Forum Thread

I will keep my poems here. That is all. Have a nice day.

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Hallowed, Now Hollow

I am but a shell
My mind knowing no hell.
A hollow mass,
Thoughts floating en masse.

To see oneself be forgotten,
Not unlike a piece of cotton
Upon another's mind,
Neither amiable nor unkind.

Sitting here, upon my throne
In my reality which I have sewn.
Watching it all fade yet stay
Having the texture almost like clay.

Brittle, is this shell.
Almost, but not quite, like a bell.
If rapped upon, it will ring,
But not like it is willing.

Sometimes, it moves,
When one think it proves
Any sort of usefulness.
But, alas, that is a jest.

Oh, to jest! Those were the finest of times,
The best!
To make jokes, to have fun.
But now, those are done.

Some parts cling on,
Determined to hang strong.
Who knows when those memories will fall,
Along with I, who stood tall.

Apathy dominates
While creativity sits and waits,
For a time to shine.
But it is snipped like twine.

Boredom encompasses all
While detachment does not stall
As it chases away
All other lesser emotions that wish to stay.

Dull is the mind of mine
Whittled down with the troubles of thine.
Constantly debating, choosing
What is the right thing to say without losing.

Although the mannerisms are sometimes hinting
Of larger workings, these are just a tinting.
A feeble facade
For the blandness, and the flawed.

Little does one find
In the going-ons of another’s mind.
This is just as well,
For if it were not, the displeasure would be hard to quell.

This cover for the blank space
Is a decorated case.
No light shines from within,
Whilst it could be broken with a pin.


I am but an ersatz man,
A puppet with no strings, no plan.
A pseudo human,
My gaze deadpan.


Disillusionment is the feeling
That sprouts in other’s mind when viewing
The being that is I.
It escapes their thoughts, their lips, a sigh.

Neutrality is forever broken.
In its place, a feeling of when
One has failed.
When one’s coffin is nailed.


The ending of this story,
A poem vacant of any glory,
Will end on an impromptu
Cue.

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Title: Jade

I can feel it growing
Day after day.
Over my skin.
Under my skin.
Becoming my skin.
Desensitization, becoming me.
Compassion, leaving me.
Impassiveness, boredom, disgust.
Filling in the cracks.

Eh, I feel better now. At least I'm not oblivious to the workings of the world.

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