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Eric Apr 2019
my mind is full
my life is a lull
my strings they pull
and it takes it's toll
I drop and roll
with flames out , I'm dull
I feel safe behind my walls
and I don't have to walk tall
I just can't take this pain at all
it seeps in , and I'm on a crawl
if I look down , I will fall
if I jump down , that's my call
with my emotions , turning into a ball
I throw them away , rather not feel them at all
but I'll bleed in pain, let me an the silver talk it off.
Tony Tweedy Mar 2019
I survived the broken heart just fine.
It was the collateral damage to my mind that killed me.
Matty Mar 2019
Yesterday I saw you fall asleep,

so pretty I couldn’t help but weep.

The way you looked as you closed your eyes,

made me die a hundred thousand times.



Today I couldn't help but strain,

to say the words that I had planned.

“To death do us apart”

Oh, baby, words are so cruel, an arrow straight to the heart.



Tomorrow you’ll be oh so sadly missed,

with that smile and your rosy-coloured cheeks.



So Goodbye Baby,

You’re too good to me.

Goodbye Baby,

There is no one else for me.
Sehar Bajwa Mar 2019
sparkle in his eyes,
stars spell out constellations
of serenity.

clouded over pain,
darkened skies , shifting shadows,
vortex of anguish.
double haiku
the joy and pain in his eyes.
the fine line between love and hate
happens to be you
at times you fill my heart with anguish
but your love still draws me towards you
and i hate everything you did to me
but somehow i am still wholeheartedly in love with every part of you
why do i still love you after you ripped my heart apart?
Mandi Feb 2019
A Fight For Sanctuary
- by Amanda L. Winand

She wears a sleek white gown, the color of purity. Standing on top of a grassy knoll there is nothing but picturesque beauty as far as the eye can see. But the girl doesn't seem to notice. Tears fall from her face in silent streams and she wraps her bare arms around herself as though she is trying to keep from falling apart. A sudden gust of wind causes her hair to whip about forcefully; she can hardly stand against the strength of it. Without warning she is swept from her feet, abruptly taken from the grassy knoll and all that she knew and loved. Despair.

She falls back into darkness, her hand stretched out to the small patch of light still visible from her grassy knoll that grows ever distant and out of reach. Another ambient light begins to grow brighter from beneath her. But this light is sinister; she feels the devastating heat on her back before ever seeing the flames. She is helpless as she falls toward the lake fire waiting to devour her. The flames reach out like hungry fingers seeking to taste her fragile skin. She falls straight into them. Anguish.

As suddenly as she fell into the fire she all at once comes crashing through it to the other side. Dark water lurked beneath the flames waiting to swallow her for itself. She falls through the surface with the weight of a thousand bricks, a weight that is both crushing and suffocating and more than she could possibly bear. She is drowning, sinking deeper and deeper into the depths of darkness. Hopeless.

She realizes she isn't falling so much as being pulled down violently, far beyond anyone's reach. Once she reaches a dark, empty abyss whatever invisible hands had clutched hold of her have let go. She is floating in this new, empty place. There is nothing. There is no one. Darkness and emptiness become all that she knows. It makes it's way inside her until she feels nothing else, until she forgets what it was like to have ever felt anything else. Defeated.

Just as she accepts her new reality a small distant light comes across her vision. She gets closer until she can see the small grassy knoll she once called home. To return to this place she knows she has to escape the darkness and the emptiness that grievously hold her back. She fights a long exhausting battle against them, earning herself more than a few scars that will never fully heal, but in the end she is victorious. Finally free she returns to her sanctuary to once again experience the joy of the grass beneath her bare feet and the gentle warmth of sunlight caressing her skin. Peace.

Some time passes. The feeling of joyfulness gradually begins to fade and is once again replaced by an inexplicable sadness. That sadness begins to grow into overwhelming sorrow. Tears pool in the hallows of her eyes and fall from her delicate face. She knows what is coming but she is helpless to stop it. The wind begins to grow with the swelling storm inside her. She tries once again to stand against it's force but she isn't strong enough alone. All at once she is pushed from her sanctuary, falling backwards once again into the darkness and all that awaits her there. Depression.
I know it's not really a poem but I hope it's allowed. Just something I had to get out.
solfang Jan 2019
I wish it's my father's road,
For my father,
He'll take the right actions;
When strangers make a monkey out,
Of themselves, and induce fear
onto his daughter of flesh and blood.

I wish it is my father's road,
For my father,
Would not allow atrocity
To happen when he's on guard.

I wish it is my father's road,
For my father,
He does not have a vile temper,
But shows real anger when
I'm hurt.

And I'm hurt,
By names my father did not gave me,
On the road that does not belong
to my father.
Grandfather/father's road: A retort to druvera/pedestrian who act like they own the roads. Commonly heard, and said as part of Malaysia/Singapore's street language.

Feels like cat-callers owned the road these days. I live in fear.
Hidden Glade Jan 2019
16
little
lines.

8 that bled
8 that disappointed

Cutting is bad. Self-harm is pain. Bottling is pointless.
Cutting is pain. Self-harm is pointless. Bottling is effective.
Cutting is pointless. Self-harm is effective. Bottling isn't' working.
Cutting is effective. Self-harm isn't working. Bottling was fuel.
Cutting isn't working. Self-harm was fuel.
Cutting was fuel. Self-harm is empty.
Suicide is.

Where am I?
How many lines until the end?
Some stuff  I wrote the night after I first self-harmed.
A rough couple of years later and I'm a changed person.
Glad I never made it to the end of the line.
Nisha Fatima Jan 2019
In the gleaming lustre of joy,
There's a requisite factor,
A hope to seek some buoy,
And to resist the impulse to shatter.

I open my palms to the divine,
And beg for a prodigious fate indeed,
Listening to the cries depicting the sign,
Until despair eats me up inside, counting as a need.

But is it genuine?
That all corpses turn to the might,
I neglect the thought and continue with the credence of men,
As thought it leads me to the height.

Alas, anyway,
Despite the greed to reign,
In a shallow corner of my bay,
I yet restrain, the hope to attain.
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