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TD 3d
A smile,
A breath,
A new chance,
Something to try,
A reason to try,
There are many,
They might seem ******,
They might seem small,
They may not seem to be worth it,
Know that they are worth it.

A fight,
Inside a mind,
A never-ending battle cry,
It rings inside a head,
Sometimes soft,
Sometimes loud,
But it’s always filled with dread,
Dread to keep fighting,
Dread to accept the reasons,
The reasons to try.

If you never try,
You may never lose,
But you’ll also never win.
mer 5d
wiping away the tears i shed
hoping you don’t notice the pain in my head
all day, i just lie in bed
my days are filled with dread
The drone of the bedside fan
a soundtrack to a racing mind
as the anxieties elucidate

The comforter grows heavy
a slab of lead pinning me here
splayed like a corpse

A boundless dark without horizon
where I float disembodied
treading eternal
September Rose Dec 2018
When will the darkness consume me
Am I a sinner or a purger
Do I make haste for pain or for pleasure,
What is the difference?
The night owls scream like sirens from the river rapids
Do I fear the damaged or do I pull them closer to harm me so I dont have to do it myself.
Will I stare in horror
At the beasts above my bed
Or in melancholy relief.
What answers would the monsters in the closet give
If they could speak
I would ask them where they dwell away,
Are they from ****?
Ide like to know weather to reflect or pray in my final moments
Do demons know if there's life after death?
Do the demons know they are real enough to tell me,
So I dont have to keep asking myself.
Can I be my own worst enemy
If I beleive in fate?
How can I ruin my future if it's predetermined.
When I pretend to sleep through the night does my brain think I'm well rested?
Or can it see the dark rings under my eyes as well.
Who am I to name myself while I beleive nothing is real.
Who are we to hope for something more when we already have it all.
Do I make my own thoughts?
Or do they come from somewhere else.
Who do I ask for.
Who do I expect to answer.
Do I hope to find the answer in myself?
Or do I enjoy making my heart suffer.
Wolf Jan 9
Back to the world
I still refuse to awaken in

Back to the world
That reminds me of a corpse

Back to the world
Which stole my warmth and praise

Back to the world
Where my safeties cease to exist

Back to the world
That hurts me so

Back to the world
And those burning eyes
Hello world, I'm back.
Blake Dec 2018
I wear a backpack
since the age of 12
I stuff memories inside
that I wish I could mentally turn my back on
I find myself praying that
someone just someone
could steal it
and give me a moment of no reminder
and !!reminder!!
but I lack luck so I continue the stuff

I stuff and stuff,
carry and carry,

its too heavy way to heavy

help me

***** snap
my back
my poor splinted back
it cant take more years of this self harm.
Lost Dec 2018
Inside my head
Is my cluttered childhood bedroom
Clothes swallowing the bubbled, water damaged floor
Mold creeping down the walls
Dripping from the ceiling

If I try to open the door
The moment I touch the ****
The lights turn off
And the door vanishes
There’s no way out
I cannot leave

Inside my head
I’m sitting on my childhood bed
My knees tucked up to my chest
Hoping if I can curl up small enough
I might be able to shrink into nothing
And just ******* disappear

If my eyes look vacant
It’s because I’m not there
I’m stuck in that tiny room
Rocking back and forth
Banging my fists against the walls
Until I’m resigned and sore
The first stanza when I describe my room isn’t an exaggeration. I spent my formative childhood years living in a mobile home. When it rained water would leak into my room and stain my walls with water damage and soak my bed. The floors really did bubble up with mold.

That was when I first started to feel trapped and it still hasn’t gone away. I might as well still be stuck there.
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