Array ( [sid] => 167581 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Words [time] => 2011-10-01 22:54:03 [hometext] => Just something I wrote about the feeling that can never really be described. Something that no one, no matter how hard they try, can have enough empathy to relate to. Please read!(: [bodytext] => Words can not communicate the wonders of my imagination,
They can not stroke my heart long enough to understand,
Nor can they fathom the chill of the breath that comes from me, a broken man.
Therefore, my imagination can not be dignified,
My pain can no longer be understood,
Believe me I would vent to you my paranoia, if only there were words that could.
Depression is just half of it,
Paranoid just a third,
I would classify my emotions for you, but there is no such word.
The screams of my mind are muted,
And my soul is beginning to hollow,
The expectations you are feeding to me are getting hard to swallow.
Walk a mile in my shoes,
but you will still be blind,
Never could you imagine these emotions quite like mine.
You could call my thinking a riddle,
and call my doing a trick,
But perhaps you should call a doctor, because my heart is growing quite sick.
[comments] => 1 [counter] => 118 [topic] => 65 [informant] => Katie101 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => toughstuff ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Words


Words
Date: Saturday, 1st October 2011 @ 10:54:03 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: Katie101
Words can not communicate the wonders of my imagination,
They can not stroke my heart long enough to understand,
Nor can they fathom the chill of the breath that comes from me, a broken man.
Therefore, my imagination can not be dignified,
My pain can no longer be understood,
Believe me I would vent to you my paranoia, if only there were words that could.
Depression is just half of it,
Paranoid just a third,
I would classify my emotions for you, but there is no such word.
The screams of my mind are muted,
And my soul is beginning to hollow,
The expectations you are feeding to me are getting hard to swallow.
Walk a mile in my shoes,
but you will still be blind,
Never could you imagine these emotions quite like mine.
You could call my thinking a riddle,
and call my doing a trick,
But perhaps you should call a doctor, because my heart is growing quite sick.


This poem is Copyright © Katie101


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