Written by Diana Garcia
When maybe I've gone a little insane
When those memories run in a loop
When nobody and nothing seems to help
When I can't get out of my head.
When nobody understands
When the weight on my shoulders is to much
When I feel the most alone
When I wish for you to atone
When my words are the only solace
When the love I give isn't the love I receive
When it all seems unfair
When my head feels like it'll explode
When I want to kill myself
When Im tired of my own self pity
When Im tired of your damn pity
When I you need to leave but id very much like for you to stay
When all is said and done
When theres nothing left to do.
I write

Verbal poop
Eric Pon Dec 6

I made a pitcure of jade and emma,
Tossed it on my wall,
Even took a couples pics
They loved it, that was all.
Neither understood its facts,
and till now, neither did I
Intended not as honorary, but as a battlecry.
That picture I conceived of them, includes me in it not- just my reflection in it's glaze, an abstraction in their thoughts.

And yes, even we formidibal three
Somehow all forgot
That even forever aint forever
Our lessons already taught.
And so the power of this image, is more then I will share-
It merley depicts my two best friends,
Admiting they don't care.

This type of art is devistating.
Astonishingly clever,
So clear its truths invisible
The subjects see it never.

You should always be able to rley on your friends- dissapointment only exists because of its twin sista, expectation

I have a serious problem with this system
Stop trying to shove your fucking 'wisdom'
Unconcentually down my throat
I dont care what they wrote
Old fucks hundred years ago
Writing about things they dont even know
Makin up rules im supposed to follow
Despite their logic being hard to swallow
But they got the big blue boys
With their loud shiny toys
Making sure we do what we're told
Dont act right, they'll do more than scold
Theyll hide you away so no one can see
The realities of our society

Anna Nov 30

The leaves are falling down,
the trees are crying,
so am I.

everything
has fallen down,
empty pieces
in a shattering
storm;
all the while
collect the shards
and stolen clusters
of truth
and words

everywhere
I look, I see
a thousand eyes
looking up at
me;
only one pair
belongs to you,
they are mine,
they are
true

OnyxSea Nov 27

The spreading of wings,
to cover the night of day.

The overbearing clouds,
keeping the sunrise at bay.

All things great, and all things good,
are things by all means, probably should.
Lead to happiness, prosperity, and joy within me,
or a simple contentment, a peace that will be.

Yet no matter what strives,
no matter what comes to be.
The characteristic of things,
is that they all cease to be.

Happiness. Sadness.
All good and bad.
Like the time of midnight,
vanishing in seconds.

Burning the fuels, and pushing the lies,
we strive ceaselessly, towards countless lies.
Of messages of a future we think we understand,
A glimmer of hope which we barely comprehend.

Needlessly striving, continually pursuing,
we arrive at the destination,
burning, smoldering.
Our wayward soul,
all the burns that follow,
and we look upon, to truly behold.

What we see are the joys,
temporary pleasantries,
a series of countless,
wastes and toiletries.

When we realize the path that we sowed has been done,
and all that we wish for, coming undone.
We begin to regret,
not knowing back then,
that a path which burns,
will lead to ashes in the end.

Yet it is not too late,
for there's always a chance,
that the truth will shine,
bright as the sun.

It is the moonlit night,
the salient breeze.
Which cools our hearts,
and soothes the feels.

When we release the burdens which have cindered us for so long,
what is left, is to go where we belong.

Peaceful and free, cool and placid,
it is then we can say, "Cooling down is worth it."

To cool down from the vicissitudes of life is not easy... but it is worth it.
To all those who read this poem, may you all experience relief from the stresses of life.
aviisevil Nov 24

this reminds me of you,
you exist.

i resist, but my eyes insist
to take a look one more time,
and then one more-
i think i'll lose my mind
before i go blind,
and then i'll be sure;
you were never mine,
and that's all i know-
no love to breathe,
only this hatred deep inside
to feed, monsters and ghosts,
whores and witches to bleed-
i keep myself
from the outside now.


i sleep without a word,
lonely and cold-
so worthless and vile
the world laughing at me
all this while,
and i sit here, to be sold
face my exile-
a face with no smile,
only distance and walls,
stares at me as if he's watching
something coming back to life,
something that must've died
a long time ago, here's a man
turned into a monster for the show,
here's the man, i see everyday
here's the man who speaks to me
in whispers, i see him in the mirror,
everyday, every-way i walk,
there's something wrong with me-
and it won't stop, oh no, it won't,
my brain would rot and my heart
will be caught on fire.

there was more than love for you,
there was more than desire and
now i cannot explain how lonely
i am here without you,
without your lies, and the liar.

i see what isn't in the mirror,
my mind playing tricks-
i'm always so sick, with a
picture playing in my head,
like a song-
if i don't get rid of it,
i know i'll always be torn.

always in a mourning,
for a want, at a place
no one belongs-
nobody to rescue
somebody to haunt,
there's always a human
inside, hiding somewhere
in the wrongs,
toiling the sky, spoiling
the earth with his arms
hypnotic and strong,
nobody believes in a home
where nobody stays for long.

the world is so static,
there is still a portrait of you
in the attic of my heart,
i thought i was done with
them stones and sticks-
when i found you,
and now when i remember it,
everything is so erratic-
maybe it was a curse,
maybe it was poison
could it be magic,
what was it ?


that made every good memory
i had so tragic-
stained by the ugliness of
your beauty, and a knowing,
that you must be
at a better place now,
outside, and i can't take it.

it reminds me of you,
you exist.

Nylee Nov 23

I
am
going
to
get
lost
on
this
page
as
you
scroll
down.

Hanna Jones Nov 21

The paint that is my words has run dry.
It leaves flaking thoughts,
p e e l i n g
off before they can be realised.

My thoughts s
                         l
                          i
                            p through my fingers like water, an e n d  l   e    s    s  frustration
as I watch them escape down the sink.

I watch as my own consciousness floats away from me and hits the ceiling,
just beyond my fingertips.
I can
      a l m o s t
                   r  e  a  c  h
                                            i   t   .
                          

My heart beats slowly - just slightly
out

        of
time.

I’ve never felt so hard, so deep, so fast.
And yet, my brain can’t seem to process it.
Like a jAmmED printer, unable to release anything other than
unfinished lines,
they   hang   in   the   air

before they fall away into  ob    
                                                  li­
                                                   vi
                                                      o
      ­                                                  n
             ­                                              .
You watch as my mouth
opens
        and
closes,
drowning in the water around me.
Words used to be my oxygen,
Without them
I’m

suffocating.

First time experimenting with spaces and gaps.
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