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.


  1. 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.


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