Carson_Dees - Hello Poetry

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore— While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping—rapping at my chamber door. But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we— Of many far wiser than we— And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE. The age demanded that we sing And cut away our tongue. The age demanded that we flow And hammered in the **** The age demanded that we dance And jammed us into iron pants. And in the end the age was handed The sort of things that it demanded. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken, The crownless again shall be king. Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin' ship, My senses have been stripped, my hands can't feel to grip, My toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heels To be wanderin'. I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade Into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way, I promise to go under it. Arise my body, my small body, we have striven Enough, and He is merciful; we are forgiven. Arise small body, puppet-like and pale, and go, White as the bed-clothes into bed, and cold as snow, Undress with small, cold fingers and put out the light, And be alone, hush'd mortal, in the sacred night. so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens It’s just a moment he said, we die every night— You are young, and I am older; You are hopeful, I am not— Enjoy life, ere it grow colder— Pluck the roses ere they rot. Hear the sledges with the bells— Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they ****** ****** ****** In their icy air of night! While the stars, that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells— From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted—nevermore!

0

1d ago

Jun 1, 2026 at 11:41 PM UTC

Carson_Dees

Poet's Medley

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore— While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping—rapping at my chamber door. But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we— Of many far wiser than we— And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE. The age demanded that we sing And cut away our tongue. The age demanded that we flow And hammered in the **** The age demanded that we dance And jammed us into iron pants. And in the end the age was handed The sort of things that it demanded. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken, The crownless again shall be king. Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin' ship, My senses have been stripped, my hands can't feel to grip, My toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heels To be wanderin'. I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade Into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way, I promise to go under it. Arise my body, my small body, we have striven Enough, and He is merciful; we are forgiven. Arise small body, puppet-like and pale, and go, White as the bed-clothes into bed, and cold as snow, Undress with small, cold fingers and put out the light, And be alone, hush'd mortal, in the sacred night. so much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens It’s just a moment he said, we die every night— You are young, and I am older; You are hopeful, I am not— Enjoy life, ere it grow colder— Pluck the roses ere they rot. Hear the sledges with the bells— Silver bells! What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they ****** ****** ****** In their icy air of night! While the stars, that oversprinkle All the heavens, seem to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells— From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted—nevermore!

89

The footprints I find The ones I left behind I watch my every step Through the valleys I kept. The places that I've been Or the places that I went. The handprints I'd found The mud it makes no sound The road ahead is harsh As I slosh through the marsh Of the places that I've been Or the places that I went. The fingerprints I see Different on you than me I think on what I've done And about what is to come For the places that we've been Or the places that we went.

0

1d ago

Jun 1, 2026 at 11:22 PM UTC

Carson_Dees

Footprints

The footprints I find The ones I left behind I watch my every step Through the valleys I kept. The places that I've been Or the places that I went. The handprints I'd found The mud it makes no sound The road ahead is harsh As I slosh through the marsh Of the places that I've been Or the places that I went. The fingerprints I see Different on you than me I think on what I've done And about what is to come For the places that we've been Or the places that we went.

18

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore— While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping—rapping at my chamber door. “’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door— Only this and nothing more.” Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore— For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore— Nameless here for evermore. And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door— Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;— This it is and nothing more.” Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, “Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping—tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door:— Darkness there and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore!” This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!” Merely this and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon I heard again a tapping, somewhat louder than before. “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore— Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore;— ’Tis the wind and nothing more.” Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore; Not the least obeisance made he: not an instant stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door— Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door— Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, “Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore— Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!” Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.” Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door— Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as “Nevermore.” But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered— Till I scarcely more than muttered, “Other friends have flown before— On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.” Then the bird said, “Nevermore.” Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, “Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore— Till the dirges of his Hope the melancholy burden bore Of ‘Never—nevermore.’” But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore— What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking “Nevermore.” This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er, She shall press, ah, nevermore! Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee Respite—respite aad nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!” Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.” “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!— Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted— On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore— Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!” Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.” “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore— Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore— Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.” Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.” “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting— “Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!” Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.” And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted—nevermore!

0

Carson_Dees

3d ago

May 31, 2026 at 3:17 PM UTC

Edgar Allan Poe

The Raven

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore— While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping—rapping at my chamber door. “’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door— Only this and nothing more.” Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore— For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore— Nameless here for evermore. And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door— Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;— This it is and nothing more.” Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, “Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping—tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door:— Darkness there and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore!” This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!” Merely this and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon I heard again a tapping, somewhat louder than before. “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore— Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore;— ’Tis the wind and nothing more.” Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore; Not the least obeisance made he: not an instant stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door— Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door— Perched, and sat, and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, “Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore— Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!” Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.” Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door— Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as “Nevermore.” But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered— Till I scarcely more than muttered, “Other friends have flown before— On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.” Then the bird said, “Nevermore.” Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, “Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore— Till the dirges of his Hope the melancholy burden bore Of ‘Never—nevermore.’” But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore— What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking “Nevermore.” This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er, She shall press, ah, nevermore! Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee Respite—respite aad nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!” Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.” “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!— Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted— On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore— Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!” Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.” “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore— Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore— Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.” Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.” “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting— “Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!” Quoth the Raven, “Nevermore.” And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted—nevermore!

113

I wake up and I'm not so mad at Twitter now. Living ***** but it's ******* just a little now. And I don't wanna cry no more, So I set my bar real low. I'm a-ok, I'm a-ok, You say it but you just don't mean it You're so insane, you're so insane, Shut up and just enjoy this feeling. Don't you love it? Don't you love it? No, I ain't happy yet, But I'm way less sad. I may be wrong, I may be wrong, It's stupid but it's all I have. Don't you love it? Don't you love it? No, I ain't happy yet, But I'm way less sad.

0

4d ago

May 30, 2026 at 5:29 PM UTC

Carson_Dees

Way Less Sad

I wake up and I'm not so mad at Twitter now. Living ***** but it's ******* just a little now. And I don't wanna cry no more, So I set my bar real low. I'm a-ok, I'm a-ok, You say it but you just don't mean it You're so insane, you're so insane, Shut up and just enjoy this feeling. Don't you love it? Don't you love it? No, I ain't happy yet, But I'm way less sad. I may be wrong, I may be wrong, It's stupid but it's all I have. Don't you love it? Don't you love it? No, I ain't happy yet, But I'm way less sad.

18

So this isn't really a poem but I found a paper on the shore while visiting the Netherlands. The poem on the paper says as follows: 1.) Rhy luoh Rhy ofyyv Py smlybut Rmqy hyyv. Wg vkoskftyo Wuor luz Rc rhyw wg vyyvo Ohmtt ohuz. Stilte 2.) Gur pnir vf qnex Abg zhpu gb rng Gb qevax Gb frr Gb yvir. Stilte 3.) M ywih xs fi higirx M ywih xs gevi M ywih xs pmzi pmji Rsx orsamrk pmji aew yrjemv. Stilte 4.) In the enD I had to say "adieU" I stay in the cave I call a huT Waiting here 'till I go maniC Pondering of the harsh, sitting in my marsH. Stilte 5.) De sterfgevallen... De moord op die onschuldige mensen... Ik weet wie het gedaan heeft. Ik weet ook waarom hij doodde. Hij was verblind door macht. Mensen waren geen mensen meer. Ze stierven allemaal... Voor het ego van één persoon. Stilte -.--. .---- -.--.- / .- ..-. ..-. .. -. . ---... / ... .-.. --- .--. . -...- ...-- --..-- / .. -. - . .-. -.-. . .--. - -...- .---- ..--- / / -.--. ..--- -.--.- / .-. --- - .---- ...-- / / -.--. ...-- -.--.- / -.-. . .- ... .- .-. ---... / ....- / .-.. . - - . .-. ... / -... .- -.-. -.- / / -.--. ....- -.--.- / - . .-.. . ... - .. -.-. / / -.--. ..... -.--.- / - .... . / ..-. .. ..-. - .... / -.-. .-.. ..- . / .. ... / .... .. -.. -.. . -. / .. -. / .- -. --- - .... . .-. / --- -. . / --- ..-. / - .... . / ... - .- -. --.. .- ... / Hi, me again. I typed all of this exactly as it was written on the paper. If anyone can decode this, I would be very pleased, because I am ITCHING to know what it means.

0

7d ago

May 27, 2026 at 2:24 AM UTC

Carson_Dees

Can Someone Decode This??

So this isn't really a poem but I found a paper on the shore while visiting the Netherlands. The poem on the paper says as follows: 1.) Rhy luoh Rhy ofyyv Py smlybut Rmqy hyyv. Wg vkoskftyo Wuor luz Rc rhyw wg vyyvo Ohmtt ohuz. Stilte 2.) Gur pnir vf qnex Abg zhpu gb rng Gb qevax Gb frr Gb yvir. Stilte 3.) M ywih xs fi higirx M ywih xs gevi M ywih xs pmzi pmji Rsx orsamrk pmji aew yrjemv. Stilte 4.) In the enD I had to say "adieU" I stay in the cave I call a huT Waiting here 'till I go maniC Pondering of the harsh, sitting in my marsH. Stilte 5.) De sterfgevallen... De moord op die onschuldige mensen... Ik weet wie het gedaan heeft. Ik weet ook waarom hij doodde. Hij was verblind door macht. Mensen waren geen mensen meer. Ze stierven allemaal... Voor het ego van één persoon. Stilte -.--. .---- -.--.- / .- ..-. ..-. .. -. . ---... / ... .-.. --- .--. . -...- ...-- --..-- / .. -. - . .-. -.-. . .--. - -...- .---- ..--- / / -.--. ..--- -.--.- / .-. --- - .---- ...-- / / -.--. ...-- -.--.- / -.-. . .- ... .- .-. ---... / ....- / .-.. . - - . .-. ... / -... .- -.-. -.- / / -.--. ....- -.--.- / - . .-.. . ... - .. -.-. / / -.--. ..... -.--.- / - .... . / ..-. .. ..-. - .... / -.-. .-.. ..- . / .. ... / .... .. -.. -.. . -. / .. -. / .- -. --- - .... . .-. / --- -. . / --- ..-. / - .... . / ... - .- -. --.. .- ... / Hi, me again. I typed all of this exactly as it was written on the paper. If anyone can decode this, I would be very pleased, because I am ITCHING to know what it means.

38

I opened my eyes And looked up at the rain, And it dripped in my head And flowed into my brain, And all that I hear as I lie in my bed Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head. I step very softly, I walk very slow, I can't do a handstand-- I might overflow, So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said-- I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head.

0

Carson_Dees

May 12

May 12, 2026 at 5:17 PM UTC

Shel Silverstein

Rain

I opened my eyes And looked up at the rain, And it dripped in my head And flowed into my brain, And all that I hear as I lie in my bed Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head. I step very softly, I walk very slow, I can't do a handstand-- I might overflow, So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said-- I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head.

12

You were never one for goodbyes Never ever would take it slow Always had that gleam in your eyes Followed by a bluish glow. You never could say goodbye When they went and took your home You hated the food with all your might When you went to the nursing home. I didn't get to say goodbye Enough when it was time to go That was the last time you'd say "Hi!" If only I had known. The reaper said to say goodbye When we sat at down your funeral I could hardly look into your eyes You broke me, I will never be whole. Now I cannot say goodbye Can't dig you up out of your tomb Telling myself that I'm alright Trapping myself in my room.

0

Apr 19

Apr 19, 2026 at 2:54 PM UTC

Carson_Dees

Goodbyes

You were never one for goodbyes Never ever would take it slow Always had that gleam in your eyes Followed by a bluish glow. You never could say goodbye When they went and took your home You hated the food with all your might When you went to the nursing home. I didn't get to say goodbye Enough when it was time to go That was the last time you'd say "Hi!" If only I had known. The reaper said to say goodbye When we sat at down your funeral I could hardly look into your eyes You broke me, I will never be whole. Now I cannot say goodbye Can't dig you up out of your tomb Telling myself that I'm alright Trapping myself in my room.

20

if i were better would i not care when i ***** up or if i erupt or if my teardrops fall down my face, should i mask up all my shame or leave that to the drama the drama of not being good enough or smart enough or tough enough or strong enough or any of the things that fly around my head keeping me up at night while i lay in my bed scared of these feelings i feel feeling red do i think i am better off alive than i am dead? 'cause i wake up in the morning and i wish i could still dream 'bout all the things i dreamed about before i was a teen 'bout the things i'd given up on ever since i learned to see that all of my dreams are just hopeless... and i take my medication and i put on my mask and i do everything i can to pretend and play and distract myself from who i am and try to enjoy this life although sometimes all i want to do is break free from this strife the chains of my insanity are still on my wrists the heaven i had made for me is falling out my grip the heaven i had made for me using my hell as the bricks and i close my eyes and think of a better time when i was so innocent i thought everything was splendid i had no idea how much hurt and grief and inner screams and loss and tears and judging stares and stress and pain and going insane was in this world. if i were better maybe i could lie and i would say "i'm fine."

0

Apr 14

Apr 14, 2026 at 1:26 PM UTC

Carson_Dees

If

if i were better would i not care when i ***** up or if i erupt or if my teardrops fall down my face, should i mask up all my shame or leave that to the drama the drama of not being good enough or smart enough or tough enough or strong enough or any of the things that fly around my head keeping me up at night while i lay in my bed scared of these feelings i feel feeling red do i think i am better off alive than i am dead? 'cause i wake up in the morning and i wish i could still dream 'bout all the things i dreamed about before i was a teen 'bout the things i'd given up on ever since i learned to see that all of my dreams are just hopeless... and i take my medication and i put on my mask and i do everything i can to pretend and play and distract myself from who i am and try to enjoy this life although sometimes all i want to do is break free from this strife the chains of my insanity are still on my wrists the heaven i had made for me is falling out my grip the heaven i had made for me using my hell as the bricks and i close my eyes and think of a better time when i was so innocent i thought everything was splendid i had no idea how much hurt and grief and inner screams and loss and tears and judging stares and stress and pain and going insane was in this world. if i were better maybe i could lie and i would say "i'm fine."

84

I walk a lonely road The only one that I have ever known Don't know where it goes But it's home to me, and I walk alone. I walk this empty street On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams Where the city sleeps And I'm the only one, and I walk alone. My shadow's the only one that walks beside me My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating Sometimes, I wish someone out there will find me 'Til then, I walk alone. I'm walking down the line That divides me somewhere in my mind On the borderline Of the edge, and where I walk alone Read between the lines What's messed up, and everything's alright Check my vital signs To know I'm still alive, and I walk alone. I walk this empty street On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams Where the city sleeps And I'm the only one, and I walk alone.

0

Jan 3

Jan 3, 2026 at 4:10 PM UTC

Carson_Dees

Boulevard Of Broken Dreams

I walk a lonely road The only one that I have ever known Don't know where it goes But it's home to me, and I walk alone. I walk this empty street On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams Where the city sleeps And I'm the only one, and I walk alone. My shadow's the only one that walks beside me My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating Sometimes, I wish someone out there will find me 'Til then, I walk alone. I'm walking down the line That divides me somewhere in my mind On the borderline Of the edge, and where I walk alone Read between the lines What's messed up, and everything's alright Check my vital signs To know I'm still alive, and I walk alone. I walk this empty street On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams Where the city sleeps And I'm the only one, and I walk alone.

24

Written in the back of my old diary, We all gotta break sometime.

0

Jan 2

Jan 2, 2026 at 10:53 PM UTC

Carson_Dees

Break

Written in the back of my old diary, We all gotta break sometime.

2