The Pros and Cons of Thinking and Overthinking

Where thinking sharpens insight, and overthinking sharpens fear.

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I am a thinker, and I am almost always thinking,

and then overthinking what I have already thought

That’s what I do all the time, being a thinker,

thinking about what thinking has done and brought

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I believe I was thinking before I was even born,

of my fate and my purpose, and I was so thrilled

I believe I will be thinking after I am dead,

of my life, and if the purpose was finally fulfilled

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I believe I have always been thinking,

of my destiny and the paths leading to it

I believe I will always be thinking,

if I am on the right path or falling into a pit

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I keep on thinking of other things as well,

mostly kind and sometimes so cruel

The kind ones I reserve for others,

while the cruel ones are for myself as a rule

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I keep on thinking of dark possibilities,

the distance between a bullet and my brain

Is it exactly one impulsive decision long,

or do the decisions form a long chain?

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Or how much blood is sprayed everywhere,

when a bullet-ridden body thrashes around?

Is it just enough to write a final message,

or is it by buckets, and seeping into the ground?

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Or even how does the brain perceive the bullet?

Does it get frightened by the violent invasion,

or does it welcome the small projectile?

A possibility of completing the equation?

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Also, how much time do the memories consume,

to fade away in the darkness and to get extinguished?

Are they switched off suddenly and abruptly,

or are they slowly and gradually relinquished?

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I think, and I ask myself all these questions,

and when answered, the results frighten me

But sometimes the questions remain questions,

hanging stalactites, piercing my heart with glee

Slaughter of the Brokenhearted

This isn’t just dark poetry. It’s a massacre in verse — and the victims are the unhappy who loved too much.

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Go and kill them, kill them slowly or kill them fast;

kill them with your abject disinterest and disregard

Kill them for they forgive you their very own murder;

kill them for their hearts are now too badly scarred

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Go and kill them while they are still awake or asleep;

kill them with your bitter tears or your divine smile

Kill them for they risked thinking of the impossible;

kill them for they for once dared to dream awhile

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Go and kill them without any guilt or even a little doubt;

kill them with your characteristic bland indifference

Kill them, for they already hate themselves too much;

kill them for they have no great desire, no preference

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Go and kill them with your burning, blood thirsty, lust;

kill them with a dark vengeance seething in your heart

Kill them for they themselves beg for this final end;

kill them for self-hatred, too, is sort of an unusual art

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Go and kill them with either your swords or words;

kill them with no grey regret and no guilt whatsoever

Kill them for their cold hearts are no more throbbing;

kill them for they are broken, and are surely dead forever

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Go and kill them, though killing them is no fun at all;

kill them, for they won’t be able to either resist or react

Kill them for they dared to love too much like fools;

kill them for loving only one, was their very final act

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Go, deliver the blow and kill them before it’s too late;

kill them without even a sliver of sympathy and kindness

Kill them, for they want to now sleep and rest forever;

kill them for they are tired of all this hollow sadness

In Love with My Depression

Dear friend and venerable nemesis. Loathsome darling and arch enemy. Loyal savior and ruthless killer—a poem about being in love with the depression that’s destroying me.


Oh, where are you when I need you the most?

My dear friend, my venerable nemesis

You are wrapped in the dark grey shadows,

as silent as the chasms within the deep crevasses

I need to hear your poisonous whispers,

I need to go down, feeling your cold caresses


Oh, where are you when I desire you the most?

My archenemy, my loathsome darling

You are standing at guard within my heart,

a coiled dragon — ferocious and snarling

I need to be blasted by your icy fire,

I need to be ashes, a charred grey starling


Oh, where are you when I abandon the world?

My promised comrade, my sworn foe

You walk along with me on the path of life,

a dead man walking and his faded shadow

I need to walk till exhaustion kills me,

I need to feel the pain — the sting of a black widow


Oh, where are you when I yearn for company?

My loyal savior, my ruthless killer

You, freezing my tired and broken soul,

you, bringing an end to the boring thriller

I need you to kill me, for I want to sleep,

I need to be entombed within a granite pillar

A Shit-load of Exclamation Marks!

SCREAM!!!!!

You wanna scream at something – really anything at all;

you wanna scream at someone – really anyone at all

You wanna shout to make God bend down and call;

you wanna shout till your voice echoes in His great hall

But in the end, you are just screaming at yourself;

banging your own head against the silent wall

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