Brooding Nights

Sun, 03/28/2021 - 00:08 -- mIeNlFP

 

Nights are where my mind uses my saved stress to play out a story of rumination.

It does this for me when I find the peace that can’t obtain the goods that I assumed were lies.

My brain chemical is a foggy emotional abyss having thoughts play in my traumas to amuse me with it in a way that isn’t as deadly enough to lead to suicidal thoughts but poetically told to interests me in like a drug so it could at least feel like necessary pain.

Brooding is the opposite of meditating but still somehow therapeutic.

It's that melancholic aura that keeps attracting me.

The night is where I lay to rest my head but the mind never sleeps until the thoughts rest.

Trying to keep the bad thoughts out of the imagination to not make the dreams rot into nightmares.

The pain still runs deep in the sleep but sometimes it wants to think so much to find meaning.

An abstract thinker I was for a child but with childlike wonder, I could never get out of my mind until it got me.

My thoughts live for the painful memories to learn something all over again.

A free mind is a free soul that reminded me of my hell and kept me safe from myself.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741