SABOTAGED BY THE SOUL SICKENING SYNDROME OF BEING SENSITIVE
SABOTAGED BY THE SOUL SICKENING SYNDROME OF BEING SENSITIVE
Why do I feel like waking up all night and writing POETRIES that have no MEANINGS?
Why do I feel like listening to all Taylor Swift ALBUMS on repeat before I actually GRADUATE?
Why do I feel like lightening up mind , with that INK PEN to perpetual INACESSEBILITY?
Why do when I look at my SCARS, I feel so BURNT INHERENTLY?
Do you cursed me in your DREAMS , like ALWAYS?
Do you wished for my APATHY , like FOREVER?
Do you still wanted to KILL. ME , like you do in APRIL & MAYS?
Do you still enjoy to HURT ME , WHEREVER, WHATEVER!
I cooked up stories in my mind, like so FEVERISHLY,
Going to places in my heart and knotting them to my brain, GENUINELY
Drinking my tea, along with my favorite toast, REALLY ,
But you had something in yourself, that always end up hurting me , so BADLY .
Aversions in love and disrespect in hate, are my diresome CASUALTIES,
With clutter I live, but with you, I feel like drowning, NAUSEATINGLY,
Cutting up my veins and putting bandages all over me, do you STILL RECOGNIZE ME?
Blinded to HOWEVER you acted, demise comes to me wrapped in ANXIETY .
Glass bottles stranded over my table, with no water in them,
Just empty that they fall out, on floor, in the end
Some smashed on my head,
Like I am suffering from a SHATTERING SYNDROME , already feeling DEAD .
Grand consolation, great diversion, I AM no more feel SANE ,
As hurt has HIT me in head, and harmed me in my NUCLEUS ,
They say ~ feel till you don't feel anything,
But I feel stabbed in my head, so I always end up writing a CHRONICALLY ILL POEM about you, instead.
I sometimes wish to know, how you feel?
SAME as me, or INSANE as me?
How could someone adjust to hurting someone at the very same place, so PERFECTLY ?
But I guess you are built like that.
I probably think I should book a session or two of THERAPY , for my mental health,
That kept Deteriorating every now and then, to keep myself PROFUSELY engaged in the realm,
But how could I be WELL , when I have you within me, LEFT ,
So I should bury every piece of regret , INSTANT.
I have put no REFERENCES in my diagnosis,
I have told my PSYCHIATRIST , that this is my last MALADY ,
As I have a BRUTALLY SENSITIVE SYNDROME to feel everything, lately,
Beneath my BONES and BURNS , lies an inconsequential heart that often end up lamenting about TRAGEDIES.
So end up performing the facade, of SEEKING SANITY ,
One after the other, in my DECENT DELICACY,
Writing the proses and poems of MINUTE INCONVENIENCES , DAILY ,
But this WRITING, really KILLS me, TRUST me.
Could you lend me another PEN , my verse is still INCOMPLETE ,
The last one sounded like A SAD SHAKESPEARE SONNET , so PERFECTLY,
But this one makes me CONTEMPLATE , what if my CONTEMPT breaches, his MAJESTY
And he handcuffs me for SCRATCHING another SORROWFUL SONNET about him ,
rather than DYING , INSTANTLY.
Why do I feel like waking up all night and writing POETRIES that have no MEANINGS?
Why do I feel like listening to all Taylor Swift ALBUMS on repeat before I actually GRADUATE?
Why do I feel like lightening up mind , with that INK PEN to perpetual INACESSEBILITY?
Why do when I look at my SCARS, I feel so BURNT INHERENTLY?
Do you cursed me in your DREAMS , like ALWAYS?
Do you wished for my APATHY , like FOREVER?
Do you still wanted to KILL. ME , like you do in APRIL & MAYS?
Do you still enjoy to HURT ME , WHEREVER, WHATEVER!
I cooked up stories in my mind, like so FEVERISHLY,
Going to places in my heart and knotting them to my brain, GENUINELY
Drinking my tea, along with my favorite toast, REALLY ,
But you had something in yourself, that always end up hurting me , so BADLY .
Aversions in love and disrespect in hate, are my diresome CASUALTIES,
With clutter I live, but with you, I feel like drowning, NAUSEATINGLY,
Cutting up my veins and putting bandages all over me, do you STILL RECOGNIZE ME?
Blinded to HOWEVER you acted, demise comes to me wrapped in ANXIETY .
Glass bottles stranded over my table, with no water in them,
Just empty that they fall out, on floor, in the end
Some smashed on my head,
Like I am suffering from a SHATTERING SYNDROME , already feeling DEAD .
Grand consolation, great diversion, I AM no more feel SANE ,
As hurt has HIT me in head, and harmed me in my NUCLEUS ,
They say ~ feel till you don't feel anything,
But I feel stabbed in my head, so I always end up writing a CHRONICALLY ILL POEM about you, instead.
I sometimes wish to know, how you feel?
SAME as me, or INSANE as me?
How could someone adjust to hurting someone at the very same place, so PERFECTLY ?
But I guess you are built like that.
I probably think I should book a session or two of THERAPY , for my mental health,
That kept Deteriorating every now and then, to keep myself PROFUSELY engaged in the realm,
But how could I be WELL , when I have you within me, LEFT ,
So I should bury every piece of regret , INSTANT.
I have put no REFERENCES in my diagnosis,
I have told my PSYCHIATRIST , that this is my last MALADY ,
As I have a BRUTALLY SENSITIVE SYNDROME to feel everything, lately,
Beneath my BONES and BURNS , lies an inconsequential heart that often end up lamenting about TRAGEDIES.
So end up performing the facade, of SEEKING SANITY ,
One after the other, in my DECENT DELICACY,
Writing the proses and poems of MINUTE INCONVENIENCES , DAILY ,
But this WRITING, really KILLS me, TRUST me.
Could you lend me another PEN , my verse is still INCOMPLETE ,
The last one sounded like A SAD SHAKESPEARE SONNET , so PERFECTLY,
But this one makes me CONTEMPLATE , what if my CONTEMPT breaches, his MAJESTY
And he handcuffs me for SCRATCHING another SORROWFUL SONNET about him ,
rather than DYING , INSTANTLY.
LEEZA
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