The Bleak

This place

Or, this, not place.

A somewhere... Nowhere?

…

It can make you ramble like this.

Just being there...

It touches the mind,

A sort of, print, it leaves.

Can be hard to focus.

It's made of,

Well,

Nonsense, to the average mind.

Nonsense and fears, depressions.

All manner, anxiety.

It's not very bright, here.

And the light, that shows,

Is dim and a tint blue.

The ground is, complicated.

It's like your, ground.

Yet, not at all.

At times it'll be solid, tangible, but then, under your feet,

A swamp forms.

Or an icelake.

A crumbling sand.

Sometimes nothingness with bits and pieces of

Footing, Far and few in between.

The trees waver and twist,

Turning to bend down on you

Sometimes just to breath

on you.

Other times they're, not trees.

Pillars of stone,

Or or, columns of bone.

With with, skin for leaves and

Sinew for vine.

Fruit, made of eyes.

There are mountains, everywhere.

Not sure, where, exactly.

But you can see them.

Just, perpetually, out of reach.

I once tried,

Walking to one.

Every time I looked away though,

It was further away, or, same as where it was when I started.

I'm, certainly certain though,

That is where the water comes from.

Which is black as night and tastes one part ash,

One, wormwood.

All around are these,

These things.

Orbs of some kind.

Floating up, around, everywhere.

Flitting about.

I always get the sense that, they're watching.

All that, though,

Is fine. An excusable way,

This...

Works.

It can't help, but be what it is.

I just wish,

That,

The air...

The one, most hated, part of this...

It taste of pure

Suffocation. 

Reviews

[Marian Elizabeth]

I liked it... but it seems to me that commas are not used properly, and the poem becomes too choppy. Making a poem choppy can be a good technique, but too many drastic pauses will exhaust the readers, leaving them with a feeling that the lines do not flow because the writer doesn't let them...
I likes some of its diction and imagery though.

[The Poet of Black Wings]

Yeah. I was making the point that, well, it is choppy. His mind his speach. I, i do this for the art. Not people. People are idiots. Not you, you know what you're saying. Oh and thanks.

[Marian Elizabeth]

You are welcome :)