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Ishana Singh Nov 2014
Even my shadow seems golden in the abyss that I call my residence;
even the water seems solid, frozen by silent darkness.
My screams seem like whispers,
their echoes alone reside with me.
A pariah in misery, clad in the darkness of despondency,
I shrivel like a dying flower with every passing moment.
I am my own confidant,
I am my own adversary.
Since, I am trapped alone in this dark monotony.  
I calm myself with the vanishing memories of summertime kisses;
I hurt myself with a hope of an escape.
With bites inflicted by my own teeth,
I’m a carnivore for my own flesh.
Yet my hunger is rendered frail,
since I still cage my soul inside this torturous chamber of flesh and blood.
I’m an unskilled hunter,
longing for my prey.
I still breathe breaths of biting indifference.
The unforgiving air slices my trachea like a sharp metal,
yet the cuts aren't lethal enough,
to free the trapped bird that my soul is,
yet the crimson isn't abundant enough to choke my lungs in my own misery.
The cage formed by my bones,
still restrict its flight.
Perhaps I will be my own escape.
Perhaps I will free the melancholy bird,
without the ****** of my tainted body.
But I am a reckless mother,
who let her child fall into this labyrinthine chasm.
I’m the almost lover,
guilty of somebody else’s union with darkness.

My carcass remains bruised and broken,
yet it is not putrid.
I still exist,
but in a different form.
The dark entities now rejoice,
for they are free to dance around me.
Embracing darkness with open arms,
I see no golden shadow anymore.
Since the light responsible for it being cast,
was extinguished by my own sinister blood.
Its golden ember now lost in crimson.
And that is how;
I witnessed my shadow’s demise.
Despondency...
painful monotony,
familiar quilt-
morphing into me
weaving waves
of tidal loss-
an itchy loneliness
Klaus Baumgarten Aug 2014
For sustenance we trudge on
Just to sustain
This callus equilibrium of fragile crystals
swaying in the wind, falling constantly
Employing the cleverest techniques of fleeting upward momentum
Short-lived displays of affection bleeding the small offering received at birth
endlessly replayed to our children's eyes
Despondent indentured servants scribbling through skin and tendons
Just to feed their families the rice they can no longer grow
And sending these fairy tales to the rosy-cheeked offspring of their oppressor's store bought dreams
To keep the oppression alive .
To operate at peak efficiency.
To transfer honest muscle through wire mesh.
And fatten.
And enfeeble
Enforce the prerequisites to match the scale's testimony.
Testify! Oh, Lord. We thank you for this meal stolen from our inferiors.
Please Please Please.
We demand pleasure. IT IS REQUIRED.
For if we feel sadness, then we have failed.
And we'll lay down what we don't have space in our engorged bellies for.
It will be placed, with all due honors, to our greatest shrine.
Where we are honest with our real Mother.
Where the proud, twicely worn, footwear of our warrior-spiritless cows rests
Where erections limp as collapsed towers, respected by false jihads, sleep.
Where dream's plastic refusal composts never; nourishing nothing.
Where potential is pure impotence.
The bed we all share.
Tomas Denson Jul 2014
My mind broke on Saturday night
shattered shards of control splintering through
what remains of a battered, weary psyche
slicing, cutting
thoughts spilling everywhere
slicing, cutting
thoughts spilling everywhere
SLICING, CUTTING
emotions bleed out
the sightless eyes of many
staring at me
as i fight the demons
that have escaped
staring at me
as i fight myself
staring at me
as i lose.
I don't want to fight anymore
i don't want to
i don't
i can't
staring at me as i fall
the demonic reflections vanish
everything fades
until i, too
am gone.
broken mind gone loss agony fighting despair despondency ending
Frank Ruland Jun 2014
Oh, these dark, dismal waters
calling me to their murky depths.
The upheaval of their amnestic tides
seemingly yearning to drag me
     down into its cold, unrelenting grip.

How I try to stay afloat--
it's incredible,
     the struggle
of a man endeavored
to live to see cleaner horizons.

I take a deep breath,
     before I go under.
Will it be all that I braced for?
Or will it be a Hell
I could never have begun to comprehend?

The uncertainties that cloud my vision
beg to become realizations.
Abstractions, in a world of ambiguities.
And the rip tides--oh, how they do just that--
     are ripping me to pieces.

I think I remember
calmer waters,
brighter skies,
     but the despondency I am drowning in,
has all but washed the past away.

Even now as I breathe,
     I feel myself being flooded,
ravaged;
faulted through betraying beacons--
a lighthouse itself, gone rogue.

What is a man to do?
Lost at sea, with no way to be?
How is he to remedy
what he himself has come to see
as a hapless atrocity?
Roberta Day Apr 2014
I don't feel like myself today
Maybe I stayed too long in bed
I feel vacant, my soul trailing
lazily over my head
I don't want to Be
               Today
I don't want to see
               Today
Characteristics are gone
               Today
    Only an entity
               Today
I am my own enemy
               Today
I could be my own best friend
but why even pretend
Everything around fills me with dread
I wish I could have stayed in bed
Connections are dead
               Today
Wish that were me instead
               Today
Tomorrow is a short blink away
   I'll open my eyes after
                Today

— The End —