Members
Anitha Panicker, is an Indian poet/short story writer in Malayalam language
Constantly Running
don't give details. don't turn the page.
John "Johnny Panic" Rockefeller (1926-1962, 1973-present) is the reanimated corpse of Marilyn Monroe reconstituted with ape DNA. He has been included in exactly none textbooks, ...
Poems
Gabrielle Isabella Grace Feb 2014
Panic
Gabrielle Isabella Grace
Feb 2014
Panic* sets in and I'm under attack
Fear seeps in through the cracks
Hopes and dreams fade into reality
My future uncertain; not clear
The panic is heavy because
College is almost here
I have no where to run
I have no place to hide
What’s done is done
Responsibility is mine
I'm scared and afraid
My soul is fragile
My world a cloudy haze
The weight of the world
Sits on my shoulders
I can’t carry it
Because I'm not as strong as a boulder
Heart pumps too slow for normalcy
My head light, vision blurred
I can’t see anything decently
The food I didn’t eat
The alcohol I didn’t need to drink
The drug on the inside of me
Flows back up my system
Panic! Panic! Panic!
My body beaten and *****
My body scarred and hated
My body abused
Innocence gone
A precious gift given away
My soul driven, crashed, and trapped behind B307 bars
Panic!
The sickness is here
Panic!
My heart rate back to a fast speed
The strong desire I have in me
I hear the knife begging to see my skin bleed
Panic!
I'm slipping away
Slowly taking my last breath
Stomach churning
Eyes burning
I smell death
I'm tired and I'm drained
Knife to my throat
I ******* up…I can’t complain
I'm ready to go
Panic! Panic!
You can have your life back
Seems like I'm taking too much of your day
Yeah you’re gonna be sad and hurt
But no more bills you have to incur
Panic! Panic! Panic!
Goodbye world…
Now she’s gone
……………………………….
Panic!
The real question sets in…
Will you miss her???
Fear seeps in through the cracks
Hopes and dreams fade into reality
My future uncertain; not clear
The panic is heavy because
College is almost here
I have no where to run
I have no place to hide
What’s done is done
Responsibility is mine
I'm scared and afraid
My soul is fragile
My world a cloudy haze
The weight of the world
Sits on my shoulders
I can’t carry it
Because I'm not as strong as a boulder
Heart pumps too slow for normalcy
My head light, vision blurred
I can’t see anything decently
The food I didn’t eat
The alcohol I didn’t need to drink
The drug on the inside of me
Flows back up my system
Panic! Panic! Panic!
My body beaten and *****
My body scarred and hated
My body abused
Innocence gone
A precious gift given away
My soul driven, crashed, and trapped behind B307 bars
Panic!
The sickness is here
Panic!
My heart rate back to a fast speed
The strong desire I have in me
I hear the knife begging to see my skin bleed
Panic!
I'm slipping away
Slowly taking my last breath
Stomach churning
Eyes burning
I smell death
I'm tired and I'm drained
Knife to my throat
I ******* up…I can’t complain
I'm ready to go
Panic! Panic!
You can have your life back
Seems like I'm taking too much of your day
Yeah you’re gonna be sad and hurt
But no more bills you have to incur
Panic! Panic! Panic!
Goodbye world…
Now she’s gone
……………………………….
Panic!
The real question sets in…
Will you miss her???
kay Sep 2015
lost teeth
kay
Sep 2015
when you're four and your older brother corners you in a bedroom after you complain about a loose tooth and wields a pair of pliers like the key to heaven's gate, you don't panic.
when he rips a barely-ready tooth out of your mouth with the precision of a little boy doing harm, you don't panic.
when blood pours down your front and tears leap from your eyes and your mother scolds you for "letting him" do that, you don't panic, you clutch your tooth in your fist and swish the saltwater in your mouth and ignore the prestissimo baseline of your heart at the sight of all that red on your chin, so you don't panic.
when you're nine and a man you're told to respect corners you in his home and puts his hands on you, you don't panic.
when you remember, suddenly, that your mother told you not to "let" your older brother pull your tooth out and your brain tells you that she'd ask why you let this man touch you like you were made to be his, you grit your teeth like a wolf about to attack, so you don't panic.
when you remember that your word won't be believed and it doesn't count if you stay in your clothes, you close your lips to keep from screaming, from biting him with your slightly-crooked teeth, and you don't panic.
when later the truth comes out and your family and friends ask you why you never told anyone and you feel the judgement of their not being told weighing on you more than the secret of never telling ever did and their eyes dig into you deep enough to cut out anything he hasn't already taken and the feeling of drowning overtakes you even though you're sitting in a dry living room, you don't panic.
when your first check from your first job comes to your first home away from family and your throat tries to close and your hands curl into fists no matter how hard you try to keep them open and you struggle to breathe, you tell yourself no, you don't panic.
when your mother calls you and tells you your dog was killed, you feel yourself start to cry and hang up, you breathe ragged breaths and choke on yourself, on your feelings, and you don't panic.
you don't panic, you bare your teeth like weapons and stand to your full height and take up as much space as you can without being touched by anyone because the not-panic of those years that man put his hands on you creeps up the back of your throat and threatens to scream out in a request of "never put your ******* hands on me".
your teeth grow sharp and long and you rend yourself on borrowed blades like fighting depression is fighting the skin that holds it in this body you call a house and your shoulders get broad and you teach yourself to play house again because when you were a kid and your bother dared to pull your teeth, you played the dog in the house and bit anyone who touched you.
you close yourself up and pretend the fading memories you're unable to grasp are less important than the repetitive now and you ignore the looks and taunts of men who call you too big and too butch and refuse to call you by your name.
when you feel the creeping sting of panic starting in your slowly-numbing limbs and wrapping around your dizzy head, you reach for the razor and then stop, force your unwilling lungs to breathe and tell yourself no, you don't panic.
when he rips a barely-ready tooth out of your mouth with the precision of a little boy doing harm, you don't panic.
when blood pours down your front and tears leap from your eyes and your mother scolds you for "letting him" do that, you don't panic, you clutch your tooth in your fist and swish the saltwater in your mouth and ignore the prestissimo baseline of your heart at the sight of all that red on your chin, so you don't panic.
when you're nine and a man you're told to respect corners you in his home and puts his hands on you, you don't panic.
when you remember, suddenly, that your mother told you not to "let" your older brother pull your tooth out and your brain tells you that she'd ask why you let this man touch you like you were made to be his, you grit your teeth like a wolf about to attack, so you don't panic.
when you remember that your word won't be believed and it doesn't count if you stay in your clothes, you close your lips to keep from screaming, from biting him with your slightly-crooked teeth, and you don't panic.
when later the truth comes out and your family and friends ask you why you never told anyone and you feel the judgement of their not being told weighing on you more than the secret of never telling ever did and their eyes dig into you deep enough to cut out anything he hasn't already taken and the feeling of drowning overtakes you even though you're sitting in a dry living room, you don't panic.
when your first check from your first job comes to your first home away from family and your throat tries to close and your hands curl into fists no matter how hard you try to keep them open and you struggle to breathe, you tell yourself no, you don't panic.
when your mother calls you and tells you your dog was killed, you feel yourself start to cry and hang up, you breathe ragged breaths and choke on yourself, on your feelings, and you don't panic.
you don't panic, you bare your teeth like weapons and stand to your full height and take up as much space as you can without being touched by anyone because the not-panic of those years that man put his hands on you creeps up the back of your throat and threatens to scream out in a request of "never put your ******* hands on me".
your teeth grow sharp and long and you rend yourself on borrowed blades like fighting depression is fighting the skin that holds it in this body you call a house and your shoulders get broad and you teach yourself to play house again because when you were a kid and your bother dared to pull your teeth, you played the dog in the house and bit anyone who touched you.
you close yourself up and pretend the fading memories you're unable to grasp are less important than the repetitive now and you ignore the looks and taunts of men who call you too big and too butch and refuse to call you by your name.
when you feel the creeping sting of panic starting in your slowly-numbing limbs and wrapping around your dizzy head, you reach for the razor and then stop, force your unwilling lungs to breathe and tell yourself no, you don't panic.
panic attacks don't like when you call them panic attacks
Rebecca Scull Jun 2014
Dancing with the Devil
Rebecca Scull
Jun 2014
It's here again.
panic panic panic panic
Each breath a stab in the lungs,
making me feel breathless.
My heart pumping, thumping, pumping.
Blood rushing through the veins faster than before,
chasing the adrenaline
which was rushing to spread throughout my body.
My brain is moving a mile a minute,
racing my thoughts to the finish line.
I'm shaking now, I can't feel my hands.
Is this what it's like to join the dance?
I've heard a lot about it,
they often call it a tango.
You're dancing with the devil,
he's run his nail down your arm and spread his poison
I'm having a panic attack.
panic panic panic panic panic panic
Breathe deep. Breathe deep. Breathe.
Take a breath.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe deep.
Breaths I take.
Take a breath.
Take my life.
No, wait that's not right.
I'm dancing with the devil tonight.
Afterall, who doesn't like the tango?
panic panic panic panic
Each breath a stab in the lungs,
making me feel breathless.
My heart pumping, thumping, pumping.
Blood rushing through the veins faster than before,
chasing the adrenaline
which was rushing to spread throughout my body.
My brain is moving a mile a minute,
racing my thoughts to the finish line.
I'm shaking now, I can't feel my hands.
Is this what it's like to join the dance?
I've heard a lot about it,
they often call it a tango.
You're dancing with the devil,
he's run his nail down your arm and spread his poison
I'm having a panic attack.
panic panic panic panic panic panic
Breathe deep. Breathe deep. Breathe.
Take a breath.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe deep.
Breaths I take.
Take a breath.
Take my life.
No, wait that's not right.
I'm dancing with the devil tonight.
Afterall, who doesn't like the tango?