ebony King

march 5,2003-united kingdom
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my new favourite number

I don’t like rhyming.
I shouldn't so much explain the why but how 26 letters can translate this torment I'm enduring.
Like the words anger, sadness,rage all equal to 16 letters that cling to my skin like mosquitoes but with every suck a piece of my soul rips out of this sorrowed body.
This is mediocre.
I'm going on and on about a feeling that everyone experiences but I'm special.
Like every morning I wake up with a pit in my stomach that I fill with calculated ideas of me getting better that i'll try for the next day that I'll know will be different
and every night I go to sleep with the same pit of distress that this is the reality I own.
But i am special
The next day I wake up and use the new profound idea from the night before.
but this time i'm rotting
I take my medication that fuels me for the day
And drink coke to wash the dirt inside me that was building up from yesterday's cycle
I self loathe to make myself feel better
And I write to make this new day not as bad.
I finally stop rotting
Even if it's for 10 minutes, time stops and i feel back to earth again
Maybe lifes not so bad now maybe i can admire myself
And fix my mental health
And get a job
And maybe make friends
And go out
And go to university
And maybe just maybe make good poetry
My thoughts crave the uneatable,
You cannot eat time
And the 10 minutes turn to 10 seconds then i'm back to reality of writing bad poetry which i have to find different ways to explain why i'm not satisfied with 26 letters
- Ebony king
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