Apathetic

They say tomorrow will bring a happier, 

better day.

That as soon as I wake up I'll feel alright

in every single way. 

I adore you all, but it hurts to be lied to.

Lately every cell in my body has grown to be apathetic. 

And if you pull apart the first letter from the rest of the word,

that's what I've always been -- 

a pathetic person. 

And you, you always told me:

"It'll be okay in the end, I promise."

Its been a decade and nothing has changed.

Self infliction may have stopped for a bit,

but I still hold up the same wounds as if it were yesterday,

yearning for more.

There has never been a greater wish of mine than to just

do away with myself. 

If there was an easy button to all of this I would press it.

But it isn't within my grasp, nor does it exist.

How are you so damned happy?

I wish someone could just sit me down and hug me

 until all the tears evaporated and my body 

deflated 

until they realized they were holding nothingness.

It eats me alive. 

With every morsel I have, with every breath that I inhale from this godforsaken earth

within my withered, encased rib-cage, 

I am tired. 

I am so horrifically, earnestly, achingly, tired. 

And to the people that tell me I am worth something,

I sneer a thank you for pitying on me, for believing in something --

the walking tragedy: drenched in tears, swimming in a pool of somber actions.

I wish I could just lay down on your bed and wither away there, 

have the dust collect on my freezing nose,

and the remaining "thing" left on your once beloved place of comfort, 

would hold my identity: skin and minuscule bones.

My suicide letter wouldn't have to be composed of delicious quotes by

authors I knew I would never be held onto a gold pedestal 

as. 

But instead, it would be composed of my entire life, contained inside

all of your memories of me. 

Everyday that you went outside and saw me just sitting on the 

red dirt and wallowing in my own self pity, 

wishing that I could be as pretty as an azure butterfly or at least contain

some simple purpose, like the wall of a cocoon, holding its prize

with pride. 

My words were never enough to make you think otherwise. 

They were rooted in the belief that they would never make it out to become something

more. 

Until I dug up those words and those memories and that pain, and let it 

collect over a chain-link fence, 

building up only to be broken down yet again. 

Reviews

[Vile]

This was quite interesting actually, I liked that it sounded like a steady stream of thought that it all was being thought in an instant. Seems the narrator is filled with self-loathing and the feeling of giving up it seems. You conveyed the emotion in this very well. :D

[Glen Yumang Manese]

The articulate way you put this verse... the anguish within the lines... the reader is taken to a world of yours... letting out the inner person within you... and ultimately finding there's a lot more issues... yet to be discovered and learned from...

[Zero_Edge88]

"Ten years ago, I was a stupid kid, I made so much mistakes in my life that I thought I'd get away from all of it. I'd escape the ideas, find myself in a different world and when all there is for me to know about it I find that I'm just a kid. Stupid still, but to know that I did things in the wrongest of ways I found myself definitely in the worst holes in my life. Today I may not remember all the mistakes but once in a while when the scars do open I am reminded of the stupid kid I was once again."

"To know the wrongs of an idealist one must be the realist at its bluntest points for once they are here, there is no reason out there that an idealist will be proven right because they become mortally mortal. For it's not the apathy that makes it more than anything. It's the indifference of the mind and heart that makes us inhumanely human. More of that we become not the hermit but just a living corpse. Dead on the out but on the in we are deader. For what type of feeling does apathy bring whereas indifference that is filled with emotions of sin and recklessness we ought to be more human in there than anywhere else!"

"For when the days are ahead we must learn to leap forward to know that even when we feel down. It is not of apathy to look to instead make it indifference by then we know that it is the alienation and the compromise that we are making the human of us more alive than ever."

Broken and sad, better days is not the wish I would ask but instead it would be the continuous night sky I will always look for because by then I know the stars will be out as to your smile that will be found in them.

[L.Edward]

Vehemently bitter in a good way. The words of someone not afraid to feel the full spectrum of their being for better or worse. Better out than in I say! Sometimes it pays to take that rollercoaster ride down to find the way up again. Better then living in happy zombie land denial all the time.

[Sami Khalil]

"I am so horrifically, earnestly, achingly, tired.

And to the people that tell me I am worth something,
I sneer a thank you for pitying on me, for believing in something --
the walking tragedy: drenched in tears, swimming in a pool of somber actions.

I wish I could just lay down on your bed and wither away there,
have the dust collect on my freezing nose,
and the remaining "thing" left on your once beloved place of comfort,
would hold my identity: skin and minuscule bones."
I hope things turn out better for you eventually. If not it was a great poem...I hope you will have butterfly days in the future ...:)

[ThoughtsofShyann]

This really connected to a situation. you are trully talented keep it up can't wait for more!

[Saifer]

I enjoy how you've successfully linked so many different emotions and human conditions. There is a well established build up in this piece.I can say that its almost musical. It starts like a nocturne. Slow and sombre. It then slowly crawls up to a more aggressive and powerful scale. It continues it's ascension in an emotional crescendo. The notes continue to crash and conflict in the climax until it finally falls into a calm and cool sleep in the end. It vaguely reminds me of Tchaikovsky's 6th symphony. It's has the similar property of being emotionally well structured, which is really what I like most. Everyone has negative emotions. But a promising writer shows skill at bending them to his will. Writers aren't slave to their emotions, they are their craftsmen (and craftswomen? is that a word?).

[nihilistictablelamp]

That is an absolutely wonderful way to put it. Unfortunately, I don't suppose craftswomen is a word.

[Saifer]

I figured as much. Just a shallow attempt of avoiding to be attacked by the looming feminists.