Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jeremy Betts Jun 13
I'm almost most certainly about to break
It's only a matter of time but I hate the wait
Holding that familiar panic feeling I can't shake
Leading to a heated, one sided, debate
Pitting good faith against bad take
They're getting more alarming at an alarming rate
Basically arguing that everything's but what's fake is fake
Completely oblivious, a bad trait if you know what's at stake
Because BAM, in a flash, I awaken at my own wake
"Excuse me, there must be some kind of mistake"
But I must admit, the casket occupant is concrete proof I'm far too late

©2024
Man May 5
Hold me,
In an embrace of thorns.
Hold me with a metallic feel,
Masticated love,
Votives made up of us
Rejected in full stead
To what appeal?
Wealth?
Life paid at the expense of ***,
******* yourself.
busy pitter patters
of feet, at least
pretending
to be busy
these humans,
these flesh sacks,
place their bags
laptops
their unconsciousness
on this barnes & noble’s
coffee tables
whose chairs aren’t comfortable

yet, here they sit, beside me
amongst me
and an old
ancient, it seems now,
version of me would’ve cursed them
silently
while pretending to associate
to relate
to give a ****
for doing so,
for raising my anxiety,
for reflecting what i truly was,
at least
pretending
to identify with that narrow
window of my self

some collide
physically,
cosmically,
spiritually,
intuitively, whatever the hell you brand it

we all seek
connection,
always elsewhere,
never with our miserable
anxious selves

and if we can’t connect
we, at least
pretend
to do so
much like our riddling iphones
desperate for battery
for a sort of
charge
for life
elsewhere
somewhere else
anywhere
else rather than within

to be alone, amongst the crowds,
without our phones, our books,
our lovers, our seven dollar coffees,
our ******* egg white breakfast sanwhiches

almost as if these things
are essential to the unsavory
cravings and desires, or
dare i say
ourselves

we pretend
to work, to live
we read, without reading
we speak, without thinking,
we speak, without speaking,

“to be, or not to be.”

we don’t care for
intention
anymore
how could we?
we’re just so
un-*******-phadomably
busy
doing
nothing,

at all

just,
pretending.

-melanholicreator
people pretend.
TS Feb 23
Being talked down to -
That never happened.

Being taken advantage of -
That isn't true.

Being stood up -
That's dramatic.

Being violated -
That's just plain wrong.

Being broken -
That's pathetic.


You put finger quotes around my word. The word I used to open up to you.

But oh... I'm so sorry. I didn't realize that you majored in my trauma enough to tell me my own history.



-t.s.
SL Feb 9
Deep into the darkness of my head
Multiple individuals came nearing
These are slowly becoming clearer
These individuals started to have
Their own say of what they can do
Suddenly I didn't know who I am
WHO AM I??
Am I rude, a selfish person or an evil one
Or is it the opposite
Am I knid, caring, helpful
I honestly doubt it's the second one
When I wake or come back into light
All I questioned
Is Who Am I
Having people tell me who I am or not. It's hard to know who someone is
Jeremy Betts Jan 30
I've been lost in my head, I might outlast forever
I know it's cliche and can play the part of a trigger
But I don't feel safe, can't recall if I have ever
Awake or asleep, it's the same nightmare
Collectively we already know nothing in there fights fare
And the fabric between the realities are threadbare and beginning to tare
I can physically feel the line blur between what's fake and what I'll be held accountable for later
Poetry, to me, is just me attempting to map out every square inch under my thing hair
Behind eyes that can barely show they care
In my fake grin, and between my left and right ear
Taking caution not to ruffle a feather on the ****** of devil's on each shoulder
I'm sure to discover rooms I haven't been in since I don't know when, oh dear,
What's the year?
Whatever
Hey, what's in here?
To dark to tell but oh do I know this smell all too well
Unfairly familiar
That putrid air
Nothing can compare
I'd recognize it anywhere
What we have here is fear
Maybe it'd be irresponsible of me to share
Probably not a good idea to push much further
Clear and present danger
Nothing's properly put together
Can't make sense of the clutter
Extra pieces from every fixture
Litter the ground next to the broken glass from every family picture
Shattered dreams scattered everywhere
I know what it looks like but there's not an interesting story here
I can assure it was no thrilling adventure
But I can not ensure a safe future
No one should witness the part of me, the litny of every nasty memory, everything I was forced to locked away in there
It's my headspace and I'm even too afraid to enter
I thought the scar meant it healed but then how's this door ajar?
What's going on here?

©2024
Jeremy Betts Jan 6
I got a *** to **** in but this **** in this ***,
It's all I got
When confronted with that Eminem talk, that proverbial one shot
I gotta stop saying, "sure, why not?"
First of all, what a crock
Secondly, IT'S FUUCKING NOT!
Forgot a lot but never lost the plot
Though I find myself oblivious to subplots a lot
Flames are hot, can't say the left sink handles not
But the one with a label is not the one too hot too handle,
Lessons learned on the spot
Connecting lines, lost a dot
...gotta be a 'bot...
Fasten a sloppy slipknot, keep it taunt
Toss it up over the branch to swing from, now I have a forest to haunt
Awake or asleep, absorbing the same onslaught
What's fake, what's not?
Sunken eye socket, looking gaunt
Believe it or not, it's only ever been just an ink blot
Write my theory in ransom font
Look for the proof, there's a lot
Go one step further than you were taught
Always remember it could all be for not
That's why you'll find me on a canvas cot of rot to rot in the back corner of Salem's lot
A set with a pre dug spot for a later point in the plot
That is if I can survive the death scene in the pilot
AKA a nobody that not just somebody but everybody forgot
Only thing that sticks around are the demons I fought
Tell me, whatcha got?

©2024
Jeremy Betts Dec 2023
No more heart to break
No more heart to ache
No more heart at stake
Not sure how much more this heart can take
Bake a fake heart cake and wait
Just to wake late and see it deflate under the weight
Why'd I bother with a serving plate?
Escape the heartbreak and all the heartache
Far to much at stake
What's the houses take
Regret the wait while cursing fate
Can fate make a mistake?

©2023
Carlo C Gomez Nov 2023
~
Did you hear?

It starts with guilty cubicles
and churches under the stairs.

Then a fair amount of poisonous storytelling.
And of course, 451 magnetic tiles that reveal the hidden "truth."

What happens when you push this button?
Hollywood scientist, lab coat stained
with strangely colored chemicals, pulls at the stitches.

The intruder is close
and up on crutches,
fighting wars on television.

All out of catastrophes?
He will sell you a secret one to keep under your pillow.
~
Next page