Plastic (Poem)

I feel like I’m made of plastic
Sewn together by strings of anger and pain
And tied up by a tight elastic
That attempts to keep me sane

It just pains me this is how I’m living
Like a shattered man on a sinking ship
This car of pain is tired of being driven
And I’m too weak to tighten my grip

I’m starting to accept this depression
And that’s the thing that scares me the most
I’m too broken to give a good impression
Dead enough inside to be a ghost

I hold the shattered vase of my life
Wondering when did it break
I stare on the table at this sharpened knife
Wondering how much life there’s even left to take

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The Man in the Chair

The man just sits in his chair, thinking of love, he has that feeling of wanting someone, but also feeling a prevalent uneasiness, getting number each day. The man just sits in his chair, counting the days he’s been lonely, counting the number of times he’s felt shattered or broken. The man just sits in his chair, watching all his friends and all who are close to him spending times with the ones they love, feeling more depressed every day, trying to keep his wall of happiness from crumbling. The man just sits in his chair, not caring about the time or the day, the week or the month, or anything but the one he needs, he just wonders when all of his pain will be washed away.