Numb

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It all take a bit of getting used to
And the pain will no longer hurt.
It takes a bit of effort,
Then it will blur and fade.

I can’t feel.
I mustn’t.
I must be tough
Like steel.

It’s how I can protect myself,
From all the insanity around me.
From all the things thrown at me,
So I can still be myself.

Is this supposed to be normal?
Do all of you live in fear?
Fear for my every move,
And the consequences near?

Endure, I must, I should not falter.
Outlive, outlast, it does not matter.
Surive, I will, hope for the better.
Or die trying, damn this letter.

Turmoil

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In my mind, a tempest brews,
I cannot focus.
The whats, the ifs, the hows,
Clash against each other.

I cannot be calm.
For each step I take can bring harm.
Nothing is safe.
Nothing is sacred.

I am but a husk.
Living, but empty.
Going through the motions of the mundane.
Chaos is a tide I must ride.

There is no order,
There is no rhyme.
There is no reason,
Only danger.

Danger for my self,
Danger for my person,
Danger for my possession,
Danger for my future.

But I must endure.
I will not let this suffering win.
To die is to lose.
To live is to go on in spite.

I must stay still,
For the mind is swirling,
In chaos, never ending
I will…

Exhausting

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My life is being squeezed from me,
Hurray for toxic misery.
Each move, under scrutiny,
We’ll hear darkness’ victory.

My tiny corner, getting smaller,
With bombs all over the floor.
One tiny flinch and it’s all over,
I’m shaken down to my core.

I cannot breath, it’s suffocating,
Eyes watching my every move,
This heavy burden is weighing,
My grief can only prove.

This nightmare is just starting,
I see no end in sight.
This hell is never-ending,
I must endure this plight.

The demons laugh at my despair,
Their glee is in the air.
Respite is found nowhere,
I’m left with pure despair.





The Ghost Writer

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I have no body of my own,
I exist in another zone,
I speak up in the microphone,
The voice you hear, another tone.

I shake the shackles of my chain,
I cannot even moan my pain,
They shrug at me with pure disdain,
My existence has been in vain.

And yet, yourself, my words you use,
Constrain me with your own abuse,
Squeeze my essence for your juice.
For the things you must produce.

Exhausted

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I don’t feel like moving,
All of these, so tiring,
Internally screaming,
As the world is burning.

These burdens are heavy,
With no one to help me.
Piled up beyond safety,
This life’s a travesty.

This path that I’ve taken,
Has left me forsaken,
With trials and frustration,
And foul, dark emotion.

I’m exhausted, so tired.
Everything backfired.
I can’t move, I’m mired,
Just waiting to be expired.

Those Boring Days

silhouette of man sitting on grass field at daytime
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Remember when time stood still,
Nothing going on, you feel
That the days brought you no thrill,
All you got is time to kill.

Without a care of the world around you,
Enjoy the warmth of a fresh cup you brew,
Those simple, ordinary days, who knew,
Would change because of a worldwide flu.

An enemy hidden from the naked eye,
One wrong move, all may go awry,
Yet all’s not lost, the end we defy,
Though the solution in short supply.

Heroes rise in time of turmoil,
Sacrifice to win, they toil.
Fallen to this deadly coil,
Rest beneath the cold, hard soil.

All of us must do our part,
Stop the foe with all our heart.
The little things can be a start,
Stay at home, the spread we thwart.

When the rains stopped; the clouds clear.
We’ll look back upon this year,
On times of peace we hold so dear,
Before the world has changed here.

-Jomz Ojeda