Scarlet Keiller Apr 13

The echoing sound of shattering
which you heard
so softly in the distance
was the sound of me
trying to break myself.

~~ Stop fixing me. ~~~
Just Rachel Jan 10

Can someone please explain?
Why the need to control by pain?
Evil,..disgraceful,...vindictive
Your mere energy yes,destructive
Drama,strife,the fighting
Constant you prove back bitting
Showing no remorse,who....you !?......ha never
You just think you're oh,so clever
Misery loves company,indeed this is so known
But I will not relate .....to a Heart of pure stone....

Venting....
kerri Dec 2016

cars pass by
they softly shake this old house
they softly shake my old thoughts

wheels against the street
they mimic the door knob turning
they mimic my fast moving mind

headlights brightly shining
they light up my pitch black room
they light up the silhouettes haunting me

horns blaring
they scare the dog into barking
they scare the self destructive whispers into screams

Acacia Nov 2016

My mind slips away and folds and turns as it glides its lanky way
to somewhere I can truly be loose and not trapped.
Not trapped. Trapped.
I’m trapped in this big universe and there’s nothing else outside of it.

I feel like I’ve traveled to the end of infinity
and sin can’t touch me at this point
because my sins have been crushed and separated
like my atoms when I’m in this plane of the universe.

But, even though this physical box can kill my body,
it’ll never harm my soul. But, I need to think smaller.
If I can’t get out of this universe, I’ll go back and into the galaxy.
But, which one? Where can I destroy?

Maybe I won’t destroy anything but I will be curious.
I’ll be careful not to destroy on purpose but I might on accident.
if it was a mistake, it’s okay. In this part of the galaxy,
sin exists.

The closer I get to a galaxy, to a solar system, to planets, to an Earth,
my body twitches and my hair stands up. I start to become restless
and an empty gray area spaces out my stomach.
I start to get the strangest urges and I’m not disturbed by this.

I seem to want more and I’m more bored. And it’s so quiet and
I have so much power in this quiet and in this dark.
When I walk around, I’ve never wanted to be crucified more than now.
Do they really hate me? Am I really this scary?

In a blink of an eye, there was blood on me and I could smell the control.
This disease of wanting more and to hurt and I can’t help it.
I hear them screaming out but don’t you want to feel my power?
I bet you hate me now, I know you hate me now.

Was this worth it? Would I do it again?
Give me a crown and let me continue to reign over this flesh filled
planet. There’s always someone who will make me hesitant to
finally cut into their skin. But can I stop the image of rope and wine?

I can’t recall the last time I even tried to listen to anyone
and I want to be the one who makes sure you get to bed
and that you are tucked in. I want the last touch, I want the last glance,
I want the last taste. I’ve got the sickest picture of you in my mind.

Let me feel the pain I inflicted on you and then you can feel a peace of mind,
and I won’t be the death of you anymore.
Why would I be anyway?

Finally, I get to the edge of this sinful and lawful planet,
and I find an empty void of dead bodies and the smell of musk.
An awful smell, an awful feel. But it’s comforting.
My eyes water and I hoped there’d be something meaningful at the end.

Even at the edge of this planet,
even at the edge of this galaxy,
even at the edge of this universe,
there’s still nothing.

A kind of part three (I guess) to Mankind's Habit and Keybindings and the Right Controls. Still Noah, still the same perspective. Maybe, these compulsions make him more human. He's struggling with extremely violent compulsions. I'm tagging this one as NSFW because I feel as if it deals with sensitive topics such as death and wanting to kill, etc. Again, this isn't my confessions or any urges I have. This is about 95% fictional and 5% loosely based off of someone I know.
Roar Oct 2016

I. Homeroom: His eyes piercing into mine, trying to melt the coldness in them and he says "Your eyes...they always look tired", I opened my mouth but before I could protest, he interrupted "Actually, not just tired...they look Dead." I just nod.

II. The question  'would you date me?' is passed around during lunch. "I wouldn't date you, no offence, you are just too... damaged." No offence? I'm broken, dented, tainted with a tattered soul, that no one wants to nourish nor revive once more.

III. Last period of the day: You asked to draw something on my hand. Full of hope, I submissively said okay. I regret that because here I am washing away the ink you slashed my arm with in a cluster of repetitive lines. "Don't forget to go over this when your home" you said, I died a bit inside and now even though it's not there anymore, the ink sinked in and settled beneath my skin, I want to claw and scratch at it until I bleed it out.

Everyone deserves better than this
Leigh Marie Sep 2016

I had been
putting out your fires for years
So no wonder you
mistook me for kindling
And lit me on fire just to
keep you warm
Your hands shook
as you lit the match
But I, stood still cause
I was blinded by your light
I've risen from the ashes
I may not be fireproof but
Damn am I resistant
I mean resilient

You reached for the extinguisher
Too little too late
You had already taken
to a new girl to dry out
before she would go up
in flames
I loved her, too
But she watched me burn
Just so she could have you

So why am I so eager
to forgive the arsonist
Even though he's
suffocating and
won't ask for the oxygen
he needs
Before we know it
he'll mistake himself for
kindling too

Nicole Alyssa Aug 2016

Go ahead...
Hit me.

There's nothing
You can do to me
That will hurt me
More than I hurt myself

Racquel Tio Jul 2016

bags around my eyes
and hate towards my thighs
trying to bleed out everything I'm feeling
it's too late now for healing

Why does it have to be so hard, it’s not fair.
It’s never fair and it doesn’t ever seem to go away.
It shouldn’t matter though because it’s only me.
It’s probably my fault somehow.
I don’t know how many more thoughts of reconciliation I can take before it breaks me completely.
I swear that I believe in strong families,
But I’m doubting that I can make mine that – church girl or not
Which I am not so much anymore.
If I walk away I’d feel that I’m missing out due to my own faults.
I tell myself they’re hers and are what is driving me away,
But it hurts to turn away for too long.
I live with sour pains and expressions,
Sometimes they turn to pity and I want to stand up
For her. Her actions knock me down again,
I remain left in the hurt.
It seems as if I’m struggling to dig my way out of the ground,
Trapped and my thoughts and feelings in submission, supressing.
If I can’t let go but I can’t hold onto what I never really had,
Then what’s next?
My bed is covered in dust because my head is still the same
And the girl that I was: broken still.

I feel a heavy weight burdening me
Thrust upon me by you, the one who should be lifting me up.
I’m tangled in steel spider webs that I think I want to leave,
But when I get the chance I change my mind due to fearing that it’s the wrong choice.
How did you manage to involve me so much while pushing me aside?
Right now I want to laugh although logically I should cry.
Because that’s what you’ve done to me;
You made sure your mentalism rubbed off on me,
Also making me think you’ll catch me when I fall even though you pushed me.
I keep pulling away from you and it seems like what you want,
But somehow (weather you mean to or not) you drag me to the starting line.
It’s a race that never ends and with no intention of a prize.
With you, my own mother,
I’m left running in circles around myself with tears filling my eyes.
Still you have done nothing to make me feel this way,
Although psychologically it’s as if you’ve done everything to make me stray.
And so I’m shattered down the middle while you’re still provokingly tapping on the glass.
It’s like the air always seems to be thickening now
Making it hard to breathe,
Because I am trying to guess your next destructive move.

I am stuck between being too scared to move,
And too scared to stay but probably just scared to lose the pain.
Stupid I know but so is all that she is and I might be just the same.
Breaking whatever’s in reach as I step a path I do not know
Or know too well.
The solid pain I feel inside is ever capable of echoing,
Like it never loses its meaning.

Nik Jun 2016

I will never be as pretty as art.
I will never be as soft spoken as poetry.
I will be chaos for I already am mayhem,
and there is nothing you or anyone else can do about it.

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