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Em Quinn Jan 2019
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.
Valarola Nikola Jan 2019
Suffocating in my problems,
At the bottom of the bottle,
And yeah maybe I got a problem,
Or maybe I'm a psychopath,
Because my doctor's convinced,
It wasn't me it was the medications,
So am I crazy and addicted,
or am I just plain insane in the head?

Slit my wrists and close my eyes,
Take me away to the heaven they call paradise,
Because this world I'm living in is surely hell,
So someone please send me some ******* help,

Will my drawer full of containers,
That once had cough syrup,
Convince you of my issues,
Or do I need to pull out the tissues?
Please I'm drowning in myself,
Choking on my self hatred and doubt,
That I really need to get admitted,
I've got problem, can't admit it,

Slit my wrists and close my eyes,
Take me away to the heaven they call paradise,
Because this world I'm living in is surely hell,
So someone please send me some ******* help,

Down a bottle of these pills and sleep,
Take me away to a place with endless sheep,
To count and comfort me, because I find such little here,
Someone please send me there, send me there, send me there.
kyla marie Jan 2019
the early bird gets the worm, right?
wrong.

the early bird inches her way out of her nest in the morning, longing to stay snuggled up next to her lover.

the early bird leaves early so she can afford the rent on her nest that is falling apart.
the early bird goes to work and gets an early start on her day, just to come back home to an empty nest and sleep for three more hours.

the early bird takes long and scolding hot baths to ease her aching joints and to participate in some “self care”, even though it never really works.
the early bird stares at herself in the reflection of the faucet and dissociates.

the early bird takes some sleeping pills and tries to fall asleep at a reasonable time, so she can be an early riser the next day, too.
the early bird tosses and turns.

the early bird thinks about the dishes that are not  done.

the clothes are not washed.

lunch isn’t made for tomorrow.

the early bird has three tests this week in college and hasn’t studied for a single one.

the early bird hasn’t had *** in a week.

the early bird feels unnoticed.

the early bird feels like she is not enough.

the early bird feels like she will never be enough.
this is the first poem I have been compelled to write after about 5 years of not writing.
I wrote this in my bathtub.
shila n Jan 2019
Empty
She hears nothing
She sees nothing
Just a very dark place

Come here
The voice calls
It's happiness
She flies toward it, with light feelings, while smiling but-

Come here
Another voice calls
It's loneliness
She stops midway
"I'll be right back", she tells happiness
She goes to loneliness with wide arms opened
She was nearly embraced loneliness when

Come here
She hears another voice calling her
It's sadness
She stops.
"Sadness needs me", she whispers to loneliness
And she steps towards sadness
Loneliness tries to hold on her, but she didn't see it

Can you come here?
One more voice calls
She stops again, looking for the voice
It's confusion
She becomes baffled
She wonders whether sadness will be fine
If she goes to confusion now

No, don't!
Come here instead!
One more voice calls!
She turns and look at anger.
She looks at confusion and then anger
What is she supposed to do now?

Come here!
Come here!
Come here!
Come here!
Come here!
Come here!

Emptiness, happiness, loneliness, sadness, confusion, and anger call her
At the same time
Simultaneously
She keeps running and running
In circle
Meets no end
Everytime she reaches the borderline, she runs towards different directions
She keeps running

And she hears one more voice

You don't belong anywhere
Finally, frustration says it
She fell down in despair

Come here
She feels cold fingers around her shoulders
She looks up
There stands the death
Giving her the dullest stares
And creepiest smile
My psychiatrist diagnosed me from borderline personality disorder (BPD), and I've always have thought it was bipolar disorder. She explained to me that these both disorders are totally different.
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