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Taylor Ganger Mar 2018
I seek you through the fog
I seek you through the rain
And I can't seem to find
Something less insane.

When I keep myself tethered
I am tossed by this weather
When I keep my thoughts unfettered
I fear of getting lost forever.

But I don't think I'll ever resign
To the torrent in my mind
Not to the fear
Nor to the pressure
I must overcome my aggressor.
I still am impartial to rhyme schemes, but my mind had other ideas
Ryan M Hall Feb 2018
I’m ****** in a California basement. The hot, stale, air circulates through a table fan.
The world melts
away.

I’m left with just my thoughts.
Usually I’d be freaking out right about now,
But the fly on my guacamole is whispering the secrets to the universe. I listen to him hum, he says that I’m doing fine. That just because I faced this blunt to myself doesn’t mean I have to have a bad time.

He’s right. Usually I’d ruin it by getting existential.

As I draw deeper into my own self I understand Plato’s perfect forms theory and collective consciousness. Or whatever.

I giggle at my small hands.
“Was I always this small?”
“Yeah. Since day one. A premature baby who’s lungs could have given out any moment.”
“Huh. Wild.”
“It takes a lot to be alive, I guess.”
“Oh hey,

That’s kind of deep.”
Sunny Feb 2018
I suppose there’s a reason for everything.
Like how we eat for nourishment
And drink to refresh our bodies
Or sleep to regain energy.
Those are all common things, right?
But…
I think about other things.
Like how I cry sometimes over nothing
Or how I get sad for no reason at all
Or how my friend has unloving, narcissistic parents.
Would you care to explain that to me?
Because I doubt it’s something like “survival of the fittest,” which applies to nature.
Do we want this? Do we want to be unhappy, moping around about our lives every day?
Or is it something else? Something beyond our control?

Sometimes, I wonder why I’m even here.
There’s a reason for that too, right?
Caidyn Feb 2018
all too frequently
there are days
you could spew the most blatant lies
“George Washington never existed”
“Two plus two is twelve”
“I love you for you”
“There’s no reason to rebel”
and I’d believe you
It’s not that I’m gullible
it’s that I’m stubborn.
I have to be right
but I’m full of self doubt.
So when I can’t believe my thoughts
and I think I’ve forgotten my name
you can tell me I’m bad
and I’ll take all the blame.

I know nothing.
I believe not at all.

I could recite you
all the qualifying characteristics
in the diagnostic statistical manual volume five
for depression
and narcissistic personality disorder
I can explain clinically
chemical dependency
and I can recite the twelve steps from memory.
Hell, I remember some math formulas
and my teacher’s name from fourth grade
but say “tell me about yourself”
and all certainty will decay.

I know nothing.
I believe not at all.

Karl Marx said religion is the ***** of the people
I never believed in god
maybe that’s why I turned to the needle.
You’ll say everything happens for a reason
which in my proper mindset I won’t believe in
but blaming my overt destruction
on third party destiny
I know deep down is false,
but so comforting to believe.

I know nothing.
I believe not at all.

Did I love you?
Did I even feel at all?
It doesn’t even matter
it was still me that took the fall.
I still have no self-assurance
or any concept of who I want to be
no god, no friends, I beg no lover
will figure this out for me.

Maybe this is who I am,
metamorphosing ghost
with a crooked smile
shaping who I am today
knowing it'll all be gone
before I can say
I know
I believe
what my brain is telling me
not so desperate to please
no longer begging on my knees
for the false ideal of certainty
because I’ll know
I know with confidence
the simple facts;

I know nothing.
I believe not at all.
Taylor Ganger Feb 2018
I lie
In the fetal position
I try
To make myself smaller

Black holes have no mercy
Eating all light
Eating my own universe

I sob
A shaking sob
A quiet one
Taylor Ganger Feb 2018
I used to think I was onto something
Dodging the bed,
Hiding from slumber
I never wanted to miss out
I never missed out on wishing the sun farewell
Welcoming a dark sky
Gawking at the stars
And the ones that fizzled by
Only ever wishing upon them
To see another.
I loved the lights of the city
And the people that were there with me
I thought they were just like me

I never missed out when the sun returned
And it seemed to always greet me
When it poured light through windows
I liked when the birds sang in the morning
As if they also took pleasure in greeting the day
I liked when the streets slowly saw more cars
And people commuting wherever they had to be
I thought they were just like me

I thought I seized every moment
I thought I was living
I thought I was powerful
Like some kind of conqueror
I knew death was to come some day
That was what drove me
I thought day and night whispered life
That I had to listen to all of it
But I was a fool
Or at least a bit hard of hearing
The sun is always lingering
Not to greet anyone
But to let them know that there is less time
It never greets anyone
As it only says farewell
To every passing moment
i didn't bother making edits. I just know trying to grasp the words would make them scuttle away
Taylor Ganger Feb 2018
You elusive *******
Where are you?
The years keep passing
And I'm still looking
Trying to find you
Every possible way
Every possible place

Sometimes I have my desperate hands on something
A clue
Some kind of insight
But it always crumbles in my fingers

This game we play is deadly
So why must I be taunted so?
I don't think I even wanted this fight
But the past is just as lost
And I like to think I'm closer to you
Than that which I left behind
Iz Feb 2018
my mind will finally be hollow when explosive entities of its existential warfare finally self destruct.
until then,
Recondite rifles are ruthlessly reloaded with unanswerable questions regarding the purpose of seemingly non purposeful things;
lack of resolve wrecks me.
Unanswered ammunition degrades cerebral cells, intercepting normal neural connections:
I cannot think properly in the midst of pellets of panic

until then,
Selfless soldiers employed by future uncertainty battle against selfish soldiers of MY physical being, employed by my diminishing desire for sanity.
They engage in trench warfare: digging desolate ditches, hammering holes, all of which eventually collapse and contribute to the constant compression of my cortex.
But Compliments and Hope fracture into particles of sand that are ****** into the openings in my pupils by amorphous wind which is structureless anyway
these particles are vacuumed down my optic nerves and pile into pillars of petrifying plant-based picket fences that try to guard against the existential warfare plaguing my mind
But more explosive entities enter through my ears and reproduce in my temples waiting to self destruct

until then,
Forces convolute: existential warfare compresses my cortex into inevitable flat nothingness, while pitiful pillars of disillusioning dust collapse because the wind that whisked them inside NEVER EXISTED ANYWAY
Eventually i will implode

Until then,
numbness gnaws at my heart to balance the bullets
waiting to implode
until then,
Existential Warfare bombards my brain with bullets of black metal
here is what I mean
kas Jan 2018
"i bet death feels like emdless, dreamless sleep." this is the source of my near constant anxiety. I wish i knew God. i don't believe in anything. i didn't think about what that meant until after i tried to **** myself. endless, dreamless sleep. maybe there are dreams, few and far between. feels like nothing. imagine nothing. i exist, feel these things, take up space, die and feel nothing nothing nothing. but then the infrequent dreams become more. constant lucid dreams where the neon sky vibrates and the entire world does what i tell it to.

i am not afraid to die.
Beatriz Jan 2018
Ideas.
We can keep them, we can share them...
I wanna share myself with the world, with the universe and the unknown behind it; I wanna share my ideas.
What are we?
We are all ideas.
When another person describes us, they delineate the concept that they have of us.
We are not ideas.
We can analyze them.
What are we?
We are not brains, we are not our bodies.
We can refer to them.
Are we the unknown within this shell that we call bodies? Are we further away from that?
I don't know; I wish to know.
Am I ever going to find out? Will I die in ignorance? They say ignorance is bliss. Then why do I feel discomforted? Why do I wanna know? Why do we , beings we do not understand, want to know the deep and meaningful answer to this persistent doubt? Or is it just me?
Me; Myself.
The idea that I have of myself.
I am not an idea.
What am I?
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