Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
abyss Aug 10
/
Here I go,
once again—
cigarette smoke,
empty page.

Romanticizing pain,
self-destructing on my own.

“Your words are so pretty.”
“Thanks—they’re a cry for help,
you know?”
my attempt at writing something daily even if it’s just word *****
  Aug 9 abyss
Kalliope
I want to float
without fear of sinking,
daydreaming away,
fully charged vape, no blinking.

I want the water cool on my skin
without all the goosebumps,
without fear of what lurks within.

I want to not think
while I do nothing at all,
but I feel so guilty-
like I’ve dropped the ball.

A lazy river for peace and relaxation,
full of nightmarish currents:
Relaxing is lazy-
No separations.

I want to do nothing
and recharge myself,
but doing nothing feels wrong,
wasteful of time
when there’s people to help.

There’s rooms to sweep,
clothes not put away,
I’m behind on sleep,
and still, somehow,  I decay
I want to rest without feeling guilty
  Aug 7 abyss
Druzzayne Rika
It's absurd to believe that there is someone for somebody,
the likelihood of finding that somebody in the crowd of everybody,
When everyone has woven in their mind, an entirely different reality
Is it a curse to be on your own for your entirety
You find travelers on their journey, and get a word in
Believe that the entire world, heaven above must be listening
A human in a billion, with rest so many other beings
What are the chances of meeting the one surrounded by many
I am just running in and out, about over my destiny
What is fixed, what is variable, what is relationship, if not temporary?
A promise of meeting in other life, why bind me in the cycle.
A lifetime seems so much, yet incomplete without somebody?
What is it in me, that I am not sufficient to be without anybody?
  Aug 7 abyss
Malcolm
Can’t you see?
It’s time for me.
I’ve played the tune in lower key,
Where silence hums eternity.
So what’s the deal? I’ll keep it real,
I ain’t afraid, my bed is made.

I guess the devils got a place for me.

I’m not so bad when I know the truth,
Confessions end in a lonely booth.
I’ll see you there amongst the flames,
With Paul and Peter and St. James.

Oh I danced with doubt, drank with pain,
Slept in the gutter, sang in the rain.
Laughed at life, cried at death,
Made peace with ghosts and held my breath.

I lit my sins like cigarettes,
Watched 'em burn with no regrets.
The preacher screamed, “You still got time!”
But I was too far gone in song and rhyme.

The Devil’s got a place for me,
Front row seat, infernal heat.
I'll bring the wine, you bring the scars,
We’ll toast beneath those falling stars.
And if the angels disagree
Well, hell was always home for me.

I wore the guilt like second skin,
The price I paid to let light in.
But now I walk with open eyes,
No more prayers, no more disguise.

The mirror told me all I need:
I’m not the monster, just the seed.
Planted deep in doubt and dirt,
Grew thorns of rage from every hurt.

No choir sings for blackened grace,
But I still smile in this cursed place.
Don’t need no wings, I’ve got my voice
And fire is just another choice.

So use your brain, break every chain.
This world was wired to make you tame.
But in the spark, the mind sets free,
A thousand doors, infinity.
The fools obey, the brave create
And I walked right through the fiery gate.

The Devil’s got a place for me,
And that’s just where I’m meant to be.
Can’t bribe my soul, or buy my fate
I built this path, I sealed the gate.
So come on down, and dance with me
Where truth is raw, and we’re finally free.

Why don't you come down and join me.
But freedom's price ain’t peace or grace,
It’s seeing Hell in a clearer space.
You break the chains, then break some more
And find the Devil at your door.
The devils got a place for me.
07 August 2025
The Devil’s got a place for me
Copyright Malcolm Gladwin
Originally written as a song
abyss Aug 6
it’s been a while
since I wrote something—
something to name
the numbness in me.

I haven’t gotten better,
but I haven’t gotten worse.
days blend into each other,
work blurs into static,
time marches on.

I don’t feel a thing—
or maybe
I feel everything.

a numb little mouse,
trapped in my room,
I wake up fine,
then spend the day
trying not to fall apart.

a text from a friend—
and I smile,
like maybe the day
won’t drown me after all.

but then night comes.
I stare at the moon
and wonder:

what is this feeling
boiling inside me?

emotions—so fragile,
spinning like yin and yang
but blurred,
lost.

and still, I wonder:
why is it
so empty
inside?
I haven't written anything in a while and this is the first thing that my hands wrote during this fog.
Next page