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a vessel guilt-ridden filled,
the harsh gritting of violin.
the confession no one billed—
abruptly starts kicking in.

the words stuck on my tongue—
never tried to swallow nor spit out,
sealed it tightly since i was young,
never thought it’d try to bite off my mouth.

the torture i tried to endure for so long—
hid it well when i knew it was all too wrong.
but risks of more regrets slipped away,
when conscience finally made its way.
-elixir- Sep 21
Stop holding me back for once,
see the fire burning in every ounce
of scribbles and words of mine.
Stop making me guilty for my flight,
and look into the horizon so bright.
Stop making me resent your roof,
while all this time you stay aloof.
Stop shaming me for someone's fault,
and let them go into the devil's vault
of sins, see the virtues in me that I lock
from the fear that you might tear and block.
Stop thinking my life for your honour,
and save this human in me from this horror.
Stop it, with your words that shatter my esteem
and do make me drift away from your team.
Stop the assumptions from the lores of the devil,
and look into my dreams arranged in levels.
Stop it , Stop it, Stop it,
When will you feel words I write
and stop linking insanity with my fight.  
Stop it
STOP
On the floor again
Unconscious again
I'm screaming for help again
Dad's working again
You have no memory again
The neighbors took us to the hospital again
Everyone knows your bipolar now
Everyone thinks my mom's crazy
She's not. Why do I have to fight to convince myself she's not.
Mom why do you give up?
Mom what's wrong!?
Mom is it us?
Mom is it dad?
Mom what happened?
WHY DON'T YOU WANT TO LIVE?
The beeping monitor disturbed my thoughts
And there you were again
Yourself, with eyes wide open
And a weak body once more
Being told what you did to *yourself
My mother was diagnosed with bipolar disorder 9 years ago. I found this in one of my books I used to read beside her bed. She takes her meds these days, but my whole life I thought it was my birth or the way my sister and I treat each other that triggered her, but it was her own childhood of being beated and *****
Tizzop Sep 2
when another day is ****** again
red heavens collapse over your head
cause devil is staring at you
while you're rushing to the subway

doomed to catch it, morning strugglez
you and your people are in distress
good friends died and they keep dying
life was, is and remains a battle field

you awoke because of hunger and curiosity
which kind of dream was that? pushing tons
residing in a snowwhite castle, no stains
yachts across, attitude like klitschkos

reality bites: your inner voice is calling you
take a shower! eat! go to work and prosper!
in truth you work for hard-hearted vultures
wearing suits, spreading lies, for sure

you have to sell tv sets via phone
****** payment, no insurance, usa-flava
but you bust your *** for it, still unable
to buy new sneakers for your daughter

all second hand, so at school she is being mobbed
they steal her dignity, beat her up, she's twelve
eight o'clock in the morning, and she is moaning
swollen rips, hair teared out, a broken jawbone

no school mate is helping her, ambulance and sirens
your daughter faints, as you're rushing to the hospital
and when you see her abused, you decide to take vengeance
the night is red, heavens collapse over your head

devil is no more staring, you and him take action
you buy a weapon, 40 cal, bleeding anger, danger
but you won't turn back, never acting like a coward
in the park, near the river, you can find them ******* sitting

loading the gun, slowly moving, avoid any sound
the rest is history, your story, never feeling sorry
Norman Crane Sep 1
Mud bath
Doc Martens
                        Back of head
Off the beaten path
                        Still beaten
But at least not dead
*******, they said
Don't understand what I did
But was
Drowning in the ground
One day they'll come around
To me

Doc Martens
                        Back of head
Off the beaten path
                        Still,
                        Beate­n
Dead.
Inspired by several news stories about bullying. What struck me was the tragedy of the bullied person coming back, again and again, to the bullies, probably craving attention, perhaps hoping for eventual acceptance, and how that same need (to return, to be accepted) not only intensified the bullying but justified that intensity ("What did he expect? He kept coming back for more!") In the extreme case, the intensification resulted in death. The death itself was seemingly blamed in part on the victim ("Well, he didn't object to us doing X, so naturally we tried X+1. I guess it's sad that X+1 killed him, but all he had to do was [...] and he didn't, so, you know: he didn't save himself.") One of the acts of bullying that struck me was walking on the victim's body, especially across puddles, gravel and mud. I was also surprised by how poorly the bullies were able to explain why they chose their particular victims. Their explanations amounted to: (1) he existed, (2) he existed around us, (3) he kept existing around us despite what we were doing, and (4) he was weird.
Claire Jul 26
The thorny rose that no one liked;
It lacked a petal and had a thousand spikes.
The thorns that grew from its roots to leaves
Kept the people from touching it.
But, this thorny rose once had no thorns at all;
It just lacked a single petal, tho,
This was enough for it be alone
And cursed by all, oh, so much woe.
So, she cried a million tears
Which soon grew as thorns and nasty leaves.
Now no one gives it a second glance,
But it doesn't really need anyone's touch.
Aleksey Jul 24
Cry
I was told to be a man
When I struggled being a teenager
When my dog died, I wanted to cry
But I didn't.
When I got bullied, I wanted to cry
But I didn't.
When I got scammed, I wanted to cry
But I didn't.
When I lost everything, I wanted to cry
But I didn't.
Holding back all this time
Now my smile is a lie
Now all I do is cry
So...If I die...
I wonder who would cry?
-elixir- Jul 17
How long till your
tongues stop
spitting arrows of
assumptions of
delusional malice
against me?
Does it feel good,
to stoop so low
for your apparent
ego,
that you deceive
yourself into spewing
lores of lies?
These arrows will miss
me, as I sway to
my nature of mind.
And you will go on
for,
how long?
I see you; wonder the crowds
with your joking jeers of me.
Then you replay the jeers more
annoying than the radio with songs.

You see I; alone in my cold coffin.
****, what a funny day!
When your jokes stop playing.
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