Anxiety

Anxiety

There is fear inside of me

The monsters under my bed

Are reality

They are not tangible creatures

They are memories

But make no mistake

They still have the sharpest teeth

I feel sick

When the walls began to speak

I hide from the light

And loathe myself for being weak

Worthless

Used

Broken

The only courage I have is thrust upon me

To defend those I love

Inspires endless bravery

Because somehow I broke that cycle

I will not let someone be hurt like I was

But the devil on my shoulder

Says it will never be enough

And the angel fell silent long ago

I am the patron saint of lost causes

And he knows

This isn’t self-hatred

This isn’t low self esteem

It is the struggle

It is the scream

Because I wear my terror on my sleeve

Perhaps that makes the most courageous of all

A coward at the edge of the cliff

But ready to fall

Because I am not scared today that I feel the horror

And I am aware that there will always be more

And this is war

I can’t accept defeat

The fear can crush and cut

But it will not kill me

Soul Searching

Iconoclastgrey Word Artist

 

Soul Searching

 

Where is my world?

It is not here amongst these lonely walls

It is amongst the laughter of my so-called friends

Or is it?

Is it in the softness of a kiss?

The concentrated anger of a fist?

Where am I?

I do not recognize the black halls.

I cannot make out shapes in this dim light.

All I want is a magical somewhere,

Where I am but a solitary puzzle piece.

Not just another cool white star

Scattered in the night.

I have found so few to hold,

Yet to care is to lose control.

I want to wrap myself in the downy warmth of my beating heart

And fall into the little loopholes of my soul.

I want to grasp the handholds of severity

That inhabit my mind.

Forever never seemed so real

As when my dreams recalled the wonder

I have never felt…

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Why.

Iconoclastgrey Word Artist

Why.

Cold air and breath like mist
Like a broken compass, directionless
Endless questions that will not be dismissed
I consider my freezing hands and ponder my wrists
I displace time and space, in a paradox I exist
Like Schrodinger’s cat both dead and alive
If you dare to look inside
The box is not locked
But the danger is implied
Because reality is simply
The truth you choose not to deny
Don’t think for a second you can trust your eyes
When the mute can’t keep secrets
And the blind lead the blind
Perception is our only guide
In the endless universe of our minds
And that at best is fallacy
We are lost amongst the galaxies
In a single thought there is endless potential
In a single moment chaos can become exponential
Like sparks of inspiration that fall in a glowing shower
In a second, there is power

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Paranoia

Iconoclastgrey Word Artist

Paranoia

I let this house grow dark around me

I count these minutes by the songs I am listening to

Because the music makes it almost bearable

Why is it always emotion?

Why is its name so often terror or rage?

I wait for my skill to fill up the page

But anarchy is staging a coup in my brain

Racing thoughts

Determined not to be caught

Go off like gun shots

And I can’t grasp a single thing

And we wonder why

Kids are committing suicide

In this world of “mental illness”

With not a moment of stillness

It’s the prison of this palace

Or absence of life

Give me a moment…

No. Not good enough

Why do I feel like there are men with guns?

At the top of observatories

I don’t trust anything

Because I see angels as killers

With blood on their wings

And demons as…

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I’ve Got Your Back

Iconoclastgrey Word Artist

At the tender age of seven I started to write about the pain

The words flowed from my pen and onto the page

And in that moment, that single moment I realized who I was

And who I was to become

Words got thrown around like “genius” and “prodigy”

But they never mattered much to me

The words I remember the most are loser and freak

I wear them proudly

Who wants to blend in and conform with this broken society?

So my rebellion grew more and more

I’m a nightmare with a metaphor

Because too many kids are terrified of what they feel

Too many monsters turned out to be real

And my past is a specter that drains my life

Always waiting for the moment to twist the knife

But for once this isn’t about me

This is about every kid who feels more than ready

To tie…

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Dreamer

Iconoclastgrey Word Artist

Dreamer

 

Through a mist fuzzy greyness

I see my body from a distance

I am floating in a cool green sea of calmness

Each sensation intensified

And I am content in my thoughts

Then my mind fills with hope

An emotion for the weak

Murky memories and potential dreams

And I see through shattered eyes

That I am the dreamer.

Looking through windows watching

My head on my pillow wishing

The faithful cries of mindless loyalty

That provide a little tin god

Something to believe in

Within cold skeptical glances

and masses of faceless critisizers

Still cruel to myself I believe

My empty insides hope

My mouth silently screams

My zombie mind grins

And I

I dream

 

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There is No Never in My Mind

Iconoclastgrey Word Artist

There is No Never in my Mind

There is no never in my mind.
I have not known death
Though it knows me.
I am the grace of survival
Embodied in extremes
I am simple complexity

I know nothing of the future
Doomed as I am to feel the past
I have never understood the black and white
Only the shades of grey
Of the iconoclast
I thought I knew my world
I thought I had known every reality
But your existance leaves me searching
For the things I know
The abandonment
The fallacy

You are an enigma
Living, breathing
A secret of infinite telling
A lovers tryst of endless meeting

With no concept of your beauty
With no concept of my awe
You embody honest imperfection
Reveling in each and every flaw

You are my patient keeper
Something wonderfully unknown
You gave me what I thought only an idea

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A poem entitled Betrayal of Who?

Betrayal of Whom?

I am drowning in your gentle treachery

Even your generosity

Is a Machiavellian means to an end

I sip the poison that you have made so sweet

Until my body and mind become so weak

That I am convinced I am incomplete

No longer equals our eyes never meet

You are a cataclysm in slow motion

A train wreck from which I choose to avert my eyes

Insidious yet obvious

I find that it is all

A clever disguise

That hides

The actions that lead

To a self-induced, inevitable demise

I am the fool who thought I was different

Just anoth^er sycophant

Who believed the movement of your lips

And you, with skills that surpass

Even the most brilliant sociopath

You show your predator’s teeth

In that smile of wrath

But now you are the fool

For thinking I would never pull back the curtain

To reveal the egomaniacal wizard behind

But it’s always been such an effective ploy

To deeply underestimate me

To make me doubt myself perpetually

To make me feel that I define failure

Simply by not being what you want me to be

I am no longer willing

To devour the toxin you call devotion

No longer willing

To be dosed with the drug you call love

No more proximity happiness

Because mine is no longer defined

By what you consider success

And your constant judgment

Has been rendered meaningless

I have been down this path before

So I know I can predict

That you will get what you want

You will always achieve

You will always be right

But forever, peace will elude you

The short-lived happiness you find will never be true

And you will spend eternity trapped

Alone with your own twisted point of view

A poem entitled These Hands

These Hands

 

We as artists have a bad habit

Not of thinking we can change the world

But of knowing it

And we are all searching for that little bit

Of immortality

Something that will long out live us

And come alive again

Every time

We enter the heart or mind

Of another

Whether we die in obscurity

Or in a fine mansion

Whether we are introverts

Or chasing celebrity

We are the same

This year has caused great insight in me

As hard as it has been

I have asked the question why

So many times

But never before have I asked what?

What matters?

What really matters to you?

And while these words are fine

And get me higher than I have ever been

It’s you

You who I love

And you who sees me for who I am

And manages to love me still

For every scar

For every scream

For every kindness

And every dream

You love me still

To thank you would be a disservice

As those words can never be enough

All I can offer in return

Is my own loyalty

My own love

My own promise

You know I have a knack

For breaking things

But I also have a talent

For picking up the pieces

So give me your heart

And as gently as I break it

I will heal it

You give me a chance

When no one else will

You breathe into me life

Even when I don’t want it

Your sacrifice does not

Go unnoticed

Let me leave you with this thought

I will carry you in every word I write

And I will hold you with these hands

These hands that change the world

A poem entitled A Silent Thing

 

A Silent Thing

I am in mourning

But not like a widow standing before a shiny new stone

I am weeping, but not because of my own sadness

I am lamenting for you

Once you had my loyalty

My love and my esteem and my honesty

And now you have a void

Filled with false, almost nonexistent fealty

I would speak to you of all of this

If I thought for a moment you would listen

But really that would be a selfish plea for change

And for those of us who know Ending

We know that when something is truly over

It is a silent thing

I thought that if this ever came to its expiration

Dramatic, deadly harbingers of doom would be seen

I thought it would be an apocalypse

With burning comets falling from the sky

But the end does not come in fire and ice

As so often has been implied

It comes with something that should inspire far more fear

The end comes in cold degrees of apathy

And it is already here