Notes from a starving person, starving for sadness.
They say that the poet must interpret his surroundings and turn them into words.
If that's true, I'm the worst poet in the world.
But why does it matter? Such a word only has a meaning if I want to.
I try to spill my feelings on the paper, but I don't even have anything to spill.
…
Ironically, the only thing I feel is nothing.
Non-ironically, the thing I want to feel the most is sadness.
I've become a kind of mental masochist, who hurts himself for pleasure.
Do I do this because sadness is the only emotion I can feel?
…
I remember to this day, the feeling of being wrapped in tears, of being desperate.
Of not being able to breathe, of feeling like your life is hanging by a thread.
Nothing compares to that adrenaline rush.
Maybe just the feeling of looking at the floor from my window high up in the sky, and thinking how everything would work out if I dropped all my weight to the side, makes it worth it.
…
But that's a story for another poem.
Because the point of this one is sadness, and you can't be sad when you're dead.
Thanks for reading.
Posted Mar 22, 2022, 1:21 PM UTC
I relate to this so heavily. That lust for creative expression without emotional inspiration is hell.