PsychedAngsty

I follow them home again today. They're always wearing a hood. Just a hood on just a person. No, somebody more, but what? I follow them, they're just up ahead, But they're always faster than me. I just want to see their face But they're always out of my reach. They turn around every street I know And suddenly, they are no more. I give up again, walking home, And I can hear footsteps behind me. It's just a person, coming my way, So I carry on, but I hear The footsteps behind me, closer, faster, Before I know it, I'm running. Can't stop wondering, too curious, And I look back, a big mistake. There's more than one head, face, v

(This poem came about after a moment of quiet contemplation, not in the wake of any recent events. This poem is not alluding to literal death in any form. All death mentioned in this poem is meant to be viewed in ironic, figurative, or hyperbolic light rather than at surface value. I am not advocating murder or suicide, and if you misunderstand this poem enough to believe such, you are in need of some serious help. I am also holding no specific grudge against anybody.) Today, I killed my classmates With laughter. They were very busy laughing. The depression that usually flies about their head Evaporated into nothingness The moment I tol

I had a nightmare. I was running. But I couldn't tell From whom Or why I was running. I wasn't fast enough. I wasn't strong enough. I ran long enough But all that time wasn't enough. It would've been nice if there were trees. It would've been nice if there was a breeze. But it's a nightmare Without luxuries, So of course I'm running with no air to wheeze. No wood. No stone. No concrete. Barren. Yet somehow, the shadows I run on Aren't soft. The corridor is endless, And so are the other corridors I can run into. The possibilities are endless. But she catches me too quickly for me to explore. I had a nightmare. The gr