[wasted]
it is—
not for rapture
not for pleasure
not for bliss
it's only a means
to lose himself in
the murky
disorienting
chaos…
and hope he'll never find himself again.
substance—
make his senses dull
make his vision blur
and hopefully he'll forget who he is
and pass out
on the floor,
falling into a dark
deep
dreamless sleep.
drink the libation—
alcohol lets him escape
lets him forget
numbs the pain of memories.
down—
more
more
more
his life is wasted
and so is he.
passing a mirror
on his way out the door
a glimpse of something is caught—
his reflection.
liquid pools of dark green
stare into his—
an exact copy
revealing hatred
malice
and the overwhelming truth
that he's been hiding from himself
for so long.
the green orbs stare at him—
so coldly.
they are empty.
they are void.
they are dead.
shatter—
a fist immolates an image
better off left forgotten.
a perpetual nightmare
in the form of the crystalline broken pieces
of his reflection.
blood—
flowing freely from his injured hand.
mingling with the glass shards.
staining his clothes.
irony—
while hurting others
he's only ended up ruining himself
and the broken pieces of his life
are left behind as he walks outside
into the dark alley—
out into the rain
where he runs through the puddles,
fiery hair disheveled,
and emerald eyes frightened
he's running from himself.
and water mingles with
the crimson blood on his hand—
let it wash away
as if it would also wash away the pain
echoes of his thoughts
are left in the puddle,
whispering
screaming:
i hate what i've become.
--Meirelle Emeraldeyes
06.03.01.
This was inspired by the Stabbing Westward song, "Wasted." They really aren't anything alike, but I guess if you listen to the lyrics and then read my poem you can see some similarities between the two. ^_^
3 Reno
P.S. – There was a typo there before. It's fixed now! Yeesh! How embarrassing! Typos in poetry!