Morbid - Poem by Jan Hauck
The fascination of decay, the dark
Humor and chill of horror,
Escaping pain and looking at the same
I entertain myself, picking photos, films,
Like limbs from a tortured body
And smile underneath my own.
Introversion or loneliness, the tears,
I laugh at what I know best,
Struggling to stay intact and hoping to fall apart,
I find safety in these things, comfort and art,
I curl up, paint and cry, watch and feel
Until I can't feel any more.
I know you find it hard to understand,
The fascination with dying things,
With crying things, like myself,
And how they help me forget and laugh,
This drug, this escape, the hope,
And the weight of having to wake up.
Comments about Morbid by Jan Hauck
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You