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Leaves getting hit by the wind
A violent gale in the unknown dark
Drinking my cup of tears
And eating all of my sins

Suddenly it starts raining
Dropping down on the leaves like heavy anchors
From my window I see sadness
I can smell the rain
Together with the gloom taking over my home

Every person has the right to be sad
But I think I abused my privilege

Prove me wrong.
there is a man.
he steps into a bar.
it looks as if to
be older than he himself.

eyes flutter to his stained clothes.
he’s composed of
coarse skin,
***** nails,
whiskey for blood,
a head full of Bukowski,
sixty two dollars,
and some change.

only the elements.

he drinks, and drinks, and drinks.
he burps, he yells,
he ****** on the curb,
he curses.
a swig and kick then swing.
and now the
asphalt feels colder than steel.

warmer was the creaking barstool,
heating his soul,
gulp after gulp.

bitter bottom shelf brown.

but he’s determined.
determined to finish it.
and he returns.

nobody in the bar.
he looks out a window.
the streets are empty.
he grabs bottles that are not,
making friends with them.

alone with the barstool.
the tender, emerging from underneath the bar,
fixes another drink.
the man thought he was alone.
the glasses clink.

they drink, and drink, and drink.
alone, but together.

in a drunken haze he sees the drywall melt.
he hears the rumble, the pieces of oak wood
being ripped from their foundations.

the shattered glasses surrounding
the man, forming a barrier between
the outside world and himself he could not understand.

“it’s falling apart, isn't it.”
says the man, accepting.

“why yes, yes it is.”
says the tender, fixing one last drink.

“here’s to misery.”
says the tender, raising his glass up to the man.

“...and here’s to it’s company.”
says the man.

the glasses clink,
he looks out the window again.
he thinks of where he could be right now,
outside he sees marie, the kids,
the front lawn where he’d
drink beer and pretend to like
his neighbors.  

he hears no gulp or groan
from the tender.
the man looks back and sees an empty bar
with nobody there.

he feels the bar collapsing
in on itself, destroying everything within it.
a shame, truly.

no one to bask in this with.

“well.”
he says, raising his glass of bitter brown in the air.

“...to just misery then.”

cheers.


-melancholicreator
please comment & repost if you enjoyed.
Siyana Apr 19
He built me a house with a bridge by a lake
and tore down the walls that kept me afraid...
windows and doors that let me see the sun,
as before he came along, I'd never felt such warmth...
with a flash of dust, he saw a hammer in my hand,
knocking everything down and as fast as I can...
Don't you see I'm destructive, I live for the pain....
Don't try to fix me, because I'll only break myself again...
Holly Apr 4
The clothes I wear don’t feel like home even on good days
and most days they end up at the bottom of my bed
in a pile I avoid putting away,
There is a museum of damage inside my chest and half the time
I don’t know what parts of me are on display anymore,
My lonely looks a lot like boredom
when I find myself standing in the bathroom
at 5:00 in the morning staring at my hands,
I have a bad habit of letting my emotions choke me
so that the only words spilling from my mouth
are black and blue lipped lies,
My body is a hostel ghosts like to rent when there is
free space in the attic,
The tendency to self destruct means I am willing to lie down
on your rocks like Prometheus and have you pick at me like a vulture,
I would burn your house down until I am
the only house you have left to run home to,
My breath is the condensation in the shower you forgot to get rid of
that will turn to mould if left to settle,
I can hear the pity in his voice when he calls me pretty,
there is a grave waiting for me when you are finished filling a void,
I am too lazy to figure out how to heal myself,
I have never been enough for those who did not stay.
seldom Mar 27
i dare you
go on
tell me not to eat that
tell me i can't wear that
tell me i look fat
tell me i can't run
i can't party
tell me i can't move,
tell me i can't accomplish
tell me i should starve
tell me i should do something about this weight
this look
tell me i should run and not eat
no more than one leaf of lettuce a day
tell me i should only drink water
tell me no one will love me
no one will want me
tell me i'm ugly
tell me i'm not worth it
tell me my flabs are just a waste of space, and
that i take up too much oxygen when i breathe, because

i'm fat.
i'm fat.
i'm fat.
I'M FAT
my head screams as i look into the mirror
do you think your friends aren't embarrassed to be seen with you?
honey, do you think you're pretty?
oH, do you think you can afford to go out
grab some dinner with your 'friends'?
can you afford that weight?
are you even pretty enough?
oH, do you think
really really think
you deserve to be happy today?
ha ha
that's funny
b'tch
look at your belly and go back to bed
go cry
worthless
worthless
worthless
you'll never be great
well, size is the exception.
you're a waste of space
stop
breathing.
honey, i don't think they make coffins your size..
it's okay,
you can feed the fish
:)
(C) Elissar Mustapha
27.03.2020
every time somebody comments on my weight it takes a massive toll on my mental health and makes me self destructive. first stanza is others and second stanza is in my head. words hurt. words cut deep. even if she's not ideal, remember, nobody is and she is more than the outside.
Empire Mar 20
I see you
Staggering
Your breath smells like a bar

I rush to your side
You push me away
You don’t want help

Your wasted lips
Clumsily dumping words
“I’m fine... I’m good... I’m great...”
They slur
You stumble

I steady you gently
I sit you down
I gaze into your drooping eyes

“I know you’re in pain
But, my darling,
This’ll only make it worse
I see you
I see your suffering
You’re not alone
Don’t run from your grief
You’ll never outrun yourself
No matter how many
Memories you drown”

You stare me dead in the eyes

“I’m not running.

I’m just numbing the pain

Until it puts me in the grave.”



And then I fear
I’ve lost you,
My love.
I seem to have some destructive and suicidal fantasies. Perhaps writing them will help ease their grasp on me.
Empire Feb 18
Haha
There’s no empathy in me
So sweet of you to notice
I don’t ******* care
My heart is a gaping hole
A void you can’t fill
And to feel something
I’ll hurt you
I’ll watch you bleed
To amuse myself
And cut my own skin
To feel something more
Because I’m not a good person
Don’t get me wrong here
I am not okay
And I’ll drag you to Hell
Right along with me
A M Ryder Dec 2019
Do you think it's too late for me?
I mean, am I doomed to be
The person that I am?
It's not too late for me
Is it?

I need you to tell me
That it's not too late
I need you to tell me
That I'm a good person

I know I can be selfish
And narcissistic
And self destructive but
Deep down, underneath all of that
I'm a good person

And I just need you to tell me
That I'm good
Mark Toney Oct 2019
constructive or destructive - criticism’s delicate balance
12/10/2018 - Poetry form: Monoku - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2018
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