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Shadow Miedema Apr 2022
I want to die
But I don’t know what that is.
No, I don’t just want things to be alright.
I’m tired of this world and life.
I want to write one more poem.
To let the story have an end.

And then leave by myself.
Which seems impossible for me, to just let everything go.
It took me everything to do everything in this life already.
Have it be ok enough to survive.
But it never really worked and it never felt alright.
So please let the story end.

Tell me where I will be free and where I’ll find my place.
A world of freedom with my old friends and feelings.
Still there but feeling good and better.
Not sick but in my power.
In love and able to rest in peace.
And fly away.

I can’t find my world in here.
Let me go soon now.
Write the end chapture here.
Let me die, let me go.
Let me find my courage to let go of everything, it’s not even working.
Yet it’s all I really know.

I tried before to go.
Wasn’t my time.
Same right now, still things to wait for.
For people, for me.
Born suicidal, I hate this world, the life, the constant merciless days and nights.

I wanted euthanasia but in the end it was denied, trying again, reapplied.
Intensely long waiting time.

Although I know there’s more to this torturing life.
And every chapture had its own little subjects that perfectly align.
But now I need to die!
I want to, I have to.
Let me say goodbye, tell you “This is the end”.
For once and for all.
In this life for me finally.
Goodbye, goodbye.

The end.
mediocrity Feb 2018
Itchy scritchy
Creepy crawly
Something in my skin.
I pick and scratch to free
Fictitious bugs that squirm within.

Whump-a thump-a
Thudd, thudd
Pounding in my ears,
Punctuating every sound
with thrums like stabbing spears.

Wiggle wobble
Swoopy swirly
Motion fills my eyes.
Saturated, inundated,
Stillness its disguise.

Shaky shaky
Static in my limbs,
***** them tight together
Til the chaos finally dims.

In the quiet, darkest, smallest space
I sit and reminisce
Of back when just existing
didn't make me feel like this.
the world is an overwhelming place
Annette Rachlin Apr 2016
snapping fingers sound in your eardrums, the overwhellming sense of hands snaking around your hips and feather like touches across your eyelids. the feeling of overwhellming static of feet upon pavement and the waterfountain filled with sewage water and splashing across skin too yellow, filling up with acidic gas, traveling to your eyes. screaming, screaming, screaming, to make the snapping stop. snap, snap, snap. filling up to a point of no going back. red is not a pretty color upon my wiltering yellow skin once made so beautiful and covered in a garden of ignorance made for a womans lips to taint dark enough for anothers to bruise

— The End —