Me, Myself, and Die

Sad is a word, and so is fucked
And I cannot be one who is now
A word or even a sound loud as a tear

It is a secret wound
A death of truths and their sunny ruins
A mind torn away to etch itself into missing here
Into my misery
Like a wry smile lost in a found isolation

A coy pain
A somber puddle of joy dehydrating like time will
Disappearing into a place that will not ever leave me

It is a ghost that fills my body’s lone flesh
A memory of hopes that have died before the lightening came
Just to laugh at myself
And the madness that will transcend what was erased
Just like justice joking and choking on the pit of sacred love

My life, my loving; It has never been about ‘me’.
And here I am surrounded by the selfish world of pain’s might
Of painful victories turning yesterdays into oblivions way

Go away pity
Good-bye waste of shame; all irrelevant blame.
Hello you cannot maintain, or ever end my love.
Fuck you, Thief of Mental Heath
Fuck! The anger will not last.

© Copyright 2008 C.C. Arshagra

From “The Poetry of Good-bye” manuscript series and collection. (Unpublished work)

Me, Myself, and Die

C.C. Arshagra

NEW BRITAIN, United States

  • Artist
    Notes
  • Artwork Comments 8

Artist's Description

I really do not like to use ‘fuck’ and words like that in my poetry, but in this one I DID.

Artwork Comments

  • pijinlane
  • C.C. Arshagra
  • Mariam Muradian
  • C.C. Arshagra
  • karo
  • C.C. Arshagra
  • pijinlane
  • lianne
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

10% off

for joining the Redbubble mailing list

Receive exclusive deals and awesome artist news and content right to your inbox. Free for your convenience.