Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Michael Rucker Jan 2016
I hid behind my age,
depicting naive to those,
but steadily watching,
taking notes,
to promise myself never be like the rest,
to make plans,
and prosper as an individual,
despite others convictions.
I'm not going to be the kid begging for money,
or the angry pencil pusher,
even the stressed father.
None of it.
I won't let this world break me,
contrary to everyone else's beliefs.
I don't deserve to fall apart anymore,
and hopefully the day comes,
where I leave,
and don't come back.
Michael Rucker Dec 2015
My mind remained low,
the thought of no hope only seemed to flood every part of my insides.
I broke,
every morning,
on the bathroom floor,
puking up my insides,
from last night's suicide attempt.
Michael Rucker Nov 2015
From my deepest conviction,
Emptiness,
Beyond comprehension.
Utterly undignified,
Severing simply,
Every tie,
Pushing away emotionally,
For the sole desire of absence.
Gathering ashes,
Tearing apart every piece of existence,
My own embodiment,
To this earth,
A gleaming sense of nothing.
Recklessly searching,
For someone to call something.
Blatantly false positivity,
Empty attempts to trick myself,
Into a sense of health,
Where I don’t hate,
Every part of every day.

-Michael Rucker
Michael Rucker Nov 2015
I couldn’t get very far,
under the eyes of everyone else.
My own ambition torn between,
self-hatred and an unappreciated existence.
Severed happiness from the root,
broken free from significance.
Deemed myself unworthy,
of a life lead content,
but placed instead upon the embodiment,
of reprimanded enthusiasm,
regarding generalized animation.
Michael Rucker Nov 2015
I spent most of my time on empty. I wanted to hold their hands forever, I wanted to keep them all close, I wanted to never let go of the things I loved. Abandonment was what my life consisted of, the false pretense of sticking around but only leaving when reality was the inevitable. Things fell apart, every morning on the couch, every afternoon in the home my family separated in, every evening in the shower. Countless days, seemingly endless nights, profound dreams of a future only torn apart by the bare hands of myself, my own self destruction, my own rampant mindset, fragments of a once bright child tossed into the river of disease and illness. Eight years passed by, the only thing still on my mind was demise. Things kept breaking, vases smashed upon the floor, my own body limp on the floor of the school bathroom from a failed overdose attempt. The life I led until now had only been something empty, still empty. As a child, joy was once a part of me, I didn’t seem to care much about the world but only the direct objects around me; toys, books, countless trading cards my family carelessly brought me to feed my addiction at such a young age, little did I know it would turn into drugs, a daily basis of wake up and smoke, drink in the afternoon, and crash by midnight only to do it all over again like some lifeless zombie. My life was empty for the last eight years, and still continues to be that way. Even now, as I sit here writing this ****, drunk, trying to fathom and conjure some deep emotion only felt in such a way I could, life is still an empty piece of me just as the rest of the pieces are as well. Depressing as it might be but it’s just become a way of life I can’t seem to change and sadly I’d love to feel some sort of genuine joy. I’d like to feel a part of me be whole again, but after years of abuse to myself, the only thing I feel is a burden of past mistakes and the anticipation of millions to be made through my entire lifetime if I even make it to have an entire lifetime. It hurt so badly waking up in the morning, regretting every second of the previous day, finding the flaws in every sentence spoken the day before, looking back at every scene as if it were some failed attempt at a decent reality; every part reflecting on some broken child, surrounded by only distance from others, miles at least. It makes me sick to see people happy as awful as that sounds, it breaks me because I know I don’t have that, I don’t have the comfort of a loving mother, the happiness of a decent relationship where I feel connected in every way. Instead it’s empty, each and every day, more than the last, constant disconnection from everyone, constant hate for the happy, constant emptiness. My life is something diminutive; idly moving along, seldom part of anything significant. It’s funny though, I had a lot of friends growing up. I had enough to go around, as a matter of fact. But just like anyone else, they left. My life has been nothing but abandonment, and it’s bent me, beat me down more than it ever really had to, and I never knew what to do. Today, I woke up, to turn over a new leaf, but just as any other day, those plans crumbled under the weight of my own instability. Every part of me broke over the last few years. I’ll deal with it one day, I’ll put myself on the front lines of this self defeating war step up “as a man” and deal with myself. Give all of me, a shot at a decent reality. I’ve only wanted a place to call home.
Michael Rucker Nov 2015
Exponentially changing,
moods beyond comprehension,
the causation of misery.
An existence unable to comprehend simplicity,
more so vacancy,
an inept social inability,
and somber eyes.
Barely alive,
selling off a sense of satisfactory,
though false smiles,
kind assurance,
and concealed self destruction.  
-Michael

— The End —