Omnya0 Nov 2018
Vines are choking me
And I wish so hard that I can redirect them to choke him
He that commits the crimes
He that belongs in pits of mines
He spits acid on everyone then calls us the source of the destruction
Pretends to be the best of the arts
When in fact all his charts are down
All for what?
To prove you're the best?
The parts you fail at aren't that hard of a test?
My blood was boiling
but then I realized
if I waited long enough
Your vines will choke you
Omnya0 Oct 2018
If you're not in a relationship
you're lonely
We forget about friendship
A much larger trophy

Romance comes and goes
Like a bright red rose
Friendships stay for longer
And are much stronger

I will not deny
that a partner is nice to have
to sit under the night sky
And cuddle

Sleeping next to them every night
But it is not the only light

We must not rely our happiness on it
And remember our friends
Too many people say they'll die alone and forget that friends will also be there.
Omnya0 Oct 2018
Beat me in the head with a hammer
Throw me down some stairs
I want to tear my brain and shatter my wares

I am trapped in a glass jar with no air
There are no achievements I can maintain
And I. Am. Suffocating.

I can't breathe without feeling acid dripping down my throat
Every breath I try to gulp, my chest tightens
My anxiety is a titan
My sanity is slipping

My mind works at a million miles an hour and my soul pays for it

I just want a good night's sleep
I just want to be not constantly pacing
I just want the headaches to stop
I just want a warm hug

All I think I need right now is a warm hug
And a good cry
And I'll figure out the rest later
Omnya0 Oct 2018
Time slips through my hands like sand from a broken hourglass
And every time I try to stand and take a breath
A year goes by
I fear that when I die,
I will not have been able to live in the moment
I fear that when I try to recall now
All I'll remember is worry and that makes my anxiety grow
It's an unusual paradox
That involves the handles of clocks
The answer seems so simple
It's not a large riddle

Just stop worrying

Just don't

But now I worry about not worrying

**** you, brain
Writing poems is very therapeutic. It's nice to put feelings into words.
Omnya0 Oct 2018
Before I sleep or when everyone around me is asleep,

I go to an empty street. I wear a coat to protect myself from the cold.

It's a nice cold.

The type that kisses your cheek makes you shiver a little and fills you with giddy.

In the middle of this street is a lamp post; I like to weave words and art from this lamp post.

But I need to go back to slumber

But I need to  go back and play with numbers

And when I don't have these things to worry about

The light goes out

I wait for it to turn back on

Most of the time, it doesn't

I play with the wires

Or maybe perhaps I should go looking for other lampposts and fires

I try to call friends

But it all leads to dead ends

The light of the lamppost will not come back

So I try to make in the dark

And it is excruciatingly hard

All that comes out is a horrible chord

Outside the street, everyone tells me the song is beautiful

But I what I still hear is bad and inexcusable

I'd wish that what happens on that street

Stays on that street

Because the darkness of that lamppost seems to follow me wherever I walk

So, I decided to pause and stop on the sidewalk

Maybe the solution to this darkness is simply changing a wire

Or moving on to find another flare of light
Omnya0 Oct 2018
Everything I write, everything I draw; delete

The things I create, I cannot complete

Is it being insecure or being lazy?                                                            ­                                                                 ­     

I don't know how to be a productive lady                    

I feel ******                                                           ­                                                                 ­                                                  

Since I can't anything executed

My work lives in the recycling bin

It's close in resemblance to a din

The backspace key is faded

My soul is abraded

I hate that I can't articulate

Does anyone else relate?

At least this poem is finished but it has no real end                                                              ­                                

I hope it shows what I intend

— The End —