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ThePoet Feb 12
4:21am,
and I’m not sure where the hours went
Wondering if it’s worth it all,
all of the wasted time spent?
Struggling to keep myself around
Plummeting deep into the ground
The line I crossed is where I’m bound
A game of lost and never found

4:32am,
and I’m not sure when it started
Wondering if I deserve it all,
whatever left me broken hearted?
A shallow rise for a deeper low
If I swallow lies then I can’t let go
It’s always yes when it should be no
But I reminisce what I used to know

4:43am,
and I’m not sure how it ended
Wondering if I divert it all,
will I come out the other side mended?
I hide in thoughts buried in my head
Live inside the plots I made up instead
I can’t revive when I know I’m dead
And I won’t survive in the life I’ve led

4:54am,
and I’m not sure if I’m myself again
Wondering if I revert it all,
can I go back in time before it all began?
I knew it’s wrong but it felt too right
I grew so strong but I lost the fight
Intertwined with the depths of night
It’s where I find just a glimmer of light

The silence is deafening when it makes a sound.
Shadow Feb 11
Trying so hard to get over the past
Left me in a hole far too deep
And now I must face the reality
I never wanted to see
Drowned myself in clouds of smoke
And the pain never seemed to leave
But Im finally reaching the point
Where I am returning to being me
Ginn Mosxa Feb 3
Are you toxic or broken
Misunderstood or clearly spoken
Are you fragile, reckless or both
...Is there still hope?
I know I can't save you
Can't bail you out
I can't carry you a single step of the way
But can I perhaps
Support the change?
Can I be present for you
Can I show you grace
Could I perhaps just
See again, your smiling face?
If I stopped here, and waited a while
Would that be okay
Could you understand
My need to keep you at bay
Because I love you, I do
But I'm so afraid
To be hurt again
I'm scared to know you
But that's all I want, too.
For Chelsi
R N Tolliday Jan 24
The dark ocean flows over her scratched and calloused feet,
As she faces the black horizon: far from what I've seen.
But what she sees are the stars, and a distant ferry catching light;
The silver traces, all around us, will bring her solace for the evening's plight.

Calming: the aqua at her feet... but also the black liquid in one hand—
Of which poisons her knowingly; at times it's cruelty from a rich white man.
But the 'baby needs her bottle', she'd say; sleep would ask for 'zero *****'.
Normal is this: her lines drawn in the sand, of change, ebbed away by the flux.

The woman works hard, through traumas, to provide a life for she and her son,
And it's clear—to me, that life ******* her, in many more ways than one.
Abused by the very worst, and she's never experienced a 'home', she'd cry,
Whilst drunk inside her enabler's one, of which her rent's paid at some point in time.

But she's a 'normal' person: her good heart, art dreams, and brains led her to be seen,
And now, I know it would break me if she were one day swallowed by the sea.
Despite our bond's submergence, by hidden rocks, its specialness I'll keep in heart;
And those promises I've made, I'll follow, no matter how far we go apart...

I'll always be there for her, if ever sought for in a time of need.
There's a place to roost if ever she travels, most of which's perks are free.
I'll be a fully-fledged counsellor, helping those, like her, find their feet.
Lastly—of myself—I'll continue writing, for the joy and love it brings is deep.
Heavy Hearted Jan 20
Here I sit
In this basement of
some other house
In the core of the city-
I'm almost on my own...
This January's night
Flashes frozen-
As I adicite, light
I see all that I've chosen:

perturbation, and frustration,
Entwine in all my fascination
Stinging- they whip my body &
paint on lacerations

What you've chosen I cannot see
And the light I catch redefines me
Shadows ignite
That December's day
Reminds me I'm not alone.
In the outskirts of Toronto-
In my Parents home-
My room, my bed - my life's in
The basement

its there; I cry.
A ustin
L ucie
O verwhelming
N othingness
E ncapsulates
Musty kisses, so much like cologne with a musky smell, leave a lasting aftertaste—an indication of a man desperately trying to conceal his insecurities. Rumors have circulated that he has resorted to manipulation and mind games in his interactions with women, resembling a predatory elite, a muskellunge lurking in the depths of a freshwater lake. As nightfall approaches, he prepares himself for the evening's activities, donning his goggles like a skilled diver ready to plunge headfirst into the murky waters of awkward conversation and those all-too-familiar first impressions. With an air of self-assuredness, he boasts about his past athletic achievements; "Hey I used to be good at sports," obviously spelled out on his letterman jacket as evidence of his once formidable sporting prowess. "While I may have retired from the game, but perhaps tonight you can play ball, and be the one to play with my *****," he slyly suggests, fueled by liquid confidence provided by a few shots of courage. Unfortunately for him, the weight of his words pales in comparison to the value of the drinks he has been offering the object of his attention. So of course she won't pay attention.

As her patience wears thin, she cannot contain her frustration any longer and resorts to throwing the last swallow of her drink in his
face, an act meant to deflate his ego. Instead of swallowing his pride, he bounces back like the reverberations echoing through the empty club. Retrieving a cigarette from the left pocket of his coat, he ignites a flame and engulfs himself in a cloud of smoke, attempting to find solace in his self-imposed camouflage through his chimney neck.
Without skipping a beat, he beckons for another glass of whiskey and casually whistles a tune before every sip, as though seeking comfort in the familiarity of his routines. In a fleeting moment, his gaze meets mine, almost as if we were old friends sharing a silent understanding.

Little does he know, I am acquainted with the man behind the facade, aware of the pain he actively conceals behind his bravado. There is a tragic narrative woven into his life, one in which he has been consistently belittled by a brother, leaving him with no choice but to compensate for his perceived shortcomings by pushing boundaries. Within him, there is an unmistakable sense of being lost, drowning his sorrows in a bottle. Tomorrow, he will consume his own words, choking on the regret that accompanies his intoxicated state and *****. It is a sobering tale indeed, one that asks us to consider how we may overlook fragments of our own pain reflected in the brokenness of others.
Francie Lynch Jan 10
We should know better
With or without schooling.
If we willfully refuse,
If we disregard the facts;
We are ignorant.
That's below below average.
We made a choice.
A choice is not a chronic disease.
Not like mine.
It was never my choice.
I don't know if it happened
Before or After,
But the manifestation was slow, profound,
And addictive.
Many just don't get it.
Perpetual nonsense stews in me like a brine
For all this ***** flesh needs a curin’
I no longer see, but I sit and stir
While a party yells- I bubble quietly or
can myself discreetly.
Whose heart is more precious: the tinman or the oyster?
My merry-go-round concoction is a family recipe: throat pigs-
swelled to save suffering
Step 1:Run the tap
Step 2: Wait
Step 3: Repeat
Step 3: Repeat
No longer sick with a secret
Crushed by worry and pain
The avalanche of addiction
Life in a Hurricane
Willing to tell your story
Without blood-letting blame
Being brave every morning
Clothed with courage everyday.

(c) Debra Lea Ryan
05/01/2024
5th Poem/Idea for an concept album project.  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=beiwZtKwcMM
Renae Dec 2023
Fine print signatures hardly exist when
little white lines guide your mind
Trusted friends,  kin,
I believed when they said I'd win
Surely this won't take me
I claim invincibility
Laugh louder outside
Inside I am screaming
Save me
I am imploding
She is empty what happened to us
What happened to me
I am in disbelief
I chose this ending
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