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Helene Marie Feb 1
how come i'm always tired
when i want so badly to be awake

how come time seems to move slower
when i feel like i'm going so fast

so fast...
s o   fast. . .
s  o     f a s t  .  .  .

everything is moving too fast
my mind, my heart, my body

i look in the mirror and i wonder
what's happening up there

up there...
u p  there. . .
u  p   t h e r e .  .  .

my head, it's racing,
too many miles per minute

it's racing, too slow, too fast, too slow, too fast
and i just want to hit the brakes
Dirk Salimus Jan 31
Let the breath get out of my chest
Let the heart stop and rest
Let the blood quit flowing
Let me continue fleeing.

Just for the very last time
Let everything be.
Give me a break, god
Tell me all the things that I haven’t done right
All the ways that I’ve been a sore sight

How am I a splinter in your side
I’m trying not to just deny

I’m trying hard to leave the questions
Let the roar of peace cancel them out
But I do find that on this mission
The things I see just take me out

I’m tired of having to peoce together
All the things that I’ve done wrong
And when I die, light as a feather
My heart will sing a cleared up song
I don’t believe in god but I’m using god as a device to convey what I’m feeling. What did you like about this poem?
Em Quinn Jan 30
i always associated the colour scarlett with a brightness.
the love of valentines day or the blush filling one's cheeks on a chilly saturday.
scarlett meant life to me,
and i never thought it'd represent opposite.

scarlett was love.

scarlett was a heart shaped box of chocolates,
the sparkle of fireworks,
a can of cranberry sauce on thanksgiving day.

scarlett was optimism.

scarlett was a thank you card,
a bright balloon at a birthday celebration,
or the painted lips of a woman on a first date.

scarlett was never meant to be pain.

scarlett wasn't meant to be a sharp bracelet of numbness,
a sleeve of anger that melted into the floor,
or the cold emptiness that accompanied silver.

scarlett wasn never meant to be anger.

scarlett wasn't meant to be the screaming i hear in my head at night,
the holes in the door,
or the deep stain of aggression falling against my knuckles.

the first syllable seems to fit too well nowadays.
i'm struggling.
Strung Jan 30
You can’t stand to see me.
It’s okay,
I’ve put it
In the locket I keep
Deep in my heart—
The chains
Scraping my lungs;
It’s why I can’t speak.
It’s okay,
I hurt you
And you hurt me
And it’s okay.
DG Jan 30
Ladies and gentlemen,
Please do not let your significant others
Keep you from talking to your friends
Because our time on this earth is limited
And we need all of the people we can
To live our days as if they are the last.
By shutting me out, dear,
You are taking pieces of my life.
The day comes in with a
Flash of light and I begin to creep
Further into my bed thinking
Of days when normal was normal.
I reach my hand towards my ceiling in the
Dark room with a single blue light that haunts me through it’s enchanting glow
It’s mesmerizing glow astounds my
Soul. as I slowly begin to fall asleep I ask for answers to my “problems.” I pull my hand down and think of the blue paint that is now white and shining. My brother comes in after my brother opens the curtains in my room to awaken me from my decrepit sleep of shame and depression. I can only believe he is here to show me comfort or some basic form of loving compassion. He leaves without looking at me as if to say “I don’t care.” I look further at him wondering if these humans will forgive my weaknesses, my uncontrollable wanting and fear. I’m alone, I realize that now.  I am supposed to act like an 18 year old for the rest of my life? isn’t that unreasonable? I’m supposed to survive on 1/4 the food I need? What god planned this? I’m limited and forced to feel weak. I’m slowly falling apart. The cattle meat I’ve been been surviving on does not satisfy my needs. I need something to bleed. I sit up after these questions run through my mind and think of when my “normal” will feel “normal.” what complete trash of a feeling... what am I?
My mind as human as most of the people around me. My morals are changing and my hunger is raging. The pain won’t go away. What should I do, how will I eat?
buying food is super hard...
“Don’t ruin my artwork”
He said to me when I was still his canvas
But he grew less fond of my colors, now dull
My blues to greys
Fading away
The white washed over me
And I was no longer his masterpiece
Brayden Allen Jan 27
I get lost in my own words
don’t know where I end and the character begins.
Writing to keep the ink from spilling
the blood in my veins flowing.
Wishing that time would start slowing.
There is so much to do
so much time to sleep
so much time to fill
knowing that it is time to
replace the silence
and speak the truth.
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