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What Now?

It took me forever to choose
so I succame to impulse
dictated by MY desire
born within limitations
of my perspective
my understanding
my reach

But what choice did I have?

This subject?
That object?

choice seemed tainted
impulse felt natural

a manipulator's playground

hijacked lowjacked
jacked

The Faceless Man whispers,
"Well, you always had the choice."

but Shame speaks in ones own voice

so what now?
Emma Pals Jun 11
This morning I woke up without regret
Everything went well
My thoughts didn't cause any turmoil
My soul was at peace

Suddenly, something changed.
I was filled with anxiety
Gut-wrenching thoughts flooded in.
Maybe I should just die

Those words filled my head,
Impulses rushed through my body,
To act upon those nasty feelings
To actually take my own life.

But here I am
Barely breathing
Barely living
On the verge of ending it all.
A match, unlit, but potent, awaiting
A spark.
Impulse, unfit, but potent, awaiting
The dark.
Controlled, subdued by intimidation.
Behold! It escapes in conflagration!

Desire, unmet, but potent, and wanting
To play.
The id, unchecked, but potent, and wanting
To prey.
Dead, beaten into its subjugation.
Instead! Unchained, furious damnation!

Defense, untried, but potent, seeking
To win.
Violence, untold, but potent, seeking
To sin.
Enslaved, subject to emasculation.
Saved! Freedom, total depravation!
Blogging at www.insightshurt.com
Instagram @insightshurt
Buy "Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life" at store.bookbaby.com/book/insights-hurt
There was a moment, so unexpected,
When I woke, seeking just ordinary,
Resigned to loneliness, unconnected,
Our encounter—felt imaginary.

Seeking isolation, no need for lust,
Appreciation gone, beauty no more,
Passion burned, with eyes I no longer trust,
You—a seduction I’d not known before.

Pulling back from feeling, and nakedness,
All the beauty, futile, unrequited,
Choosing instead dullness, and wretchedness,
Our spark—an extinguished soul ignited.

Recoiling, fear, cursed sexuality,
Libidinous impulses, uncontrolled,
Bare, on altars of sensuality,
You—inviting love I cannot withhold.

Kiss me, hold me, bring my love in deeper,
Forgive me, embrace me, don’t let me be still,
Touch me, and own me, and be my keeper,
Your look—I resisted, but have lost my will.
Blogging at www.insightshurt.com
Instagram @insightshurt
Buy "Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life" at store.bookbaby.com/book/insights-hurt
Chicken Oct 2018
I nearly bought
those terrible
shoes.
Crimsyy Oct 2017
that night, my stomach
cramped up the nerve to ask
if i had gotten the sick out of me,
i tossed my response
in the form of mixed media
liquids, solids,
and amongst other things,
last night's dinner

my impulses don't know
how to punctuate
there are no commas
no full stops
I'm sorry sweetheart
perhaps i should have
warned you before
but understand i don't just
want to dive in with you
i want to drown in
all the warmth
so drown with me

that night, my stomach
cramped up the nerve to ask
if i had gotten the sick out of me,
i tossed my response
in the form of mixed media
liquids, solids,
last night's dinner,
and amongst other things
his name or maybe yours
you see, i remember
all the things gone bad,
conversations him and i
never got to have
but lately i've been keeping
my face towards the sunlight

my entire being is reacting,
making metaphors out of
12 a.m vomiting incidents,
my entire being is reacting
even when my body is still,
i am still trying my very best
to get the sick out of me.

- Crimsyy

a/n: thankyou for reading! for anyone who's wondering, the 12 a.m vomiting incident that inspired this entire poem did actually happen and it was terrible. Hopefully the poem is better (:
Viktoria Jan 2017
Early too early
I wanna sleep
But something is burning
Right in the deep

The thoughts, the ideas
Are crossing my mind
How long will they stay
I have to decide

They are impolite
I won't ever miss them
But they'll keep on coming
Again and again

With every visit
They'll put a weird pressure
On me
Like when you're in desert
And have to keep water
Until you see a village
Whith a certain relief

Sometimes I managed
To empty the bottle
Because I was certain
There was a fountain
But when I came closer
The hope broke all over
It was just another mirage
In my brain.

And they keep on visiting me again.
Erin Suurkoivu Oct 2016
Go to sleep, my love.
This ambulance is not for us.

Although, I suppose it could be,
Following dark impulses.

Its sirens screaming of hell,
Tearing pell-mell in a night

Not tinged by blood –
No crime committed for want or violence,

Only help arrived too late
To save us. It would go silent then,

As we have been silenced,
Locked in a terrible tableau.

You, still, curled around my heart,
Me having found for us oblivion.
I poem I wrote four years ago dealing with postpartum depression. Don't worry, nothing became of it.
jack of spades Mar 2016
I was driving home late at night
after I crashed on my friend's couch in the middle of a movie
hands less on 10&2 and more on 7&5
mind less on the road and more on my speed
how easy it would be to stop steering, to just
crash into something.
When the light turns green I hallucinate headlights in my rearview,
but when I look back there's nothing but black asphalt following me.
Look, Mom, no hands.
Look, Mom:
No hands.
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