Tag Archives: psychological poetry

In Love with My Depression

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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 Dialogue with the Mirror

Posted in Poetry English by

‘You wretched beast, you pitiful ghoul’ —the cruelest conversations are the ones we have with ourselves.

An intense, confrontational poem structured as a dialogue between the speaker and their mirror reflection, exploring the painful disconnect between outward appearance and inner reality. Through powerful metaphors of shattered mirrors, extinguished suns, and lightning-struck trees, this raw verse examines the masks we wear and the darkness we hide.

You! Yes you – you wretched beast!

perhaps you are me or just another priest

Trying to creep and trying to crawl,

within my sad existence, a great, dark hall

Trying to wear and trying to see,

my skin, through eyes silent as the dead sea

You! Yes you, you pitiful ghoul!

perhaps you are wise or just an old fool

Don’t try to understand my twisted life,

a tree struck by lightning, yet playing the fife 

I stand strong and mighty, towering over all,

strength is what I feign, in the end I will fall  

You! Yes you, you pathetic creature!

perhaps you are true or just a damn preacher

Don’t try to love my tired and broken soul,

I look like a knight and inside, I am just a troll

I am but a mirror, shattered into a million shards,

keeping you all blind, I always hide my cards

You! Yes you, you faded, grey wraith!

perhaps you are ignorant or just acting on faith

Don’t try to be kind, with empathy on a roll,

a sun with extinguished fires, I am a lost soul

My sins were all black, they spoke of my desires,

my regret is now cold, just ashes and burnt pyres

A Dialogue with the Darkness (Previously, the Darkenss Within)

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When the self turns inward, the sharpest blade is awareness.

__________________

I want a sharp knife;

the sharpest of all I have ever seen in this life

A knife with an ivory grip and a gleaming edge;

engraved with obscure ruins, carrying a death pledge

__________________

I want to plunge it into my belly;

slicing it across, all through the quivering jelly

Cutting open myself and savoring the soothing pain;

smelling the oozing blood and enjoying the red rain

__________________

The steaming guts will spill out;

and so will the coldness, without a doubt

I want to confront the coldness under my skin;

I so want to face the raging darkness within

__________________

I want to feel their texture and what makes up my core;

the ice-cold mercury seeping out of each pore

I so want to sense their force, so binding and so freeing;

their powerful darkness vibrating in my being

__________________

I want to question them all, the unanswered queries;

hanging in balance, the forever silent juries

I want to challenge them all, the reservoirs of valor;

forever loud but hollow, the reds masking my pallor

__________________

Why do you reside within me?

Perhaps two despising lovers smiling with glee?

Or are you sent by my respectful adversaries,

not really bothered, and just two emissaries?

Nostalgia: Scratching the Healing Sores

Posted in Poetry English by
autumn_nostalgia_by_kotenko

What if nostalgia isn’t healing—but a wound we keep reopening?

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I am addicted to the pain, the sweet throbbing pain

I am fond of the pleasure, the long steady rain

I am addicted to nostalgia, which comes at my leisure,

the memories and regrets, my great and humble treasure

__________________________________________

I am addicted to scratching my old healing sores

I am fond of the pain, it lives in all my pores

I scratch them and peel them, the dry, brittle crust

I nick them and skin them, the gold-brown rust

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I am addicted to scrubbing the old, clouded mirror

I am fond of reflecting, my past growing clearer

I see them and smell them, the sepias and the musk

I recall it all vividly, the dawn and the dusk

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I am addicted to being lured in by its deadly charm

I am fond of its false promises, all sincerity, and no harm

I see it as the raindrops caught in a great spider’s web,

seducing me, entrancing me, the dance and the ebb

__________________________________________

I am addicted to all the waves, the ups, and the downs

I am fond of the onslaught, the smells, and the sounds

I perceive it as a storm, all chaos and destruction,

my mind is the stage, it’s a theatrical production

__________________________________________

I am addicted to my past, a slowly burning pyre

I am fond of my journey on the path of desire

I am addicted to nostalgia, my friend, till my death,

I am fond of its company, till my very last breath