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Malia May 6
My faith is mine
And mine alone.

This hope,
You cannot take away.

I’ll be drained
Of each drop of blood,
You’ll drag my name
Through the cherry-stained mud,
But my soul, my soul, my soul
Is saved.

My soul, my soul,
Is saved.
Jeremy Betts Jan 3
Like a drug taken for a quarter century, this writing doesn't help like it use to...
I'm starting to feel like it's working against me
Holding me here in pain and misery
Cleverly disguised as creativity
I use to lie and say it was a way to get rid of all this negativity
But I've spilled so much blood and tears onto stationary
...and not even purely metaphorically...
I should be completely empty
Hell, I think I might be
I think it's moved onto draining my energy
Can I still call this writing therapy?
Is it healthy or does it keep me from a new me?
Holding tightly but in spite of me
Hiding a different side of a complex personality
A new level of maturity
Is it actually helping any?
Today it's hard to say, but maybe
Unfortunately, it's something I'm good at, a skill I enjoy and I don't have many
So I've begun to notice I look at it differently
It was suppose to help me let go of the painful unpleasantry held in many a memory
But it woke a part of my ego that I didn't know would grip so tightly
It might have been a mistake to rely on it so heavily
It's no longer moving along the story
No cautionary tales to learn from because they never become history
It becomes a bookmark that I don't use properly
I never move it to the page I left off on and now, I must admit openly, I'm doing it purposely
I keep the worst of me right next to me, close as a frienemy
All because I notice I DON'T write when I'm happy
And I like to write so I dance around emotions strategically
I don't know if it's anything worth saying but writing is calling and drawing me in closely
A ghostly presence that when I look closely I see my identity
It hasn't always been but is now a big part of me
But does it want all of me?
Can't say either way with any certainty
No AH-HA moment, no clarity, only a death grip on disparity
So I recklessly walk the line of happy and tragedy
Like a DUI test on the side of the freeway, drunken pageantry
Eyes closed usually
No thought of mine or anyone else's safety
Dangerously close to calamity
And I just worry

Lalaouna Amina May 2023
You wait that one car when all bodies come home.
You wait somehow
There is clouds,
tender Sun light
and trees weathering with the wind
Yet the mounties are
You wait.
Countdowns have always seemed bittersweet to me..
The steady ticking away of time
The trickle of sand through the hourglass.
The fading of connections not curated.

I’ve always been morbidly aware of my own doomsday clock,
Slowly beating, decreasing, releasing my
Seconds into the atmosphere around me,
As I wait, sometimes impatiently, for it to hit zero.

Some days, I hope for my hourglass to run dry,
And while I know that that isn’t a healthy mindset,
Some days it is all that I can do to not hurry it along.

Not to take that revolver in my dad’s lockbox,
Not to take those pills in the medicine cabinet,
Not to take that rope and the one wobbly stool
that has sat at our bar for the past five years…

Just beckoning me.
Just wanting me to take that final step
into sweet, sweet oblivion.

If I do take that final step..
Who would be there to pick up the pieces for them?
To clean up the mess that this disgusting body left behind?

Who would be there to finish my paintings,
To sing my unsung list that is ever-expanding,
To write these words that have seemed so forced these past months?

Who would be there for them, when I could not be?
Someone, I am sure, but I have been told that I am irreplaceable,
And while I may not believe that,
I am scared of leaving a mess behind
That my mother cannot bring herself to clean up.

I am scared of leaving behind a mess that would irrevocably break my father,
A mess that would torment my brothers,
A mess that my sisters would never even remember.

And maybe..
Maybe I am scared of the call of oblivion..
Or scared of the unknowingness of it all, rather.

Or perhaps I am tired of thinking
of myself as a mess to be cleaned up,
Nothing more, and nothing less.

And maybe
That is all I need
To survive one more day.
I haven't been as active as I used to be.. Life gets tiring after awhile.
unknown Apr 2022
I was there.

In times of need, I was there.
Hugging you tight, even though in pain. I stayed.
Always beside you even when I’m too weak to stand up.
When you needed me, I disregarded everything.
Every pain, every emotions, every single problems I have.
I stayed strong, because you needed me.

Endless chances, endless pain.
It doesn’t go away, but then I was still there.
At your darkest days and all the lies you made, I still believed.
But then where were you when I needed real help?
When I wanted to be better, why didn’t you believed?

I wanted to change, I wanted to make up for what I did.
I wanted to be better.
I wanted to be better.
I wanted to be better.
But then I’m all alone, in tears hugging myself.
No one believed and everyone else wants to leave.

Still, I stayed. I was always there.
Isaac afunadhula Jun 2021
Must be drained from his blood like the taste from her lips curved from her body
It must be pinned down with her emotions crying under her skin over the broken *** screaming from her lost sobbing mind.
One could might hypothesize
That the tears would have
Drained more than
The veins drawing out
Of the confines of the muscle
Pumping sweltering anger
On such a transportation
Of creating a new home
Out of one recognized for three years.

The stacks upon stacks
Of emotional drainage
After the physical had worn out
From problem after inconvenience
After incompetency.
A departure I wrote an outline for
Before I stood at the border
Of goodbyes,
I quickly threw out.

The itch and discomfort,
The aching and drainage
The constant questions in my mind
Throughout the entire time
Divorced me from the clouds
That I foresaw above us
Hugging goodbyes.
The storm was in the lies
That made me hurt
To see such discomfort in your eyes.

Here’s to the storm’s dispersion,
No good deed can split the coming tidal wave.
32 lines, 221 days left.
I cannot love you anymore
You have turned caring into a chore
I am not your puppet
I am not your *****
My heart cannot take this anymore

I loved you until it bled
I loved you until my heart was dead
You gave me nothing return
You cruelly watched me burn
It is hurting me too much to care

I cannot love you anymore
My entire soul is sore
You will never know how sorry I am
You will never truly understand
Why I cannot love you anymore
i loved you until it killed me
Lost in my Head Feb 2021
Few suffer like the top of the hourglass
Drained by the bottom
Eternally powerless to gravity
Forced to repeat
I dunno quick little one shot
mimi Jan 2021
Words come crashing in tides,
Our past regrets haunting.
The world is becoming broken
And we’re left beyond repair.
Sometimes we think we feel love
But in the end it’s all thoughts.
Each day we wake up afraid
Of our mind and our flaws.
Praying the sun will set,
And the pain will end in soon,
But really it’s not even done.
All hope has been drained
So finally we are feeling numb
With no pain to ever recall.
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