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morgans-apologist · 11 months

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Invisible Polysemy

I consistently excel at invisible polysemy. Some people may call that just vague creativity.

At least I think they would if they knew what that term means, So perhaps I'll explain in ways that's known only to me.

In the form of a dream. One that sleeps infinitely. This dream will dream in ways that seems it's only reaching me,

And those are everything to me, and the things that are not. It turns and tosses daily. It causes things that I can't stop.

This dream should have a name, but one that's not misleading. We should call it "Dream" cause that name is so appealing.

There's nothing I'm concealing here, take everything at face value, But I'm worth the words that curse me so what price am I you?

Of course I get no response. After all he's still sleeping. He's in my bed. He's in my head. He's in the walls that I've been painting.

These walls, made of fire. You take one look and run, But I am dancing in the flames cause this is my idea of fun.

Dream is a man a part of me, he shows me what he dreams, And every night I fight. If he sleeps his life away, what's that make me?

I must stay awake. That is my true purpose. For I can't see a single thing if my eyes labeled me as worthless,

But that is how things are now. Reality is inception. Every second a false awakening will plague my true expression.

You only see these burning walls and the fucked up paintings in the halls. You don't see, what's underneath are all the things that I'm enthralled.

Insulated personalities made of dreams that you aren't proud to be, But I'm the one that set them ablaze. No more masks around to see,

But you don't act like it's astounding. You aren't impressed? Can you not see? All the effort I put in into this dream you call reality?

What if Dream woke up? What if I had slept? Would the universe die? The creators inside of me, would they have wept?

I should never overstep my purpose to inconvenience you, I'm worthless. I should just go cry inside and wash these walls with all your burdens.

Maybe then I could finally be something you'd expect of me. These normal bedroom walls are nothing strange, I'm a human being!!

So down the rabbit hole we go. I'm just getting started. I have eternity to explain the problems that make me lethargic.

When I look in the mirror, I'm a humanoid universe. Is this the nature of Dream? Am I just a sleeping curse?

The moments I wake up is simply nothing. It's just blackness. My life is lived in dreams that's based on self esteem and madness.

My reality doesn't exist. I live in worlds that you insist. I have to coexist with dreams consisting of the things I must dismiss.

I have graveyards in my backyard and diseases in my arms. I have crows flying over that knows no medicine in their hearts.

Plucking the value of all the people that's dead, and now you come after me. A lifeless form that constantly gives these corpses dreams and clarity.

I have rabbits in my head, they use my throat as a rabbit hole. I feed these fiends food and drinks and it makes me sick when they take control.

I have oceans in my closet. I have cages in my basement. I have several different people living here as my replacement.

I have playgrounds of pain, and some of us think that's insane, But then there's some of us who use it as the only form of playing.

I have poems and altered memories in my dreams I can't redeem. I have to believe that everything that was is who I came to be.

I have guns. I have knives. I have an arsenal of weaponry That these people in my home would use to have it threaten me.

What are the value of these words? Can what I say be trusted? Do you think you understand the simple things among each subject?

You see with your eyes and you hear with your ears, But people tell me I can't live that way. Not with how things are here.

You take it at face value when I'm screaming to look deeper. The more I dig and search inside myself, the more I find new features.

So I dig and I dig down. Pushing everything out of the way. Maybe I'll find something at the depths of who I am in any way,

But the more I dig and search, the more I remove what's always there, And now there's a hole in my chest from soul searching and no profit to make it fair.

I'm a grave digger. A crow. I feed on such defenseless people. Six feet to me is just a dream when nothings really equal.

My life, my identity; It's fair game to every part of me. There's crows and crickets filling pools of nothing I can see.

Maybe they represent my thoughts? I swallow my words and bite my tongue. I drink my blood because of the things I did. It makes me sick and numb

Maybe that's why toilets scare me. Maybe that's why I like to throw up. Maybe the wonderland I understand just won't let me grow up.

Maybe these pools full of nothing are being filled by things I think, And the rabbits come to eat away what leaves me on the brink,

But I am comfortable on the edge and I am beautiful in the dark, And I don't need a force of light to feed on no one's bad remarks.

This rabbit in my stomach; I want it to crave, I want it to starve. I want that desperation to feed off the things my mind has carved

My heart is like an asteroid, crashing against my chest, it breaks. They cause these tremors that last forever. It's like an eternal earthquake.

Maybe that's just decisions. Questions with answers I can't envision. They crash in my skull and paint the halls with incredible superstition.

Everything is fundamental when each choice is life or death. I hear your inconvenience talking when I can't dare to waste a breath.

I have threads and I have needles that sew my mouth shut. With blood in my mouth there's people screaming, but I don't know from what.

My wrists and arms are screwed together. There's knives in front of me, And I'm told to free myself and speak and choose to give what people need.

I see food and phones and houses. I see values and ideals, And any normal person here would probably choose to have a meal.

They have both hands and a map and a video guide of what to do When I'm at the mercy of a sadistic torturer who pities you.

I have ghosts floating around that boast their freedom and they criticize me. They yell and laugh and graft it on my brain to penalize me.

The alarm clock on the wall has set a timer for 5 seconds. If I don't loose the screws and cut the thread to choose, then I get threatened.

Have you been really trying to listen? Take everything at face value. There is no deeper meaning to what I'm saying that isn't true.

It's just a bunch of words. Strange phrases that can't be followed or heard. It's pain that's taken a life to gain, and you think that this doesn't hurt?

You don't need to understand. Just get lost in my wonderland. The place I live in everyday and dream of ways to change this thing I am.

I am my own world, and on my shoulders holds emotions, And they're crying storms, preventing the normal people from treading this ocean.

You don't truly enjoy the rain, you stay inside and feed your pride. If there was someone else that's right, you'd kill him just to make sure he's alive.

You're judging my dreams and burning walls but you're only adding fuel. I can't appreciate toxic actions if your intentions stay as cruel.

Maybe you're the fool, and you know that. It's been considered, But you advance and leap at every chance to make sure I'm who's hindered.

Insanity isn't thinking that "my horrible problems made me". It's opening your eyes and seeing that everyone alive is just as crazy.

Everyone around me, they're all crazy. They've gone mad. They carry voodoo dolls and haunt themselves with pain that they never had.

I look around at the world with my paintbrush. I paint the air, With beautiful colors that everyone smothers with pain and they act like it wasn't there.

I can't see. My eyes deceived me. I can't even breathe in all this hate. Am I to blame for what my eyes became and the thoughts my mind would state?

I'd go blind if I don't color the sun in polarized blue, Cause there's no such thing as darkness when im in front of you.

Hoodies, hats and glasses. They're my safe havens, my shades. When the world is flashing, colored, and lagging that blue hue is how I'm saved.

The blue hue, and the system. This shaded circle of chairs. It's a meeting of puppets and how they decide to convince me they're really there.

The person pulling the strings, I don't know his name but he looks like me. Why do I always try to convince myself that things aren't what they seem?

The world loves giving examples, similes and metaphors. Subjective comparisons that are invalid and unasked for.

Like, "light at the end of the tunnel" or "life is a box of chocolates", Or maybe "life is like a journey. You won't find happiness in your pocket",

Or "every rose has it's thorn". That's a common one, But I create my own every time that puppet masters done.

If I were a rose in a garden of hearts, I'd water it in the rain. During the days, during the nights. I have to water it through it's pain.

It has to be healthy, it has to grow. There's nothing wrong with giving more right? More water means more effort means more of a chance to see the light.

You stand over my drowning body, pouring water down my throat. You're saying it helps me. I'm growing and healthy, but we aren't in the same boat.

The surface is a wall and I can't push through. No gardens, no dreams, no polarized blue.

No burning walls or painted halls. No insulation here. Just the open ocean depths and overwhelming weight of fear.

I look around and see a sea of corpses, they all relate to me. Nobody thinks for a second that I might just feel differently.

That I might just be a little worse and I might not be exaggerating. Maybe I'm not trying to compete but that's precisely what I'm advocating.

Being selfish is okay sometimes, my issues are severe. Don't compare them with your inconvenient lives. I don't care.

I paint this picture with these mirrors so I can self reflect more clearly, But treating me like I'm nothing special just makes me wanna fear me.

I have a person in my head, using a typewriter for poetry. Everything I write and think and feel gets printed knowingly,

There's no room for these words. For these thoughts and emotions. It simply takes up too much space. It's causing way too much commotion.

Everything I write just gets repeated over and over again. Nothing ever changes, this is how it's always been.

How long do I have to be the same thing For you to understand a fraction of the stress it's causing me?

I hate what I love and I love what I hate. I have no personality that I didn't create.

I get upset with others for the things they always do, But I do the same things. I'm a person just like you.

I'm constantly aware of this. It's not something that I dismiss. Hating you means hating me, there simply is no difference.

I give and I don't receive. That's not something people conceive. They see me being nice and taking advice but then they turn and leave.

I know that that's not right but I shouldn't demand these expectations. I am the only person of whom I have an obligation.

I'm the only one I can criticize for the things that I don't realize. Even if I'm doing right by you, I'm a villain in disguise.

I'm a walking, human mirror. I'm the reflection of what you want of me. I critique the things you think and feel but not what I have come to be.

I'm a perfect, spitting image of the things I hate in you, Cause I force myself to be the things you need when no one's there for you.

I just don't exist, and every person disagrees with this. That's cause they're a victim of the villainy I commit.

No one can truly see the real person deep inside of me. I've changed and molded my whole being to let you lie to me.

I was criticized and hated for being whatever I was back then. I don't have the mental strength just to let that happen again.

So I changed and rearranged all the things you saw as deranged. I became a symbol of what they need of me, but it was not a free exchange.

I no longer have a me to be. No definite personality. Every trait I have today is for the people that surround me.

I imagine myself frequently what I would be if you weren't here. I just feel empty, less than nothing. Not even a problem here to fear.

Friends, family, enemies; all these people created me. If I resent them for the things they say and do then I'm just hating me.

I live my life for you. Its my only source of satisfaction, And I despise any reaction that isn't what I want to happen.

I have lights but no power. I live life in only an hour, And every time I close my eyes, my mind would show me bloody showers.

Now there's luminescent closets. Now there's sinks but with no faucets. I have doctors awkwardly explaining how I haven't lost it.

I have shadow casted statues of all the actions my mind passed through. I have screaming crickets, bleeding spigots and nothing to fall back to.

I have a stage in front of the world where I'm just screaming bloody rage. There's autographs and people cheering, but all I am is this one page.

If they could see my eyes that's filled with ink, or my bruised skin that's blue and pink, Or the hidden actions fantasized behind the thoughts I think.

If they could see the blood that's seeping from my mouth and what they're missing. I see the mirror and the pain; I take a drink, but they see kissing.

Am I drunk on pain or in love with it? Tell me, is there a difference? Does my ignorance of life entertain and pique your interest?

I have libraries of poetry that don't make sense to anyone. They just read and show their sympathies without understanding one.

My life is like a mansion with these windows of time. I look out the back and see the past without knowing if it's mine.

The statues and the crickets and the pools and the spigots. All the uninvited guests that's living here, they never visit.

The basement and the attic and Jacob's place of rest. Evelyn's closet, buried under trash and clothes, hiding from the guests.

The mirrors and the storm and the House of Death outside. The demon in the corner, there's nowhere left to hide.

There's thousands of me here today, staring at the moonlight, All panicking and running around, trying to do what's right.

I put on my hood and my blindfold, dripping blood from screwed in holes. With binded eyes that's filled with ink and lies, the pain would take control.

I have no problem with you. I merely want to be good friends. I want less tension and correction from all the trauma that didn't end.

I want attention and protection, I want love and affection. I want somebody who's words aren't filled with suspicion.

You tell me you care, but you don't call and you don't text. You don't give gifts or write me notes, well I guess what should I expect?

I cant expect you to care nearly as much as I. I guess unrequited affection is what im best at in life.

I'm that weird kid, that waits for hours outside your work To give you your birthday gift and I get yelled at and end up hurt.

I'm the one that pays for a vacation when your family is too much for you. When school and friends and drama get to be too much im there for you.

You use the hotel and the kindness I give to manipulate and rape me And now I believe every word every time someone would blame me.

When everyone turns against you and you have nobody else, I'm the who's standing up for that one person who needs help.

When you get embarrassed in front of friends, I'll embarrass myself too. I cant expect you to truly live if all the tension is on you.

I'll save thousands of dollars to do something nice. But when that time comes around, I'll no doubt, pay the price.

I am Invisible. Nobody can see me. Everyone says they care but none of you really need me.

I've never gotten a random gift. I've never felt true affection. I've never been in a situation where I felt a real connection.

Reciprocated love is all that I want. And people think its easy just because im being blunt.

None of you prove you care. All I hear are empty words. My hallucinations are more genuine than you, and the thought of that just hurts.

Invisible Polysemy is the best definition, For all the things I try to be that doesn't get any recognition.

All this effort, all this stress, and never a second where I digress. All for what?? For you to guess that all my problems just regress?

I shouldn't force these expectations. I shouldn't be mad at you. I shouldn't waste my time with people who can't see what has ensued.

I shouldn't think that you don't care. I shouldn't act like you aren't there, But anyone who knows me knows, I'm not asking for much here.

Nobody reciprocates a fraction of what I give, And the only satisfaction I get in life is helping others live.

I can be best described as Invisible Polysemy. Nobody can see the deeper meanings I keep inside of me.

I'm just a poem no one reads or even cares to understand. They don't understand the layers I've put in to who I am.

I can only blame myself for all the things that I don't mention, But asking for help is the same as begging for attention.

#invisible polysemy #poetry #mental illness

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