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7h · 27
straight jacket
you feel like you have a straight jacket on,
slowly getting tighter and tighter
until you can’t breathe.
they yell, shame, belittle, disrespect,
and then lose their minds when you express the smallest hint of a personality.
they expect you to be grateful for the life they’ve given you, and you are, but you feel so small and alone and angry, you just want to get out. but you can’t. ******* straight jacket.
3d · 81
Untitled
what would happen if i just let everything stop? let the world go quiet,
the edges fuzzy,
slowly going black?
i am a breathing ghost
drifting through life
getting more and more insubstantial
by the day.
because i can’t anymore.
there is nothing left for me here
and now i just watch,
a spectator to my own life,
as i hurtle toward the end.
4d · 153
Untitled
a name like water
flows from my lips
into the darkness
through the abyss.

i watch you quietly
you do not see
you never will
and it is killing me.
we are all made of stars
cast down from the heavens
and turned into
a form we can recognize.

perhaps
we are not all made for a life
on this planet
and should have stayed with the stars.

maybe that is why
some of us look for a way
back to the stars
because we were not made
for this.
Jun 20 · 52
Untitled
bleedingink Jun 20
Shards of glass
crash to the floor
tiny ruby droplets
dust their surface.

Words like knives
cutting,
killing,
blame the victim.

Wrong place wrong time
not true
it cannot be true
there is only one at fault.

Look up at the sky
dusting of stars
go to the place
where all the dreamers are.
Jun 19 · 167
Statue
bleedingink Jun 19
There are tiny cracks,
working their way down
his back.

His hands are rough,
as though they
are turning to stone.

His heartbeat slows,
the edges beginning to harden
draining his life one pulse at a time.

He is nothing,
he cannot feel,
he cannot see,
he cannot live.

He has turned into a statue,
forever immortalized,
but never free.
Jun 17 · 33
Who am I?
bleedingink Jun 17
Mirror, mirror,
on the wall,
reflecting back a stranger.
They say I'm supposed to be… this,
what they told me I am.
Boxed up,
labeled,
filed away neatly.

But the edges fray.
The corners don't quite fit.
Like wearing someone else's
hand-me-downs,
scratchy and wrong,
against my skin.

I try on different clothes,
different personalities,
trying to find
the one that feels real.
The one that doesn't whisper,
"You're faking it."

Everything feels like a costume,
for a play I never rehearsed for.
Who wrote this script?
And can I please get a rewrite?
Because this version of me?
It just doesn't feel right.
Jun 16 · 31
Untitled
bleedingink Jun 16
A stream made of roses,
a house made of thorns,
a forest made of stardust,
and a girl who feels like home.
Literally just word *****, no hate please. 🙏
Jun 15 · 557
I miss you
bleedingink Jun 15
I miss watching your words,
always carefully chosen,
light up my screen.

I miss your laugh,
the way it was slightly different,
when you were talking to me.

I miss your face,
always carefully controlled,
even when I knew you were itching to smile.

I miss you.
Jun 13 · 301
Why
bleedingink Jun 13
Why
Why do I keep remembering?
Why can I not let go?
Why can't I erase myself?
Why can't I erase the people I used to know?
Jun 10 · 94
Untitled
bleedingink Jun 10
Eyes that burn with a quiet fire,
heart that shines like solid gold.
You are a light to my constant darkness,
the one I did not know I was looking for.
Jun 8 · 38
Untitled
bleedingink Jun 8
The eyes in the mirror,
do not look like mine.
They are tired,
and without life.
Perhaps this is who I am now,
just a tired, hurting soul,
who is just a shadow,
drifting through life,
toward the end.
Jun 8 · 102
Trapped
bleedingink Jun 8
Up is down,
left is right.
Nowhere to turn,
eyes blind.

Front is back,
light is dark.
There is nowhere to go,
trapped.
I absolutely cannot wait until I can leave this house that I am supposed to call a home.
Jun 7 · 62
Untitled
bleedingink Jun 7
You say its your fault,
but I disagree.
You are who you choose,
not what they want you to be.
Jun 7 · 313
Untitled
bleedingink Jun 7
I would give my life,
over and over,
if it meant you would still be here.
Jun 6 · 57
Untitled
bleedingink Jun 6
It's over,
never letting go,
holding onto a frail hope.
Gone now.
Jun 6 · 109
I want you
bleedingink Jun 6
I want you,
to pull me close,
let me sink into your arms,
and let all my thoughts fade into nothing.

I want you,
to hold my hand,
trace patterns across it,
with the pad of your thumb.

I want you,
to lie with me on the grass,
looking at the stars,
talking about everything and nothing.

I want you,
to run your fingers through my hair,
to look into your eyes,
and see the stars inside them.

I want you,
to be my sunshine on a cloudy day,
to see all the darkness in me,
and love me for who I am.

I want you.
Jun 5 · 344
Dandelion
bleedingink Jun 5
Peaking through the pavement,
a little burst of yellow.
Trampled and squashed
but still there,
still beautiful.
Jun 4 · 77
Untitled
bleedingink Jun 4
Would it be okay?
To let it all go,
fade to black
like at the end of a movie?

To let the world go bright,
a brilliant white,
created by the light
of thousands of stars.
Jun 3 · 116
Walking corpse
bleedingink Jun 3
Corpses cannot feel, for they are nothing but a husk,
a pale imitation of a former self,
what gets left behind.

Perhaps I am a walking corpse,
animated, maybe,
but not alive.
Jun 3 · 105
Drowning
bleedingink Jun 3
Deeper,
Darker,
Turning,
Spinning,
Struggling,
Begging.
Which way is up?
Jun 2 · 303
I will
bleedingink Jun 2
I will lose myself
if it means you can have it all.

I will give everything
if it means you will smile again.

I will, I will, I will.
May 30 · 150
Untitled
bleedingink May 30
All the things we never said,
go round and round inside my head.
May 30 · 205
Untitled
bleedingink May 30
There are many words I wish I’d said,
while I still had the chance,
so many things we said we would do,
but we ended with only a glance.
May 28 · 179
Untitled
bleedingink May 28
I love you,
but I can’t say it.
You will never know,
even if I desperately want you to.
May 28 · 98
Untitled
bleedingink May 28
Sweet little baby,
where did you go?
You were just here
a moment ago.

Sweet little angel,
happy and free.
Why have you gone?
It's much to early.

Sweet little darling,
your time is done.
Even if it had only
just begun.
bleedingink May 27
The white mare,
a breath of dawn against the endless fields,
her coat,
a canvas of sunlit snow,
life shimmering in her every stride.

She is the whisper of spring,
the promise held,
in a budding rose,
the laughter,
echoing through summer days.

She dances,
a ribbon of hope unbound,
across meadows painted with wildflower hues,
her hooves striking sparks of joy,
a symphony of burgeoning, unending.

But from the shadowed edge of existence,
he watches,
the black stallion,
death roiling in his midnight eyes.

His mane,
a storm cloud,
framing a face,
carved from obsidian
and regret.

He is the hush
that falls on autumn leaves,
the chilling grip of winter's fist,
the silent promise
of return to earth.

He moves,
a phantom
woven from night,
a counterpoint
to the white mare's grace.

He longs to join her dance,
to feel the warmth of life
beneath his hooves,
but an invisible barrier
holds him back.

They circle,
eternally bound
yet separated,
life and death
in an unending ballet.

She leaps and twirls,
bathed in golden light,
he looms and shadows,
shrouded
in the dim.

One breathes
with the vibrant pulse
of being,
the other awaits
the stillness of surrender.

They are forever close,
yet never touching,
a poignant reminder
etched on the vast
canvas of time.

The white mare,
a beacon against the encroaching dark,
the black stallion,
a somber guardian
of its mysteries.

And so they dance,
on and on,
until the end of all things.
May 26 · 143
Salt
bleedingink May 26
Salt dries, a hard streak,
you say it isn't my fault,
but seeing you like this,
I can’t believe you.
May 26 · 282
Untitled
bleedingink May 26
We all walk,
slowly and steadily,
toward death.

But regardless,
we keep living,
even if it is just surviving.
May 25 · 89
Untitled
bleedingink May 25
Lightning, fierce, and bright and hot,
he strikes the ground, hard as a rock.
Faster than a Phoenix rising,
he leaps from the ground, hooves flying.

He fears no man nor other beast,
and shall never balk, to say the least.
Eyes of fire and heart of gold,
he is terrible, beautiful, and ever so bold.
May 25 · 103
Untitled
bleedingink May 25
He is gorgeous, eyes like pools of stardust.
He is pretty, in a way that defies human nature.
He is kind, in a way that so few ever are.
He is, he is, he is.
Not a love poem, just something I wrote for a friend.
May 25 · 126
Untitled
bleedingink May 25
You told me I couldn't,
so I did.
May 25 · 253
Untitled
bleedingink May 25
I promised you forever,
and forever it will be.
Because even through the worst nights,
you were there for me.

Even though there are millions of miles,
pulling us apart.
I promised you forever,
and you still have my heart.
If you see this, I still mean it. And I always will <3
May 24 · 117
Broken things
bleedingink May 24
The is so much pain,
in this world of ours.
So many broken things,
broken dreams,
broken homes,
broken hearts,
broken people.
May 23 · 89
Untitled
bleedingink May 23
In the middle of the dark,
there is always a light.
A small light,
but a light nonetheless.
May 22 · 99
Untitled
bleedingink May 22
Brighter than the morning sun,
there you shine, my darling one
I love you more than the earth and the sky
you are my baby, my love, my life.
May 21 · 975
Untitled
bleedingink May 21
Lips a shade of softest pink,
eyes a brilliant cerulean blue.  
I could get lost in your gaze,
forever drifting in the feeling of you.
May 21 · 117
Untitled
bleedingink May 21
Everything has a beginning,
middle,
and end.
But what if the end never comes?
What if we are always stuck in the middle?
Dangling forever in limbo—
with no way out?
May 20 · 89
Untitled
bleedingink May 20
A ruby red teardrop,
beautiful and shining.
There is no beauty without pain.
May 20 · 148
Untitled
bleedingink May 20
Sometimes I feel,
like I could walk off the edge of the world
and no one would notice.
May 20 · 125
Untitled
bleedingink May 20
When I look at you,
I see beauty,
and grace.

What do you see when you look at me?
May 19 · 83
Always on the Outside
bleedingink May 19
The willow weeps, a perpetual fringe, watching the river rush past, never quite embraced by its current.

Like the last leaf clinging tight in December, browned edges whispering of a forgotten spring, while the others dance on the wind’s breath, long gone.

The solitary stone on the shore, worn smooth by the relentless tide, but forever separate, watching the waves crash, the sand shift, belonging only to the edge.

A silent observer. Always on the outside, looking in. The leftover echo in the crowded place.
May 19 · 98
You used to
bleedingink May 19
You used to sing
a song so sweet.
A melody made
just for me.

You used to dance
hands in the air.
You didn't care
about whoever was there.

You used to laugh
a beautiful sound.
Then cover you mouth
to hide the noise.

You used to hold me
never letting go.
I wish we could go back
to be the people we used to know.
May 19 · 140
Untitled
bleedingink May 19
Chills up my spine,
the music starting,
watch as she becomes alive,
dancing, dancing, dancing.
May 18 · 80
Insane?
bleedingink May 18
The definition of insanity,
is doing the same thing over and over,
and expecting a different result.

Does this mean I am insane then?
No matter how many times you hurt me,
I come back.

Over,
and over,
and over again.

Why can't I stop?
May 18 · 88
Untitled
bleedingink May 18
What is it like,  
to see the world in color
rather than shades of gray?
May 18 · 200
Would you notice
bleedingink May 18
Would you notice,
if the sky turned black?
Would you notice,
If all the trees cracked?

Would you notice,
If the rivers ran dry?
Would you notice,
If the lakes began to cry?

Would you notice,
if the sun was gone?
Would you notice,
if the days ran too long?

Would you notice,
if I left this place?
Would you notice,
if you stopped seeing my face?
May 18 · 118
Anger
bleedingink May 18
A flicker.
Is it?
No,
a spark.

A seed of wrong.
Then red blooms
behind my eyes,
a feeling feral, clawing up.

It builds,
a storm front gathering,
pressure in my chest,
a tightening vise.

Words become weapons,
each syllable
sharpened,
aimed.

Lightning.
Pure,
white,
hot.

Striking,
searing,
leaving only scorched earth
behind.

A force unleashed,
uncontrollable,
and then...
the quiet hum of aftermath.

Too late.
May 17 · 264
maybe
bleedingink May 17
What if,
one day,
you just can't
anymore.
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