The A.M, Poetry by Mazi

Genre: Mental Anguish/Melancholy

The A.M.
by Mazi

Covers and acoustic versions,
Through headphones.
Fresh and scarred perspectives,
Through eyes adjusting to darkness.

The darkness of the room,
Complements the darkness of the mind.
The darkness of the heart co-exists,
Past yet Within every second boom of this vessel of, supposed love,
of mine.

At 0 hundred hours,
I’m behind the scenes.
At 1 hundred hours,
I’m assessing decisions.
At 2 hundred hours,
I’m falling to pieces,
Like a mismatched puzzle that is ever so deceiving it’s evil.
At 3 hundred hours,
I’m in thought, in nostalgia, in regret –
All accompanied by repressed thoughts, feelings and emotions.
At 4 hundred hours,
I’m self-loathing –
I’m livid, creating clouds of a forthcoming storm that never quite forms.
At 5 hundred hours,
I’m comparing my burdens to others,
Finding loopholes to my shit,
Convincing myself my sisters and brothers have it worse –
And with the right words, maybe I  soften the blows from the self deprecating hits that slowly miss, me.

At 6 hundred hours,
It feels like a new day, though the same detrimentally gleaming eyes are the ones seeing the world and things.
The sunrise, brings light to the darkness of me –
The darkness seeps back to under my skin,
Unsent messages move back to memos and within.
Tears dry and with the right light you’d swear they weren’t there –
And it’s instantly easier to fake that smile again.

At 7 hundred hours it’s bright, it’s blue.
“I’m okay, I’m cool.”
Walls up,
Jokes ready,
Laugh set.

The rest is simple – either drown or swim; or both actually.
Till 0 hundred hours,
Till the new AM,
Till it ends and begins again.
Till I break and repair, my friend.

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