Poem: I Know You’re Tired

November 30, 2022

Image concept by Sophie with original sitting girl image by Sasin Tipchai and cloud image by Patou Ricard both from Pixabay

Sophie conveys existence’s anguish and strain

I know you’re tired
of the self-centred qualities, that will me
to spew lies, my
– diffident apologies

But what else is there to do
when chance of revival is obsolete
past delight out of sight, fulfilment of
– potential incomplete

Sweet, glowing comfort once fluttered
through your heart at my call; it soured
a cruel, bitter disgust that slows it’s
– beat to a stall

My dangerous affliction, fuelled
by addiction, forced you
into your mind, existence
– solely based on fiction

And it was in that paralysed paradise
cultivated from ideals, that you were trapped
in a prison of narcissism –
– apathetic to the real

Internally existing, divided
from your corporeal self, invited inheritance
of that egocentric trait that separates
– from all else

And all that keeps you from what
would be a voluntary demise, is craving
for controlled the unconscious, your
– heaven from the skies

Yet when access to this compelling state
of non-entity, is denied by your head
keeping you awake, its frivolous attempt
– to seek activity

Your idle mind automatically
rejects its own desires
you’re put on autopilot, only
– accomplishing what’s required

Like a zombie risen from
the soil and the moss, a desultory life
of solitude, vision clouded,
– spirits lost

Enthusiasm is futile.
Empathy not worthwhile,
when living a false life in a
– self-inflicted exile

And as I gaze upon you repeating
a never-ending menial routine, I see myself
reflected, you’re becoming
– what I’ve been

Everyday necessities
are Sisyphus’ rock, a reality
pitiful enough for the dead and
– buried to mock

But the snarls of those
taunting creatures of the night remain
trivial as all they feel
– for you is spite

For when consciousness keeps them captive,
reliving existence’s anguish and strain,
you’re dead in this world, existing in bliss
– on an alternate plain

Avidly anticipating twilight to
continue your nocturnal escapade,
a devastating sight for he who
– should have made

The living a place of minimal
betrayal and no hurts, but my mind
of straw seems to cause
– the converse

And as my clock slowly runs
out of ticks, I can see clearer
the torture my
– being here inflicts

I’ll take just one more swig,
swallowing guilt with what made me guilty
After all a shot of Glens
– pairs nicely with self-pity

In partnership with Write by You, a social enterprise supporting young female writers to develop their creativity, confidence and writing skills.

Sophie is 15 years old, living in London. She loves music and philosophy and often includes some combination of the two in her writing. Her favourite literary form to write would have to be poetry because thoroughly she enjoys the rhythm and pattern to it; however, she’d like to try to write a full story one day.

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