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Poetry
by Angel Moulton
Into the Abyss
Depression hits me in the face and suddenly
I can’t breathe
Mania peeks through all the visible seams; nothing is ever as it seems
Salted tears stain my beautiful yet vulgar face
I begin to rust as my demons continue to make a fuss
I tried to jump over it, but I missed
I missed the kiss of this flamboyant cyst that happens to be happiness
Today I got called a pessimist
Yesterday I was told that I was “too idealistic”
Not everyone is an artist but everyone’s a fucking critic
Persistent yet functionally nonexistent
A self-proclaimed mystic
Clever yet a little sadistic
I let the pain adorn me, I let the hands of satisfaction choke me out
Measure my pleasure and hear me out
It’s whatever
I’d rather write poetry than scream & shout
Going down head first, clenching my fists
This itself is a thriller in motion, testing my wits; like a perfectly, imperfect notion
Within the depths of commotion, I decided to call a quits;
My emotions feel as big as the oceans
I decided to call a quits; now I’m floating and floating
I’m calling a quits
I’m tired of hoping and hoping
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[Distillate © HA&L + Angel Moulton | {from the Greek bios} -- the course of a life.]
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