, I was not insane. Come on, who hasn't experienced a strain of insanity? Where they began to really question 'Am I mad? Utterly mad?', in that fit of confusion and depression...They were tough times...

Reviews

[Raven Wilson]

Haha what can I say, I really just LOVE your Poetry!