Bury me Alive

I want to strive for failure.

Put me in a box, of my very own
Bury me deep underground so I can be alone

Bury me alive

bury me alive

Bury me alive

Bury me alive

Bury me alive

So I can…

Bury me, bury me, bury me

until the words lose meaning, just like everything else in this world.

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39 Comments

      1. Excellent. Am coming up with a fantastic idea… all the assholes who are nice on the surface and think I am too stupid to see how they really regard me are getting a photo of my cat for Christmas. Obviously I will play the nice bourgeois narco-veneer and suggest I would be offended if they didn’t display my gift in their businesses as along the way they have all claimed to be into it. 🤔
        Hmmm… not the job I envisaged for myself when I was 16… but it pays.

        Liked by 1 person

  1. Sometimes I also want the chaos to stop and find some quiet place. Long ago, a very materially- successful writer penned that everything people considered invaluable and sought-after, was “a chasing after wind”. Of course that was King Solomon and he was writing in Ecclesiastes about depression, life without an internal peace, and finding relief and spiritual fulfillment. What you wrote here, I have felt also when I was a younger man. I can empathize.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. internal peace is the thing I have been searching for for so long, but I have wrongly identified it as other things because I just never realised what it was. I have misidentified it as needing to find happiness and security, but even when I found those I still felt the same and I did not understand why until now. Thank you so much. This comment means far more than you will ever know.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. This is a dark poem. Reminds me of how I felt in my late teens and early twenties when I had bi-polar disorder. Never had it diagnosed, but I had the extreme emotional highs and lows. I could tell when the depression was coming too, a day or two out, like a storm building on the horizon. Funnily enough, I actually liked the condition at the time. I liked the manic energy of the highs and the soothing clarity and certainty of the melancholic lows: nothing was worthwhile, everything was crap. It became addictive. However, once I realised it was a form of addiction, for me anyway, I fought it. I blocked the moods as well as I could and the emotional fluctuations lessened. I hate addiction; being controlled by something else. Sorry for the ramble. Your poem brought up some thoughts of another time. I like your poem. Nice work.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I read this comment a few days ago and it has been stuck with me ever since. I am in a better place to reply now. I was wondering if there is any chance I could get in touch with you so you could elaborate your comment for me? I know it is a big ask, but I believe I am in the same situation that you found yourself in.

      Like

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