Posted in life, philiosophy, Poems, thoughts

Excruciatingly alive #1

I run until my lungs burn,

scream until they burst,

weep until they regenerate.

 To know

what it is

to be excruciatingly alive.

to breathe in pain

and bleed out agony.

The surface–earth–my skin–

fear upon fear

that propels nothing more than fear.

The manifestation of manifestation

manifesting itself in the labyrinth.

To exist is  caustic,

the corroding of a brittle question mark,

pang after reverberating pang

from the epicentre of a sizzling atmosphere,

pungent, fumigated air of uncertainty.

Spin into me,

blurred wisdom,

a reflection of the reflection

of a million mirrored reflections

reflecting one another

in the mirrored reflection

of my baby blue eyes,


the weight of the world hides away there,

they know

what it is

to be

excruciatingly alive.

-Eva M.M.

This is another one of my favourite poems I have ever written. So I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”



I am the author of and am currently working on a book of poems. To find out more check out my about me page as well as my page about my blog and welcome to the ink angels community.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s