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So many things
I've endured,
To be where I am

Molestation, aggravation,
All the things
They did to me...

Suicidal? Hesitation?
What are these
Two things to me?

So many names
Like games they play

For whatever is
Wrong with me.

But all I see
Is a sea
Of hopelessness;

A broken Me...
And I can't see
A cure for my

Deadly disease...

I just see "Me"...
I've gone through a lot in my life. I've loved and lost; I've wandered and wondered. I've hoped and dreamed: I've yelled and screamed... but every night,  I suffer... in silence.
theladyeve Apr 2022
there is no love;
only contempt.
there is no paradise;
only purgatory.
there is no ecstasy;
only sorrow.
there is no solace;
only agony.
there is no hope;
only melancholy.

here, there is nothing;
only decay.

i am a sickness with no cure.
Peter Tanner Feb 2022
I am in the depths of who knows where.
It is dark, it is cold, it is despair.
I am face up in the pool gasping for air.
I see no stars, I see no moon
There's just the fear that I may go under soon
The void which is darker than the walls,
tempts me to give into its calls.
I hear them echoing in my soul,
then my burdens take their toll.
I reach out in the cold air,
for a helping hand that isn't there.
Then I go under,
to the darkness of my eternal slumber.
A metaphor for the many things in our lives which seem to assail us without end.
My Dear Poet Jan 2022
An only guest
when company is a broken chair

An empty chair
placed beside a wooden table
in a vacant room

Faded initials carved into a table
made from the trunk of a dying tree

The tired branches of a tree
that can no longer hold on to its leaves

The scattered amber leaves that can never
turn back to the colour green
Logan Turner Oct 2021
I woke up again
And had a day
To me I lent
I have to stay
Lonely repent
It isn't mine
My head so tangled
All the time
Can never figure out
When to shout
Where's the time I spent
It left and never came back
Live for nothing
Over and over
Pretend it's something
Can't access myself
The interface too complex
Tony Tweedy Oct 2021
Twenty one thousand, nine hundred and fifteen days,
the sum of all my experience, all memory and dream.
Days of smiles and of laughter, scattered as they came,
interspersed with pain so deep my soul still hears the scream.

Accumulated time filled with things of the important everyday,
Through shifting hands of time all things came then hurried on.
By heart or minds good reasons were the choices that I made,
until now where no good remains and all sense of hope is gone.

My mind will sometimes force a replay of some echo of the past,
when hope and love gave purpose to a young man's dreams.
Twenty one thousand nine hundred and sixteen days,
more recent but so much later,
with a soul deafened to all but screams.
Somewhere.... someone.... must know the point of it all.
S Jun 2021
It’s too early in the night
for an existential crisis-
yet here we are.
lucidwaking Apr 2021
A flow, a pen, an ink stained palm.
A life, a story, all gone wrong.
A spark of hope in the night, maybe?
No, your hope is grammatically incorrect.

"This is where your sentence could have ended
but it didn't," see?
Nonetheless, it wants so desperately to end.
An incomplete thought, a fragment -
A fragmented existence with an expired due date.

Can you pick up the forlorn pieces?
Use your calloused fingers to avoid getting cut.
You continued the sentence,
But you used the semicolon wrong.
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