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Jenny 46m
This feeling won’t leave me,
It presses harder with my footsteps.
What is it, following me ceaselessly,
Keeping me alert wherever I am?

If you ask me, I won’t give an answer.
You told me to write it down—so I started leading a diary.
Anyone would confuse my notes for a ******’s.
It’s ironic that I’m willing
To dwell in asylum.

Because—

I worry about people who don’t deserve it.
I’m scared I’ll forever be skulking from problems.
And why do I only feel happy and free
When I daydream, walking in circles for years?
India ;
a country where
approximately, 80 rapes happen in a single day
(78 murders )( 23 fake alimony cases) ( burglery rate 7.2)
the country which allows and rewards rapists
letting them roam free

in a country that is so poor;
"the poor" are not even seen as human beings
killing them; ****** them ; driving a ******* whole car on them ;
and the jury will make you write a ******* essay
the system will blame the driver
and the society will blame the poor
such a pathetic nation

but we still sing
with pride every morning
forgetting every ******* case
every ******* human whose done such thing
and watching movies and other such media made by pedophiles , rapists , molesters , murderers
im in a very bad mood wrote this while watching news and just cant take this anymore
Clutching my chest
I can’t breath
I can’t see
I can’t be
Me
In front of my eyes is a white ceiling, plain and smooth,
and I can hear my chest pounding.
I can feel my lungs breathing--inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.
Then there are tugging, swinging, running---
back and forth and back and forth.
Where did it come from?
I have no clue.
White ceiling, is it all you?
Sometimes, it feels like life
would be so much easier if I could just believe. Believe that it's all going to be alright.
Believe that it's worth it
to fight for what you want.
That it makes a difference if you stand up.
That there's a heaven,
and we know what it's like there.
Hell, if I could believe in myself.
But life can only rock your boat so many times before that little voice in your head whispers "what's the point?" The point is...security.
while it can be redundant,
there is so much uncertainty. Unpredictability. It's no wonder so many people
struggle with anxiety.
But if you believe,
at least you have something to hold on to.
Yes,  finally,  I have broken;
There's nothing I can do.

I've nothing left to live for;
Nor to breathe the air
Like you.

You know how people
Always say,
"Well hey, it could be worse?"

Well hi, my name is "Worse,"
I'll introduce myself
To you.

I gave up all my cigarettes,
I've poured out all the *****;

But things that should get "better,"
I can't see them like you do.

I wrote a story from my mind,
On a gift that I was given,
Nine chapters pulled from
My behind;

That's humor,  if you get it.

My cat knocked down a
Half- full can,
Upon my livelihood;

And now I'm left with nothing,
Yes, I've wondered if I "should.."

I've tried so many times,
I gave up trying long ago;
Swallowed seventy- two Xanax
And took a jump down the bayou.

But for every time I've tried,
Somehow, I still wake up alive,
But tonight for the first time in years,
I truly wished I'd die.

Oh, when you live for nothing,
And all you've left behind,
Are spoken words and stories
That can warp and open minds;

When you live without money;
Left society behind,
You survive on only kindness,
Oh, yeah, any kind you find.

I don't know 'bout tomorrow;
Today has been enough.
But even through my sorrow,
I've felt my heart grow tough.

Now, I must sleep without
My dreams; they're locked behind
A door;

A prison made of plastic,
Metal,  and lost
Forevermore.

So now I'm sitting here again,
And poetry I write;
I'm glad nobody's here to see me;
God, I'm such a sight!

My face is boils and scars,
And they continue down my arms;
They wind their way into my mind;
They're even on my heart.

For all I've given up to live
A life I could call mine,
I'm left tonight with nothing,
No; a nothing that is mine.

I'll try my best to get some rest;
And face the day anew,

But finally,  I have broken;
Some part of me is "through..."
This is how I feel tonight. I literally wrote 9 chapters of a novel on an old laptop that was gifted to me by a friend of the family, and my cat knocks a ****** can of soda all over it; I'm broke, I CAN'T work,  my mental illness won't LET me; IT'S NOT A CHOICE,
and I've never felt more depressed and suicidal in many years, than this moment, right now. So I'm using the only thing I have to post on,  my phone,  and I've written this. Goodnight world. *******,  God. And I hope tomorrow gets better...
i stay out of it more than i used to,
painting pictures on a metaphorical canvas.
anything is possible if i want to
find something that catches on,
leave everything else that matters
and turn away from it all.

i have great conversations with myself,
drawing memories like a string to wrap and tighten.
i live and die keeping it to myself
with every thought that spills through
like gasoline, begging for a lighter.
i stay out of it more than i used to.
When even the nights were bright

and no darkness clouded my mind

The breeze sending chills down my spine.

--------------------------------------------------------
­
Now even when the days are bright

to me its still dark.

A stark contrast from my perception of life before.
Clay Powell Jan 16
Silver is my favorite color, or at least it was. It wasn’t the typical silver, it was

shiny and tiny, the silver that cuts through things smoothly. In this case my

skin. My happy memories are all locked in a bin and thrown in the back of my

mind. The silver sending chills down my spine. As I look for any sign of the

happiness I once knew.
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