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I Chose to Sleep the Days Away

Estimated reading time — < 1 minute

I chose to sleep the days away
chose comfort in dreams, safe from a world so grey
My mind gave me comfort my life could not
so as I dreamed, I could not stop

I was happy at first, with my daily sights
European castles with thousands of lights
the king of everything, from ground to sky
I did anything, without reason for why

I dreamt, little by little, more each day
and, little by little, my body decayed
I did not notice from my throne of thought
that my throne of flesh was beginning to rot

That was when my throne fell
dreams became nightmares as I slipped into hell
marble became brimstone, wine became blood
a mountain of flesh where my castle once stood


I tried to break free of my prison, these hellish chains
but my body was as still while my mind was in flames
and as the ambulance carted my comatose shell away
my thoughts were caged for a long term stay

My only escape is the sound of saline
a cacophony granted by various machines
and my soul is left to writhe in my sleep


I know now, what I sow, I reap

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23 thoughts on “I Chose to Sleep the Days Away”

  1. Is it just me who thought this alluded to drug dependency? I also see a little of Metallica’s ‘Master of Puppets’ in this poem. Remember folks; Freedom is slavery. Great poem.

  2. personally i find alot of poetry on this site is meh, there are occasional ones that catch my eye and i read through. Yours is one i actually wanted to take the time to read and kinda wish it was a smidge longer lol! there was only one thing i would adjust, just the wording of the third line. maybe something like “My mind gave me THE comfort my life could not” just so the sentance doesnt sound too redundant, amazing how one word can change a sentence lol. And i love poetry and write some on occasion and i always seem to like the ones that dont rhyme the ends of every other sentence, alot dont realize there is different forms of rhyming. sorry about the long post but i did enjoy your poem! keep up the good work! i have a story on here and one in the works so as a writer to a writer well done!

  3. This is my first attempt at a creepy pasta on the site ^_^. While I do admit that, as a poem, it does not fully express itself in a way that a poem typically does, I decided to submit this as a poetrypasta because I feel that describing it as anything else but “a story revolving around the structure and format of a poem” would do it injustice. To JT, yes, I do understand that, when getting down to brass tacks, this technically isn’t much more than a story with a somewhat abysmal rhyme scheme (you try rhyming decayed in a way that makes contextual sense, then I will concede). To Dylan, the work itself is meant to show that someone shouldn’t try to avoid the world because it is bad or seems gray, no matter how much you believe that your dreams and imagination are the only world you need.

    1. I thought it a work well done. I’m wondering if those being so judgmental have anything printed that we may read, to be able to see just how amazing they are that they should be so critical. Be proud of the job you have done here. …ur first poetry pasta? Kudos to you. Loved every word and found it tasty enough for seconds. Look forward to reading more from you xxx

      1. I appreciate the kind words ^_^ I will, of course, be writing all that I can in order to make a presence known in the creepypasta world, particularly in poetry pasta. I feel that poetry pasta is the most underrated of the categories, and should have hard working authors trying to give readers a fascination and a lust for more

  4. Poetry is far more than short sentences that only occasionally rhyme arranged in a column. The structure of poetry gives rise to a mellifluous cadence, a near hypnotic affect that, under skillful hands, can create a deep sense of unease befitting the best creepypastas. The problem, though, is that while good poetry can greatly enhance a piece, lazy poetry diminishes it. Consider the stereotypical image of an angst-filled teenager writing poetry about how no one understands them, how dark the dark brooding darkness is, etc. Such a cliché is what you, as a poet, must work against. If you are not better than it, your poetry will rightly be derided and cast aside.

    At its heart, poetry is a set of strict rules: it is the struggle against those rules that gives poetry its power. Now, as the creator, you get to define what some of those rules are. However, having created and accepted those rules, you must then follow them. If you want an AA, BB rhyming pattern, then that is all well and good, but stick with it! Don’t have exact rhymes in one stanza and then slip into approximate rhymes in the next, and abandon rhyming all together in another. If you don’t care about your poem enough to follow your own rules, why should the reader care?

    “Away” and “grey” are strict rhymes, but “not” and “stop” are approximate rhymes, and “day” and “decayed” aren’t even that: they don’t rhyme in the least. “Day” and “decay” are rhymes, to be fair, but the -ed suffix ruins it.

    Rhyming, though, is the least aspect of poetry. Meter is what will produce the cadence that makes poetry worth reading, and your poem, simply put, lacks it entirely. No, I don’t expect poetrypasta to have perfect meter, but at least take a stab at it! You can start by paying attention to the number of syllables in each line: even just developing a pattern (say, 7 syllables every line) and sticking to it will go a long way towards making your poem musical.

    When you write something that, at a glance, looks like a poem, you are making a promise to the reader: they are about to read a poem. But when you put so little effort into the work that the only thing that makes it poetic is the spacing, then you are failing to make good on that promise. And a broken promise is a sure way to piss off readers.

    Yes, I am a cranky reader. I am cranky because I was promised a poem and that promise wasn’t delivered on.

    What about the content of the poem, you might ask? Meh, if I can’t trust you to put effort into the form of a poem, how can I trust you to put effort into the content?

    1. Ah, I do enjoy the points you bring up, JT. Certainly, my work above does not, at all, fit the description you give above. But, and I will most persistently assure you, what you see as err on my part is perfectly intended. For instance, you remark that some of my lines fall away from the rhyme scheme, which I submit is true. For, you see, I wanted to create a cacophonous effect of the speaker of the poem slowly being driven mad by his own self pity and self imprisonment. While I do enjoy your feedback, as I am an aspiring poet who seeks naught else but to improve, I do ask yourself to consider your own definition of what a poem is a bit narrow. I don’t mean at all to insult you, as you have taken the time to post so passionately about one of my works, I just wish to ask you to regard this with a bit more breadth and consideration.

      1. The problem there is that you have to establish a pattern before you can break with that pattern for effect. There can be no descent from sanity into madness if there is no sanity in the first place.

        The first stanza has an AA BB’ (B’ being an approximate rhyme) rhyming scheme, the second has AA BB, the third AB CC, the fourth AA BB’ again, the fifth AA’ BB’, and the sixth AB CC. As there is only chaos, the reader cannot get a sense of the narrator’s decaying mental state.

        To be clear, it is perfectly fine to break with rules, both in poetry as well as prose, but first you must understand those rules and prove to the reader that you understand them. It is a matter of trust: if you start breaking the rules from the very beginning, how do I, as a reader, know that you are breaking them for effect instead of believing that you are breaking them because you don’t care about them? And which is more likely, that a random poem on the internet was written by someone who knows what they are doing or that it was written by someone who didn’t care?

        To approach this same concept from another avenue, think of it like a series of promises that you are making to the reader through your work. By breaking rules at the start, you are making a promise to the reader: namely, that you either don’t know the rules or don’t care. As such, when you continue to break the rules, you confirm this promise: the reader comes to trust that either you don’t know the rules or don’t care about them. The cacophony that you said you desired becomes impossible: you can’t use the form to indicate anything if the reader thinks you don’t understand the form.

        But by following the rules, you also make a promise to the reader: you are promising that you know the rules, that you understand them. By continuing with the rules, you then fulfill your promise, and the reader comes to trust you. When you later break with those rules, the reader trusts that it is for a reason. The cacophony becomes possible.

        As for if my definition of a poem is narrow, I take no insult from the suggestion, but I would counter that if you think my definition is too narrow, then you did not understand my definition. Poetry has a form, but that form can be user-defined. As the poet, you get to define what the rules of your poem will be. When you said you wanted the rhyming scheme to display a descent into madness, that was you revealing what one of your rules was. The form of poetry that I am advocating is incredibly broad and inclusive, because it includes whatever rules the poet devises for themselves. However, my objection was that you didn’t follow any rules, including your own (as noted, your rhyming scheme doesn’t display a descent into madness, as there was no sanity to descend from).

        To be fair, I was also essentially saying that poems conform to the poetic tradition (which often includes meter and rhyming schemes). Poems can break with this tradition, most certainly, but it again becomes a matter of trust: you must display that you understand the tradition before you can break with it.

        Let me turn your suggestion around on you: your definition of a poem may be too broad. Why do you claim that this piece is a poem? What makes it a poem rather than just oddly arranged prose?

        1. JT, I read with some amusement your Christmas thread from last year. It isn’t often one finds commenting by such a clear thinker, and I must confess it makes me happy. Do you write somewhere? May I read it?

        2. Thanks! Alas, no, there’s no particular place to find the stuff I write except in random comment threads around the internet.

        3. JT, I like your comment. Clear, well-thought and constructive.

          Do you review prose, as well, for those of us (like me) who’d rather not try their hands at poetry or other forms of constrained writing?

        4. I’m happy to take a look, if you post a link (or at least let me know where to find it) though I make no promises (alas, time is always in short supply).

        1. I do see your points very well. I do concede that I have betrayed my readers in the sense that I wanted to sacrifice good, strong literary devices in order to create the above piece in an attempt to make it more pleasant to read. In the future, I believe I shall take your advice into account and will try to make a sonnet instead of the very estranged free-verse above, maybe as a means to make two very distinct poems under my name and as a means to make up for this one. Still, I believe the reason I made such a mess of this poem is because of my fascination at the idea that one of the narrators might stumble across this work, simplistic and catchy at the very least, and take interest enough to read it. I will be working on another poem to submit at a later time.

          And thank you for your words on the Mothman, I am a big fan of the idea of Indrid Cold, and like to hold his name as a means to show my appreciation for his character and for the legend he has.

    1. Essentially, the narrator dreams a lot. It looks to be actual dreams, rather than mere daydreams, though it’s not entirely clear.

      By dreaming so much, the narrator has forgotten how to live, and thus ends the story suffering from what appears to be locked in syndrome.

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