My Poisonous Remedy

This is a very personal and sensitive poem. Yes, it is about me and my emotions. Not my characters, not my friends, not my family.. solely me. You can relate to it of course, but I intended it for being about me. Some parts are exaggerated- the drowning, the blood, the very slight suicide mention. All in the poetic way I have with my thoughtful and intriguing poems. Especially the part about suicide. I don't say it like that though. I'm not sure if you'll even catch it. You will if you look at it hard enough.

I'm expecting mature comments on this post. Comments that relate to at least part of this post. If you can't do that simple task (or just not comment at all), then I don't believe you to be mature enough to handle the poem. Just be glad I'm sharing with all of you my hidden thoughts. About.. well, you'll see when you read the entire poem. It's free-verse. 

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My Poisonous Remedy

[A writing piece by S (aka Blue, aka Cutepups) written on January 6, 2016]

Isn't it funny how one 
Concept, thought, thing
General idea
Can look so, so
Simple
And become so, so
Complex
The deeper inside you go? 

Isn't it funny how this one concept
Can cause two polar opposites
Two extremities
At war with each other
Changing like the seasons
Depending on how severe it is?

Isnt it funny how it plays
With your emotions
So many times that you become
So lost in yourself
Lost in who you are
That you don't know
What is real and what is fake?

Isn't it funny 
How every beautiful, elegant thing
Has its thorns
That make you drown
In a pool of your own blood 
When you come in contact with it?

Isn't it funny how it can be both
Friend and foe
Ally and enemy 
Relief and stress
Savior and traitor
Poison and remedy
Pacifist and sadist 
Angel and devil
Good and evil
Purpose and waste
Help and struggle
Positive and negative
Light and dark
White and black 
Life and death 
Everything and nothing
And anything similar to this list?

By all of this
I mean something
That this is an example of 
And it is called
One word:
Writing 

Writing is my poison 
Writer's block
Fear I have no real talent
Fear I'll never be "good enough" 
Cringing at past writings from yesterday's past
Dark thoughts in my unstable mind
Thinking of ripping up all those writing plans
Tearing the pages apart into little, jagged pieces
Due to the sole purpose of seeing it all as a pathetic joke
But not just quitting
Deleting the future from being born
Deleting the past that brought me here
Deleting the present from ever getting better
Deleting it from ever being revived 
And most of all
Deleting it like ending my own life
Just like drinking the cup of poison set for me
By that one thing called:
Life.

Writing is my remedy 
So many ideas spontaneously bursting out of my head
Being scribbled onto pages of paper in a notebook 
Spark of hope that writing is the thing I searched for so, so long
My true talent, hope, happiness, and sense of purpose 
Thoughts as bright as the sun in my stable mind
Making me feel like I can accomplish anything 
Making me feel like I'm on top of the world
With just a pen and paper by my side
Feeling so alive
Forgetting how dead I feel inside underneath it all 
Making me enjoy life and want to carry on living
Life.

This is what my crazy relationship with writing is
Just my poisonous remedy 
My poison but also my remedy
Dying and reviving
Time and time again
Nothing more, nothing less
But a work of art.

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Until next post whether that be tomorrow, 2 days from now, 3 days, or a week...

Goodbye.