Floating on Myself

 Floating on Myself 

Disoriented, suppressed, distressed, and manipulated.

What I feel encountering the tsunami of emotions.

Can't bear on lights.

Or any connection with others or rations.

Devoured by pessimistic self-talk,

drown by self-triggered negativity.

First, attacked by indescribable rows of incidents.

Second, humiliated by evil deeds and moral deeds at the same time,

criticizing without any mercy and mocking paradoxical social personas.

Emotions and feelings scare me out.

Nothing or nobody can notice me.

They would run away from me.

Even I would not approach myself.

Songs or poems can't reach my deepest soul.

Only will time let me forget shames and struggles, not letting them be solved permanently.

Past chains future ambitions. 

Present weeps past sins.

Future holds its breath silently.

Wandering around in the darkness,

never given the solution,

I float on myself.

My egos,

My regrets,

My burdens,

My bygones,

My paradoxes,

My accusations,

My determinations,

My solely warm tears with a frozen heart.

Only a few hours of sleep can make a difference.

Oblivion let me breathe just like nothing has happened.

But the very next day 

Only can I sense the differences

in my laughter,

in my posture,

in my glance,

in my solitude,

in my appetite,

in my salutation,

and in the weight of my body and soul.

Discovering bruises weren't marked on my body,

I doubt they were cleared in my mind. 

I manage to erase some of the uncertainty about how I am fragile and brittle,

by shutting down thoughts with dull songs repeated hundreds of times,

by shutting my mouth in front of other beings,

by shutting my eyes longer than I did as I got nothing to do.

This unbearable recognition of myself being needy but isolated turns into vanity.

Only writing is the way I can shout out for help to this world and those people.

Although hardly do they figure it out.