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PS Apr 2020
There's this heavy thing on my chest
It makes me want to cry sometimes
It makes me want to die too

There's this unknown energy around me
It makes me want to feel so low
Lower than I have before

There's this thing that
Makes me choke for air
It pulls me far away from here

In the land unknown
Where souls only roam
They pass through the stars
And walk in the bars

They say they don't feel things
And past does not bother them
They convince me its better there
It's so much better than here
We are tired.
So very very tired.
Everything feels like a waste of time
And our minds feel tired.
Our bones won't respond.
Their eyes look bored
And the train of thought has paused.
Everything feels so insufferable,
Nothing feels new or true anymore.

This kind of tired
Was born in us.
And somehow it has tangled its way
Around our hearts.
The dreary days come from years
Of waking to the same
Numb dumb feeling in our smiles.
We feel motion sickness in our hands
From writing all these bubblegum dreams
Knowing that our reality
Will never be as sweet
As the dreams that come from sleep.

It's the tragic trend of the generation
That spent so long overthinking
That they figured it all out.
Now our anxious minds feel the tired
From knowing the illusion has reached the credits.
There's no reset button,
And we're too poor to drown in the dust
Of the bones of those from before.
So we'll stay tired
And drown in bittersweet fallacies
Waking and hating
The haunting reality.
Dreams just have such a glossy tint that makes them feel so much more welcoming than this harsh reality that we are trapped in
PS Apr 2020
It's crazy how someone can go from the person who taught me how to love myself
To the reason I wanted to die.
Ley Apr 2020
do you think about me?
do angels cry too?

irises bloom for a third time
and i'm still in love with you
Mitch Prax Apr 2020
I don't know
how to leave behind
all of these lingering feelings
that still dwell
from within.
Nishant Rawat Apr 2020
Every drop of tear you ****
is like a 6-inch nail piercing my heart.
How to wipe them off my shirt
when I'm the reason for this hurt.
How to wipe off those tears when you are the reason for them?
Michael Luciano Apr 2020
Way out on the bounds down deep in the struggle.
The killer sits dormant just waiting for his lover.
A fire ignites sparking the struggle.
Lighting the path to feeding his hunger.
The feeling he gets is fleeing at best.
Leaving him with feelings of grieving regret.
It's never enough the voice it whispers.
Crawl with me darling lets crest as Victors.

Up Upon a hill way out side of town.
The killer digs in beds himself down.
Awaiting the moment to levy his strike.
The feelings of eager and willingness bite.
Prowling the night stalking his ****.
Taking the life in the morning chill.
Dreaming inside what he's done is his duty.
The thrill of the **** is more than consuming.


Lost among the trees deep within the forest.
The killer loved the wilderness made him feel normal.
He could walk along the woodland for weeks upon end.
No feelings of contempt no loosing his head.
How can a man be judged for making his fulfillment.
Taking another's life when the ******* deserved it.
Lost in the wilderness tasting no pain.
The feelings he felt removed from his brain.
Henriette Apr 2020
some lonely nights
are worth the wake
but are you,
worth the wait?
I hate this so much
When I haven't been numbed
By society's icy disposition
And nothing has told me I am horrid
Or that I am nothing
I'm feeling again
And the feeling isn't dread

The forest of fears
Has captured my heart
It has told me
I can do anything I want
Just as long as I give up my mind
With only a blink,
I say no
But I wonder if the Forest knew I was feeling again
So just in case, I wasn't feeling it
I should start feeling pain.
But I hate feeling, I hate that I am vulnerable again
Even though I have always wanted someone
To save me
But I am unsavable
Because I am my own soldier
Who is so ******* tired of feeling
To all those who feel too much!!!! ChEERs my mateS!
Alice Weatherley Apr 2020
We feel ourselves rogue and peasant slaves -
In that is no disgust.
Collectively yet to have been stripped of
Our formalities, plunged into fiction, devoid of normality -
An undiscovered country, if you must.

We doze cosy in dreams of passion
Where space and silence nudges pens; they bleed.
Though liquidity stiffens
Flair and genius warm the air
Assuming a pleasing shape, indeed.

We weep under a broken voice
When seas of trouble rise to strike us down.
Remorseless - how can it pause to pick and choose?
Treacherous - anxiety bedevils our news
But temporary, false is its crown.

When we think or moan, twiddle thumbs or disengage,
There is nothing, not even tears, that dares to drown our stage.
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