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Let it out and
Don't be afraid
To cry.

Let it out,
Because surviving is
Hard enough

When all you
Have is yourself
And you're trying

Your best to stay alive.

You say this is the end
Of your story,

And somewhere along the way,

You've convinced yourself
You've written the last


But it's not what you pictured,
It's not a fairytale story,
A happily ever after.

Things never go the way
You planned it.

Now it's pure survival,
And you're fighting every
Day to live another day

And not take the easy way out
And simply end it.
Dear dearly beloved,
It's me, again.

I'm sorry for the
Pain and sorrow.

I just want to let
You all know that

There's only
So much lower
I can go.

There's a bullet
With my name on it,

But I don't want
To pull the trigger.

I promise I'm not a quitter,
But I'm far from
Being a winner.

I'm always pulled in
Every direction,

And I feel I fail
Every time, stepping
In the wrong direction.

It's hard to compartmentalize
And section my emotions,

I'm always one step away
From jumping off a ledge,
And it's getting harder

Just to hold on.

Dear dearly beloved,

Pray that I make it through,

So my soul doesn't get
Crushed by the weight
Of the world,

And delivered to the underworld.
There is no huge brain inside of my dome, it was replaced with a slow metronome. It doesn't stop moving, just ticking and talking at night I'm out stalking the streets as my mood swings and sways to the beat in my head. Mania? Yeah, the opposite of dead but in depression I'm just hanging to life by a thread. Swinging back and forth with significant force like a ballpeen hammer, hard enough to **** a horse. Like a blunt force trauma bringing nothing but drama, so I tire of the fire and I suffer but whatever but the flames be growin' higher and it's an oil fire so don't be throwing water or it'll just get hotter and roar louder so dowse me with the baking powder, better yet, a better powder, ya got good coke? Can I get some of that snow chucked into my head sometimes the numbness is better than dead. To quote the great Tom Waits "I'd rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy." I'd say I agree. Though at the end of the day it's not up to me.
Just typed it outta my noggin. Nothing special. Hope you find something of value. I admit it was thereputically fun to express in an experimental way...
Heather May 24
First I feel it in my fingers and toes
The buzzing that grows
A swarm of angry bees
Nesting deep in my stomach

The pain of numb so few will know
Vision as black as crow
I trace my raised skin
As it clamps down on my windpipe.
I revised one of my favorite cutesy poems about panic attacks to reflect the horror I felt in my recent one.
Just one moment,
I plead for you.
To kiss me,
Hold me,
And care for me too?
Please tell me tales,
Of wonder and play.
Love me through words,
I need you to say.

'I love you, child',
'It'll be okay'.

But all is a dream,
You get quite annoyed.
For the child
Facing you,

Is the one you avoid.
George Krokos May 13
What!? You say you're tired of living,
well, I think I know what you mean
as I also don't regard myself being
particularly, at all now, very keen.

The last couple of years have taken their toll on me
so much so that its become obvious for any to see.
The affairs of this world are just one thing I've considered
but what are the things I've done which haven't delivered?
Written in 2023.
A reflection on my current health condition and well being.
Emily Donoher May 10
I've had a stomach ache
since I was seven, a blade
in my belly, a hive in my head
have you ever mistaken a bee
for a wasp? they sting and say
incessantly buzzing, pricking
they want out as much as I do
Some days I want to peel my flesh
cut myself in half and purge the venom
watch it seep out of me like
sticky sap from a sycamore
instead I take my medicine
and talk about you.
Emily Donoher May 10
Perhaps      the    best of me      is behind              beyond
that          point of irreversibility           a beacon
of       inevitability           and it serves                as such

I am no longer       shiny     or     shocking     or     new
a        brown paper bag           crumpled     and      creased
milk that     sours    and      curdles        a   homesick     orphan

a     lamb   on    its   back   and    I  will   always   be    a  child
I will   always   be   a   child   I    will    always     be   a   child      

Love      contorts     me             I    curve    and    twist    
and       grow          larger           and            wider
I am              a flesh ball               a blush balloon
punctured by         a mere *****                I am sensitive

tuned        too tight        like my         Grandmother’s    piano
but it was     the first   I ever played     so no other     sounds right
and    I tell      my first       love      the       same        thing

I am entropy         the blaze of a sun          a deity of delusion
a fickle fig                                                 (pick, peel, devour)

I am a tear in your jeans    a loose thread     a love-sick sack
a daughter                                     (and some days, a mother)

I am tin teeth      a blade in your belly      a hive in your head
a feeble fawn                                                      (a black bull)

I am an amalgamation of       deficiency     and         divinity
coarse and common as coal        I am the     sun    the nether
the shade under the rock         I am nothing       nothing at all
It doesn’t have to be this way,
It’s not as hard as you imagined
it all to be.

There are hills, and obstacles in
the way, but persistence is key—

Prevailing is the best way
to not fall in a state so freely.

It’s all about faking your way,
And ******* it up, until you
grow so numb, because nothing
else matters—

Nothing else matters anymore.

It’s a hard road ahead, and you’re
the greatest enemy that you
could ever meet.

An enemy you could only

But you’ve yet to stand up
for yourself, and you end up
getting torn,

A person left in shatters,
oh-so forlorn.
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