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Jeremy Betts Feb 20
A free captive
Informed I don't know how to love or live
Only examples have been showbiz
Emotions in cursive
Not easily or easy to forgive
No clear or ulterior motive

Rage and violence consume absolutely
They savagely rip apart and rearrange me but not outwardly
I've been known to be self destructively passive and cowardly
Maybe a lobotomy would stop the calamity

Never experienced supportive
The consequences massive
I've been rewritten as aggressive
Stabbed in the back, I supplied the shiv
Caustic and corrosive
This is no way to live

Good fortune such a rare commodity it falls apart too easily
Troubles squeeze so completely and never leave me
What I am and what I'm supposed to be create this rigid dichotomy
I hope the something that's gotta give doesn't end up being me

©2024
Jeremy Betts May 2022
What would actually happen if I silenced the negativity and overcame my crippling anxiety?
Afraid I'll find that it's genetically built into my DNA or could only be removed surgically, it could get messy
It would be a ****** end cause it's not like I do the professionally, I live recklessly
Every day I wake up angry and progressively get to the point where it's to heavy to advance any, it's shackled me
You think I chose this way of life to be what defines me? Hell no, it came about organically, in spite of me
Now it's just a part of my anatomy staking claim to the entire piece of property
I look in the mirror and notice my biggest fear, I don't see me in the reflection aggressively starring back at me
The face I see is dramatically distorted photography of who I use to be mixed with something far more ugly
A sloppy photo copy, I barely recognize this beastly imagery, it could be that maybe I'm just not seeing clearly
Clear my thoughts and rinse my eyes quickly then open again but this time slowly
Seriously?! Still no shred of beauty and its worse if I look inwardly which I refuse do cause I'm far to cowardly
It's scary like a fairy tale before its picked up by Disney, originally a horror story that's been pasted down generationaly
I try saying I'm sorry to myself but the words don't come easy, at times all together escaping me
Then a thought hit me squarely knocking me down a peg or three
Who am I without this dark energy? Could I pick myself out of a crowd if the hurt and pain left permanently?
Would I, could I recognize me through the tricky shrubbery surrounding me completely
It's literally a fixture rooted in my history, it's overtaken not just my psyche but is now plain to see physically
Could I realistically live with hope and decency if they took up long term residency?
What would I do with happy if it moved onto my private property and claimed the territory?
Would I properly embrace the new me or hate the empty inside, the vacancy neon flickering annoyingly
I shouldn't be use to sorrow being at max capacity, I wanted change so badly but it's slippery
What would I do with the time I once spent waiting for the next tragedy to come and challenge my grip on reality
Every catastrophe seamlessly falls into place naturally like it was meant to be, designed specifically for me
I used to use comedy to hide the tragedy, at the time it seemed like a decent strategy
Let it live in my head rent free, the tenant had a tendency to use my thoughts against me while ignoring every desperate plea
I don't want to live in my history, not even temporarily but my mind doesn't work correctly, doesn't give a **** about me personally
Turned over the key to a better me then was torn apart strategically with a savagery not seen in this century
Eventually it caught up and changed my trajectory, placed on a one way street not labeled properly
So I may not come back on the scene, may not have that kind of longevity, I guess I'll have to wait and see
But I'm obviously past the point of no return, the objects in my rearview are closer than they appear to be
And the windshield is to ***** to see the road directly in front of me complicating my journey
I can't guarantee I won't crash and burn on reentry but I will say there definitely...probably...most likely won't be a search party
Is it Stockholm or gluttony, like it or not the recipe for what not to do will be my legacy
The distinction is tricky when I hold no empathy for myself so I throw up my hands hopelessly, never in victory
This isn't the way it was supposed to be but I never had a say in my destiny, I didn't even know that was a possibility
Honestly, if I had any dignity it would significantly alter my whole reason to be
But my will has been ripped from me brutally, I don't want to go on but I would like to stay, a twisted duality
An unnatural complexity, hypocrisy just another personality disorder, a horder of the impossibility unlucky
Adding to the pile that's already a burden to my humanity, no happily ever after, this is reality
Animosity aimed directly at my entirety, to tired to be wrestling with the same old ****, pushing 40
If I don't have this figured out by now what's the likelihood I'll learn new tricks? There isn't any
That should be all I need but ultimately I know it won't be cause I'm the embodiment of misery
To change that would mean I'd be a stranger in my own body, an anomaly
And that frightens me to my very core so here I sit in purgatory for all eternity
Hold your pity, I'm okay with it cause no matter how gory it's gonna get, at least it's a bit of familiar territory
Comfort found within the familiarity I have with the words in the retelling of a not so family friendly ghost story

©2022
mark soltero Aug 2021
do you read my cowardly letters still
the pain in my fingers i felt
time spent to tell you the love i have
it's fair to say that i can't be away
unhealthy longing to hold you
i wish things were better
your wounds are closing up
i noticed it the other night
thank you for holding me
when you touch me
everything feels fine again
i hope i'm healing your head too
i can't stand to be away from you
Sarah Strack Sep 2020
You didn't have to salt my fields
after the war
The devastation had been wrought
cowardly crops
Turn away from the bright sunlight
dying slowly
reflecting on those bitter wars of self
Michael Stefan Feb 2020
i shoulda
woulda coulda
stayed and fought
your screams
grew too angry
your temper grew too hot
you brandished
cruel mistakes made
like serrated knives
i fled and hid
knees buckling
at this domestic strife
i swore
i'd grow the strength
to come back inside
but never did
my backbone grow
my resolve just up and died
i wish
i was more powerful
and clung to you so tight
but i just
got into my truck
and drove away that night
A simple rhyme scheme to express those moments when you fail to push through the pain and strife and tell someone what they mean to you, to say "I'm sorry", and to let them take out their frustrations with you.
Am I a coward?
Or am I strong?
The pain that has towered
Dealt with for so long

Yet, I'm still here
Is it because fear?

I've wanted to die
I can't help but wonder why
Why haven't I?

Do I persevere?
Life, do I hold dear?

Or am I afraid?
Of being laid
Down in a tomb?
Is it worse than my room?

So am I a coward?
Am I so weak?
Or am I strong
In the face of a life soured?
I can't help but think
About my song

The song of my life
Could it sing strength?
Somehow my knife
Shining at length
Doesn't seem to believe
I'll be remembered that way
So I would conceive
Strength isn't what people would say
When describing me
So cowardly then
Is what I must be
For not bringing my end

And I still don't know
If I'll ever go
Will I ever confide
In my suicide?
Is suicide cowardly, or an act of strength? Is living on? Could both be either? Which am I? I can't bring myself to believe the better. So then, am I a coward for living, or would I be a coward for dying?
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