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Sharks have to move to breathe
Sometimes I feel as though I am the same
If I stop moving I will suffocate
Relaxation feels like a pillow smothering my face

If I stop running they will catch me
All the pain I’ve spilt
My shame
My guilt

All combined into a lurking monster
Chasing me through the forest
I want to pause
But I can feel the monsters claws

My lungs start to ache
The tears stream down my face
I cannot brake
I cannot lose this race
I have not changed
The same memories haunt me
I have not escaped
The same monsters chase me

The words still play in my mind
The boat is sinking
They have never been kind
I am overthinking

I am not the captain of this boat
I cannot outrun these nightmares
The cries stuck in my throat
My eyes dry of tears

Recovery is brutal
Is trying futile?
There's something...
infinitely beautiful,
dancing, delicately,
on pulled threads,
across nimble fingers:

the cat's cradle,
between emotional agony,
and mental silence.  

When every tear, is at last, exhausted...
when your lungs, wheeze, fluidly,
from helpless overexertion,
and, gasping for breath,
you turn your cheek, for air,
your pillow:
now, a man-made lake...

the numbness... suffuses,
your entire being.

Loud suffering, falls silent.
Red-rimmed eyes,
become too swollen,
to examine their own pain.

The nothingness blankets you,
in its warmest embrace.
You become swaddled; baby-soft, again,
yet plated, in auric detachment.

...Nothing, can touch me,
nothing,
can inform, my placid heart,
to beat.

in this moment,
I am free, of its emotional trappings.
its threads, can't pin me;
its pull, can't drag me down.

My lips,
shape a smile,
but it only serves, to show...
that it no longer hurts,
to stretch a wooden bridge,
across the gaping void.

...but even so... it's just a band-aid.

It won't fix, what's broken,
and the blood,
will seep through,
the gauze, again.
The pain, will return;
it'll grow knuckles,
that form fists,
which wield knives.

But, for now...
I lay myself, to rest...
blunted, mummified,
in a buzzing swathe,
of pristine, white.........





silence
...I have BPD, (C)PTSD, and who knows, whatever the **** else.

There are these moments, where, the emotion intensifies to the point I can't bear it, and just when I think it's finally going to **** me, it finally breaks, and I feel a beautiful kind of...nothingness.

...I try to hold onto these periods of numbness, for as long as I can.

...The title, I was just trying to be cute, with.

It's easy to disregard this experience as oversensitivity or weakness, but BPD is widely regarded as one of, if not the most, painful mental illnesses, to live with. I can't stop people from thinking what they want to about this piece, but I've been thinking a lot lately about my patterns, and cycles, and maybe it's worth sharing, maybe other people relate? Idk.
Lee 2d
I can only pray to grow hazy
I can only listen
As a Red fox vocalizes my pain
I cannot be sure if the morning dew will glisten
May 27th
One of my fav pieces
Molten tributaries
Live in my shoulders
Nerves stare me down
With contempt,
Dead-eyed
Salve upon salve
Licked away in time
Bloodied nails
Dig further through
My neck stretches
Like old glue
Snapping, without breaking
My hips take ahold
As if I am on a ledge
As if Im about to fall
Ankles loose in their skin
Try and try again
Cry and cry again
Numbness arrives
At night, to be held
Pokes me awake
I cannot escape
These children of pain,
No story
Brings satisfying meaning
They are simply here
Staring at me,
Pleading,
Some livid,
Some choked of feeling
I am left to carry them
With the very same body
They torture.
Chris Pea Jul 12
Darkness, is the lack of light
where nothing is bright
the black of a moonless night
deepest depth of the greatest sea where the day is out of sight

Darkness is a pressured mind
where life and people are all unkind
where your crying heart constantly pined
and depression weighs down to render you fatally blind

Give it time
without a sign
sun will shine
the blackness will be forgotton, for a while you'll be fine
Jamie Jul 5
I don't like to admit
how much I fear the people

everyday interactions
send me to spiral

I dissect your words until
they are rotting and fowl
mae Jun 29
i walk into the clinic
like it’s a gas station off Route 66,
neon buzzing, hearts tired.
my body full of roadmaps & warning signs —
but no one reads the signs,
no one hears the engine knock.
they call it stress, call it nerves, call it nothing,
but I’ve been breaking down in slow motion since the Eisenhower years.
Trinkets Jun 29
Today I am exhausted,
dysregulated nerves.

Somehow even simple rest
feels like more than I deserve.

I wake up overstimulated,
somehow already sad.

It's like half of all the other
"wake in painful" days I've had.

Not really a disaster,
the feeling's bound to fade.

I'll wake tomorrow,
and the next,

just another day.
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