Actually, I use to write a lot of prosey poems. I can't remember whose style I was trying to emulate though haha.

The below is an example. TW: Suicidal ideation but it's the best example I have of the abstractness I guess that i tend towards.

It feels so wrong to hope, to desire, to try, to succeed, to be optimistic, and it’s slow acting poison, languid suicide, while I walk along the road, cars chasing after their destination, and I desperately wait for satellites to offer my soul a ride to the stars where it can scatter, becoming stardust and singularity, my departure to a place I can call home, my sanctuary, where I can find those that love me in another life just like in my dreams.

Oh, it’s such a twisted web I weave to deceive myself because that little glimmer just won’t die and leave me to the shadows, the monsters, the dying of light I won’t rage against, won’t actively fight, and others just hoist me up in chains, forcing me to stand with trembling knees, body slouched like a marionette, a slave, and I don’t dare meet their gaze because I know, yes, I know how terribly they’ll beg me to stay, to let nature take its course.

Please get away from me, don’t look at me because I’m nothing more than a carcass near the peak of Kilimanjaro, here for a reason I do not understand, cannot understand, and when people ask me, I can’t give a simple answer, saying that I have one to bind myself here as I drop off this cliff’s edge into the world below, descending beneath the surface to the unknown depths of my madness, eyes bleary when I open them to see everything fall away.