Atop the lonely mountain, this person stands.
Reminiscing about everything, remembering every battle that I managed to crawl out of.
As the stars shine above me, I cannot help but look back into the past with tears in my eyes,
This collision of stars that haunts me, as I stand atop a zenith.
It was a long climb, it started off as a whisper,
An attempt to pursue a dream while everyone rallied behind me,
Friends and family alike, pushing me towards what seemed like my pre-destined destiny.
I fought against it, unwilling to be chained and put under the illusion of choice.
But I went through with it anyway, because I realized that I could craft these words,
That I could probably make that dream come true,
And so into the breach, this writer went.
Never realizing that they were walking towards the abyss.
The horrors of torment, the voices that whispered in my ears,
Everything that I had hidden within me started to come undone,
A foolish beginner that tried to take charge of their emotions,
Where did that find me?
I grappled against my own thoughts, trying to tame them,
Trying to break them down and make them calm,
But I failed, time and time again, I failed.
What I transcribed into words was my pain, but everyone applauded.
Everyone applauded because I wrote beautifully,
That every word I crafted was precise and gorgeous,
That I could unlock their imaginations,
But at what cost?
Bringing forth all the skill, all the mastery I had,
Made me unleash an unrelenting assault on my mind,
As I slowly descended into the abyss,
I lost myself one piece at a time.
The words were cathartic,
A release of all these wave of emotions,
But at the same time they took over,
Conditioning my mind, making me see that I was only meant to suffer.
Because in my suffering, I managed to make pieces of art.
The adoration of many, I chased after it.
Drunk on power, drunk on love, drunk on their affections,
While the person inside of me started to die.
The whispers started to become screams,
The darker days came faster,
My health deteriorated and my mind weakened,
Yet I can still hear their cheers.
Distant strangers who simply scan through my work and congratulate me,
Friends who worry about what I am putting myself through,
Family that tried to get me back on the right track,
I was lost.
I was withering away, but I still wrote.
My mind was starting to tear itself apart,
The voices in my head grew louder,
Yet, I still wrote.
YOU ARE READING
An Anthology of Emotions
PoetryWhen pushed to the brink, when emotions are at an all time high, a writer will write. Against the ebbing tides, against the slowly dwindling time, a writer will write. All of the works written here were written with genuine emotion, driven by a clus...
