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mal monson Jan 2019
to all those
that ever wonder what it's like
to have delusions
or hallucinations:

touch your nose
or your lips
or your hair
or your ears

touch anything.

you know that your nose is real
right?
you know that whatever you decided to touch
is real.

now
imagine everyone
and i mean everyone
is telling you that it's not.

that your very
very real nose
isn't there.
that it's fake.

some people will scream
others will treat you
like a baby
some will pretend with you
for awhile.
but all of them
their goal will be at first to convince you
that your nose isn't real.
and when that fails
it will be to make you feel so ******
that it doesn't matter
because they don't care about you at all.

and one day
maybe
you'll break.
like me.

you know your nose isn't real.
it couldn't possibly be
it makes no sense
it's stupid
it's just in your head.

but you also know
that it's still there.
that it's still very very real
and you know
it has to be.

so
next time someone
confides in you
or slips up and you see inside

don't say anything negative.
we know.
it hurts.
we just need comfort.
Sketcher Nov 2018
I'm shaking with fear and I want to ****,
That unicorn I see that has all my pills,
Those pills that give me all the nice thrills,
From codeine to NyQuil to Advil,
People stare at me and shake and shiver,
Pulling out a knife while my hands quiver,
Stab it into some small child's liver,
Today I'm a mailman, a death deliverer,
That child's name was Jon,
I killed him while he was mowing a lawn,
He was Mexican and trying to get paid,
I guess I had to come around and make his day,
I said, "Yeet!" as I threw the kids body,
Down into the river and then I yelled, "Gotee!",
I'll feast on the rest of the child's flesh,
Jon was a nice meal, probably the best,
I didn't find my pills in Mr. Jon the unicorn,
I guess his mom gave birth to a ***** that was born,
Without the pill portal that he should've had,
Their family is terrible, all members must be bad,
Now I don't have my pills and I've just had a meal,
I guess the kids meat was a good enough appeal.
Two psychopaths made this poem.
Slime-God Nov 2018
I never natter openly
about the things I might not see
but in my head, so quietly
Their forms begin to madden me
Jack Torrance Oct 2018
Staring at the ceiling,
what the hell is this feeling?
I can’t make up my mind,
of what’s real and what’s fake.

If I’m not dreaming,
then who is that screaming?
No one seems to hear it,
so that’s a mistake.

In front of the mirror,
and all I see is me,
but the me that I see,
is not who he seems to be.

Something’s not right,
in the little details,
in the colors and smells,
this is not re-al-i-ty.

I can see movement,
in the corner of my eyes,
something alive,
that’s not there when I look.

It’s like I’m in between worlds,
where time doesn’t exist,
the soundless abyss,
being dragged down by a hook.

This detox is different,
something is wrong,
I knew all along,
but that brings no relief.

This panic, is manic,
now I’m feeling frantic,
how can a person,
forget to breathe?

It’s feels like the weight,
on my shoulders has lifted,
but it’s only shifted,
and been placed on my chest.

My mind has grown muddy,
and I got nothing left,
fighting and struggling,
for every breath.

Clutching at myself,
as the tremors start.
Is it my heart?
Bring in the crash cart.

I hear someone say,
“place this under your tongue,
let it dissolve and don’t chew”,
but my tongue has gone numb.

I watch the walls bend,
and then I start to scream.
I’d like to believe it’s a dream,
but I’m not that dumb.

I can hear ambulance sirens,
so distant, and close,
but I’ve gone morose,
all I feel is the pain.

Houston, are you there?
All connections are down,
I can’t hear a sound,
I think I’ve gone insane.
Shin Sep 2018
Shattered shards of sea foam open my eyes

nothing to do but drift through this tepid stew.

The porcelain palm trees lean in and whisper

about the ending, or so they surmised.

Closing my eyes, I take time to construe

and I see an angel; and I kiss her

and the world grows weary, silent, and still.
These are the words I'd use to describe a single slice of a trip I remember from a time past approximately one and a half years ago.
Lolita Aug 2018
I was once alone walking on a lonely wet road.
And there I spotted a golden-red toad.
It began jumping as I walked, I thought it followed me
And suddenly he said "where else would I be?"

The voice struck my mind, I started panting.
A toad talking to a human? Never heard of such a ranting.
So I stopped walking, assuming that he won't.
But I could hear him in my mind saying "please don't".

I know this voice, I am freaked out.
He said "you know my name, I'm the one you cried out..."
Is he really talking to me or I'm just talking to myself.
Can't really think now as he winks that glassy-eye at myself.

I was sleepy, felt deluded, I think I started talking ghost.
He continued"...for you're the only one who loved me the most"
As I listen to all this, I felt I was about to faint.
"I'm sorry for all those dreams that I taint.".
I unusually woke up at 5am, started writing this piece, completed it in the school in the first period and was surprised because this is not the first thing I usually do when I wake up. Tell me I'm not the only one
Obey the everlasting voices.
Those that beg you do,
They'll be here until you die,
The only ones that will never leave you,
Not even at night,
Like a soul mate - they'll be here when you cry.

Obey them young child,
You must learn to sacrifice your lust,
There's light and then there's darkness,
Although, here there's only you,
You wonder where you are.

Keep walking in the shadows,
Be careful you don't stumble and trip
In the land of murkiness.
They await around corners,
Unrevealed; out of sight for most,
But never out of your mind.

What's wrong with her?
She must be hysterical; psychotic; certifiable.
No one sees things the way she does,
No one sees them at all:
The shadows in the corners of the room,
The nails - or was that claws - against the windows.

They don't feel
The panic
Like she does.

They'll creep into your room at night,
You scream, trying to tell them goodbye,
Except they never leave,
You beg please
And they lock you in the cellar.

Months go by and it takes,
Half a year to notice,
You haven't been seen outside.
It takes them months for you to find yourself screaming at the walls,
****** clothes on the floor,
Because you want to get rid of yourself,
Before they **** you.
This is different from my usual type of themes, I hope it doesn't **** too badly.
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