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I don't know who I am. Broken and shallow, hollow with value.

Mind's breaking, my heart's shattered, my feelings? It doesn't matter...

I cry tonight for the eighth time, sleep brings in the fear, being awake leads me here

I'm a poet fair to say, from even of Sunday until my sight goes grey

I loved her with all faith, she turned her back on me to walk away

Now I'm nothing and she's so high, she doesn't see how she makes me cry

I wanna say I hate you, I hate you so much you whore...

But every time I try I'm silenced by my internal war, screaming its me, its me

When in reality its her, she's like my addiction, but its really just inside my head

I don't want her, I hate her...I wish she'd go away, but my doctors always say...

My Psychosm... It's here to stay.

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Psychosm. The first of a series of poems I'll be posting. Not many of my poems are meant to rhyme. So... I hope you enjoyed it.

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Submitted on
July 21, 2012
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:iconslingshotmeow:
=slingshotmeow Jul 21, 2012  Student Digital Artist
did you mean psychosis?? great poem
Reply
:iconsaulemori:
=SauleMori Jul 21, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
In a sense, but I decided to call it Psychosm as if it were meant to be seen like a religion almost while also being a mental disease. Thanks though.^^
Reply
:iconslingshotmeow:
=slingshotmeow Jul 21, 2012  Student Digital Artist
that's actually brilliant! and you're welcome
Reply
:iconsaulemori:
=SauleMori Jul 21, 2012  Hobbyist Writer
Wow, thanks.^^
Reply
:iconslingshotmeow:
=slingshotmeow Jul 21, 2012  Student Digital Artist
you're welcome
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