I.
Salt on my tongue,
not from the sea—
two tablespoons
of what I couldn't say.
Water,
enough to wash
the weight away.
II.
I sit here, relapsed,
rethinking every setback.
As rationalism disappears,
the razor's purpose changes.
III.
Wanting to be someone of worth.
Impatience makes me realize
how far away
I shouted.
IV.
So I cut the blue hair,
and it all becomes purple.
My vision darkens so much,
I see light.
V.
Regretting
as everything slows down,
my thoughts grow distant,
until everything's silent.
-
Author:
The Skeptic (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 12th, 2026 08:06
- Comment from author about the poem: Pondered during work hours.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 22
- Users favorite of this poem: Paul Bell, A.N., Katharina Haberl, 𑣲┆cursed ˚.⋆ֹ

Offline)
Comments5
This poem has a sadness a feeling of not belonging and as with a blue sky blue hair may lead to purple if mixed in blood. Well written
Thank you!
You are welcome
Strange how work leads to thoughts of suicide.
You are not being stimulated in your job the psychologist would say.
I usually just think of killing people at work, cheers me up no end.
That's an interesting way of cheering yourself up. Might give it a try 🙂
The problem in Austria is that we only have a choice between the ectoplasms of Sissi ,Hitler and Dr Freud .
Thank you for understanding my feelings. ❤️
🙂
worth pondering upon....
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