s Oct 16

he’s addicted to the high
from egotistical joy rides. he revels
in self pride, arrogance apparent in
his stride. but his confident exterior
stems from narcissistic lies. he can’t handle
hearing “no”- rejection leaves him mortified.    

this is not the first time
he's come to me cock-eyed.      
he asks for my consent, politely i deny.
but he refuses to listen, preparing to defy.
my fear becomes palpable-
his desire

“no, no, no!” yet his hands
are on my thighs. “we have to tonight.”
his words cut like a knife.
i don’t understand why
i’m forced to comply. (this is my body,
don’t i get to decide?)

my bones calcify, my heart’s
a ship that’s capsized
i’ve been dehumanized and
now i have to act alive.

i look in the mirror and let out a long sigh-
is it his soul or mine
that’s been demonized?

s Oct 11

my mind is a war zone, my body’s shackled to depression
get to know me if you want to but use your discretion
i’ll push you far away and then i’ll beg for your attention-
i’ll convince us both it’s love though you’re merely a projection.

  Sep 2016 s
Sylus Fox

it's the end of a less than
five minute conversation
some mumbled
excuse about exams
and a sighed okay
don't speak your mind
you know the repercussions
then that dreaded question
"are you mad"
at you?
at myself?
at whatever being is
somewhere in
the universe?
I don't know.
But not you.
no, it's never you.

yeah, I know it sucks
s Aug 2016

anxiety kicks down the door
and holds you at gunpoint-
he, who is the most unforgiving of all,
does not care where you come from,
what you’re doing, who you’re with.
he hijacks the system. he takes over
the plane you were trained to fly. he
is a terrorist who you cannot escape
from and you cannot imprison.

you are not safe in your body.

first piece, edited
s Aug 2016

anxiety is a terrorist
who holds me at gun point
and hijacks the plane that
i should be flying.
i don't know where we're headed
or what i'm going to do.

i am not safe on my own.

s Aug 2016

the things that i think about-
no one else would want to think about
and i'm convinced nobody does think
about them.

i treat my past memories as razor blades
and carve into my skin until
i am lacking sufficient blood
and i am struggling for oxygen.

i wish someone would explain to me
why you still have such a hold on me
and why your words still echo the walls of
my empty mind
especially on lonely nights
like these.

why can't i fall out of love with someone
who never loved me to begin with?

  Aug 2016 s
Charles Bukowski

you may not believe it
but there are people
who go through life with
very little
friction or
they dress well, eat
well, sleep well.
they are contented with
their family
they have moments of
but all in all
they are undisturbed
and often feel
very good.
and when they die
it is an easy
death, usually in their
you may not believe
but such people do
but I am not one of
oh no, I am not one
of them,
I am not even near
to being
one of
but they are
and I am

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