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 9h Nobody
jay
never to deep
never enough to die
but enough to feel the pain;
enough to scream inside
you are mans best friend
but your life seems to have an early end
i saw you yesterday playing with your pack
stranger gave you their uneaten snacks

you were the smallest thing i ever saw
every girl gave you an awww
you were licking my shoes
the next day your life was cut too loose

i will see you in heaven
you came from your mother
but were sent away in a plastic bag
If your dad is cheating on your mom clap your hands
'thump thump'
if you have a problem with self harm clap your hands
'thump thump'
if your mother hates you clap your hands
'thump thump'
if you cant control your addictions clap your hands
'thump thump'
if you are a academic loser clap your hands
'thump thump'
if you wanna end it clap your hands
'thump thump'
cute kitty cat
kitty on my back
kitty on my lap
kitty sleeping on the rag
kitty sleeping on the mat
kitty killing rat
kitty loving cat
cute kitty cat meow
why do the poems i think nothing about trend but the ones i put my soul into dont .
 2d Nobody
Emma
Passed out, nearly dead from ****** asphyxiation—his black belt a makeshift noose, tightened not by malice but by an ill-defined yearning to suffocate under the weight of his own desires. Strangers enter like clockwork, their faces veiled by cheap rubber masks, their identities erased in the monochrome of a shuttered room. The air inside is static, thick with the smell of sweat and latex, a claustrophobic sanctuary where sins bloom like black orchids. Outside, the window shutters drop in unison, as if the world itself conspired to cloak these transgressions in shadow.

In the asylum's hallways, fluorescent lights buzz like trapped bees. Patients—witnesses, voyeurs, and unwilling participants—stare through glassy eyes and scream incoherent hymns to no one in particular. The sound ricochets off padded walls, a crescendo of human failure. He stands motionless, still as a gravestone, pipe in hand. The pipe, of course, being not for music but for alchemy—a chemical talisman offering numbness in exchange for pieces of his soul. The smoke snakes upward, thin and gray, a ghost of decisions past.

She sits opposite him, a queen in a throne of peeling vinyl, her pupils shrinking to pinpoints, tiny black holes pulling in whatever remains of the room’s light. He leans in, their mouths meeting in a kiss that isn’t romantic so much as transactional, a blowback of toxins exchanged like whispered secrets. Her sweat drips down her temple, saline proof of a shared feverish delirium. Behind her, the low hum of voices blends with the rhythmic hiss of an oxygen tank. Somewhere, someone’s kidney is failing, a fact no one seems concerned about.

Broken promises hang in the air like the smell of burnt rubber. A story, they think—if either could still think—was written here, but not on pages. No, it’s etched in the sands of time, or maybe just in the damp carpet beneath their feet. This isn’t love, but it’s the closest thing to it they’ll ever know, and that’s enough.

The color blue pulses in the corner of the room, a glow from an ancient cathode-ray tube leaking static like plasma. Mystical healing? No. Just the underwater rush of losing, of dying, but never quite crossing the finish line. There’s a plague among lovers, spreading through their touch, their whispers, their lies. It’s in the air, the water, the way they inhale each other’s breath, taking in the poison with no promise of the antidote.

He collapses first, the belt still loose in his hand, and she laughs—a soft, low sound that fills the void. Her laugh says everything: "We tried, didn’t we?"
Friday prose
my ol' hobby
smoking you in
harming my kin
takin the pill
going in all out for the ****

you're white and yellow
sore and mellow
you give out gray
you're my demise they say
make me gay

you make my lungs hurt
but smoking you in makes me feel like kurt
holding the guitar
smoking a cigarette
how smoking makes us feel
All the men that stare, they don't have to stay
They don't **** , but the **** is conveyed
Eyes have power they say
is that why they hate the gays

eyeliner , eye shadow , lipstick
This is what makes em ick ;
doing drugs
having ***
that's cool isn't it?
looking at the hips that gave you birth;
staring at the ******* that quenched your thirst
maybe the gender is a little cursed
this is the fact that makes my heart burst

**** is a powerful word
a tool for women to onslaught the turds
isn't it a little to late to test the bees and the birds
maybe its better to have a gay son or a thot daughter
then to have a son that rapes his own mother
 2d Nobody
E Lynch
It arrives,
Unnoticed, unannounced.

Quiet,
At first.

Slow,
Seeping, dripping.

I put it down to a few stressful weeks.
I carry on.

It unpacks,
Worries, anxieties.

Gently,
For now,

Tiptoes,
Whispers, creaks.

‘It will leave soon’ I think ‘It always does.’
I keep going.

It settles in,
Getting comfortable.

Getting louder,
And louder.

Banging thoughts,
Insomnia.

‘Please don’t be happening again’.
I shuffle along my daily routine.

Claws in,
Insidious.

Screaming,
24/7.

Shame, worthlessness,
Hurt.

‘Please go away’.
I’m barely coping.

Growing roots,
Into my brain and heart.

Blossoming pain,
With every beat.

Emptiness, loneliness,
Abandonment.

Silence, Stillness,
‘I can’t move, I can’t cope.’
Step 1: Get out of bed
Step 2: Look in the mirror
Step 3: Practice your smile
Step 4: Eyedrops to hide the red eyes
Step 5: Conceal the dark circles
Step 6: Breathe
The curtains are almost up
Step 7: Lock down the pain
Step 8: Ignore the weight on your chest
Step 9: Silence the screams inside of your mind
Step 10: Choke down the sobs
Step 11: Ignore the stinging in your eyes
Step 12: Swallow past the tightness in your throat
You’ve put on this show a million times
Step 13: Don’t let them see
Times up. Curtains up. Camera rolling
You know how when you’re not ok but you try so hard to pretend you’re ok that it becomes a ritual
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