5 Painful Poems by Teresita Blanco

Emptiness 
by Teresita Blanco

This feeling of lethargy

Consumes me,

Haunts me,

The thing that once

Gave me pleasure

Has become bitter to me.

All roads lead to heaven.

All paths lead to hell.

The empty soil calls me, Beckons me,

What was it all for?

Why did I live?

Why did I survive?

There is no reason, really.

Another empty face, to fill up space.

Inside an empty world.

Inside an empty universe. 





Editor's Note: I think I was lazy when I wrote this poem. Maybe I was sad. I usually write when I am alone. Thus, I feel rather mellow.

My Friends 
by Teresita Blanco

If the sky falls,

They blame us.

Earthquakes?

They’re our faults.

Tsunamis? They are all me!

Everything, Everything!!

For everything

They blame us.

I am tired of their hatred.

I am tired of cold shoulders.

All my good is bad.

All my sins are wicked.

If the sky falls,

Then you know

Whom to blame.

I lighting strikes you,

Then, I am your Zeus.

For all your hatred

I cannot help,

But pity you,

My friend.

To find your joys

In my torment;

Is a path

That I would

Never take.

Take my heed, my friend.

A life without love,

Just hate, kills your soul.

Take heed, my friend.

Before it is too late.

 
Editor's Note: The inspiration for this poem is too stupid to mention. Plus, I might write a graphic novel about it one of these days.

Distrust 
by Teresita Blanco

This pain keeps me alive,

Even if inside

I am already dead.

I cannot forgive, nor forget.

The memory of that day

Keeps my love at bay.

All I see,

Is distrust, pain, hate.

I cannot escape

From this nightmare.

For all my efforts,

I cannot seem to heal

This bleeding wound

Deep in my chest.

It will not stop bleeding;

Until, I am truly dead. 

Editor's Note: I forgot what was the inspiration for this poem .I think I had a very sad dream.

Forget Myself
by Teresita Blance

I grown tired of tomorrow,

My Muse lies dead.

What was once

A hopeful beginning,

Has now met

A tragic end.

Bored, bored, with my life, myself.

Cold, cold, cold, my heart no longer

Pumps blood into my veins.

In the end I see,

There is nothing left for myself.

I have grown very tired.  

Of a world that won’t let me retire.

I truly, wish that I could forget myself.

 

Editor's Note: I am not too certain what was the inspiration for this poem.

The Scars 
by Teresita Blanco

I cannot forget

The nightmare of yesterday.

It burns a path before me.

Even if I could forget.

The scars of yesterday

Would still remain.

Editor's Note. This whole inspiration thing is an exercise in futility. I hardly ever remember what inspire each of my poems.

Copyright Teresita Blanco

No way in hell do you have permission to use my poems without my express written consent. Hell knows no fury as a lawsuit from me!!!