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Omar 6d
O god, O god
I am going insane
Poison and honey for me its all the same
Iam drowning deep and i cannot be pulled.
Only what i can feel is my hand getting cold
I'm truly sorry for all that i have done.
But all i see in my hand is the gun.
kel Sep 8
i wanna sleep so badly
after barely sleeping for days
it's as if my sanity is sadly
running away from me

can barely open my eyes now
and i feel like my brain's gonna melt
but i'm not scowling
like i did when i was wide awake though.

it's as if something's possessed me,
made me go a bit insane with a smile.
Xan Sep 2
you were cruel
the intoxicating type of cruel
the type that'll lure me to you

to everyone you'd be a monster,
to me
you're one cruel son of a gun..
the type I'll be keeping
forever.

now what's really cruel is how much you ignore me,
how much you make me jealous
it makes me insane, love...

just please be more gentle with my heart?
don't use it like a punching bag...
I beg of you..
You say I'm insane for
Driving my brand new cabrio
With its roof wide open
In the pouring rain
But have you ever tried?
Who needs that new car smell anyway...?
Jeremy Betts Aug 26
Everything I write is filled with the same,
It's all hurt and pain
And feeling insane
And how I can't stay in my own lane
Continually asking, "what's wrong with this brain?"
While evening else sounds like
Complain
Complain
Complain
It's just easier to remember the rough terrain
And every little stain
Leading me to ask, "why should I remain?"

©2024
Ken Pepiton Jul 6
If life had made up a mind,
in the neighborhood I formed from
communally, we might all notice, we'ld agree,
we might not be the first to say, we know.

But you know, life, or the active agents of it,
makes up our minds willingness to look, see if it

might be meaningful when seen another way.

The flipside of freedom to choose, what may
be taught
to children, and what must not,
under any circumstances, be allowed known,

before a child has reached the bloom of youth,
the useful strength age, draft age,
pulled into the slipstream
of easy will
to prove worth, true grit, traction,
hobnail boots, true secret weapon, stick
and stay, and make it pay, the exploitation
unwinding wars perfected reasonings,
to the victors go the spoils, boys,

discomplication has begun, the unraveling
of ever, once again, the stories tell, the tale,
told in tapestry since Carol King, at least,

during the era of top-forty aimed at boomers,
the largest cohort of like-minded consumers,
ever propagated using pride of new knowing,
to push the value proposition
in Alcoa over Kaiser.

What local tax-base funded schools,
were required to do, in Massachusetts,
as Brahmin first intention to mass convert,
depended on a deluder, and a deceiver,
to do the work,
first make believe God can hate you,
for knowing what Eve knew, some how.

Original disconnection from the wisdom,
sin leaves no mark, but in the faith abused,

to aim, and miss, leaves no stain, aim right…

use the logic words prove, knowing one
is not enough, each can mean so many-
possible provables, using patience, truths as
developed the rules for inclusion in the deme,
the select few among the many called, whom we
deem among the elect, to whom much is given,

from whom much is required, as noblesse oblige,
indeed, duty to God and Nation, County, if you will,

Natural words twist across old sores
from bully brothers, mollified by battle buddies,
those who bore the brunt,
those Bonus Expeditions,
those dust bowl pawns,
those road builders, and bridge builders,
that made the old days look real good
on television… Dizzy Dean,
and ***** Mays, and that one year,
there in the story that took us through
the Sixties, right up to 2024, the summer
any boomer alive in 1954 remembers,
Maris versus Mantle, and the tub scene in ******…
make up the mind that remembers Beatle Wigs,
And Whammo everything, every fad we had,
let that mind never really
recover after the exposure to war, from inside…
that few,
those boys, men, now,
this wedom, tuned to my signal, thinking, dams

break, eventually, all the dams doing damage,
to the original intention allowing letters to work,
break free and wild,
as magi slowly brought back wit,
the bit of branching used
to make us think once
more an old idea, we
think slow, like a all day sucker…
make an image, I, mage of my own eyes,
Lo', I see, and say, hey, you, can you see,

does that flag,
still hold the dowery,
those stars in field of blue
above the BEIC stripes of red,
on a background as white as this?

This vast empty white space,
white wall between us now, you
and we the instigating impulsive wills

to know, sublime, beyond simple,
serious knots to learn to tie,

turbans telling Sikhs, the ontology,
why we are we, the chosen ones, and

the others, those we, must imagine,
have another reason for being, as we

have crossbred, or so it seems, as we
continue using old war reasoning schema

constantly trying to find the art official.

Riches and ease of existing, does, in fact,
lead to slavery, the will is made subject
to the feeding power, always, the owner
owns the user's fees, this is only right, see

first come, first served,
woe be the Juans who come late,

get one shot,
blow it, and you blow it for as long as
the will you failed to do was yours as

in the holy scriptures, all versions, common
thread, the planet we became on,

common, clean enough to make use,
we use raw letter A formt secret intent
to think, we used to say, no word wasted,
to the t we cross and the I we dot. or don’t/
recall each inflection in the fashion shown
courtly, while
in judgment found being wanting,
will to make a way to reimagine, a we to
think the original intention taught to you, for your
attention paid, intently, learning, we who read,

know more than they who can, but don't.

Some learn late, some never learn.
Fools make children laugh, who pays the fools?

If I die before you read this, did the words feel flat?

I trow not, letting this mind found made up, be
just right, among unnaturally neighborly bears,
some thing lingers from first intentions,
it truly can be imagined, just so.

After all the amendments needed.
To undo the original malintentions,

tie your hopes to those whose riches came
from ancient forms of diversion during deciding

the fate of the functioning laboring classes.

This is now the zone f-
from Gol'ilocks, original intent.

fsure, strue, suptyou
step on a crack, breaks yo momma back.
Reasoning was never taught where I went to learn political correctness.

Are there no fifty year olds who want to be President?
the pain rampant to my emptied faith,
showered upon a cautious bed of weeping lilies,
loots a once blissful child
whom begs to **** the relic sun...
blood poetry
as I am numbed in euphoria by
the closeness of his embrace,
the eclipse which held me in paralysis
slowly bleeds in the sky
as it anchors a crescent light of passion.

oh, he has held the disaster of my body
in his palm and has laid me naked upon him.

tucked neatly among the webbings of his fingers
is a whispering lily that sings me to sleep.

the sphere of black,
fixated upon the sky,
is melting...

I weep to see his loving eyes
pour over the deprived valley
that is the entirety of my being.

yet...
It is as if this man,
and his exposed nakedness encompassing me,
is the coming season of warmth
which teaches me nourishment...
blood poetry
spring has taken
the shape of a wounded coyote...

forcing a layered film
of something very dangerous
to hide in the bulb of each joss flower…

a brutal coercion made pure
by the ghost of the ending winter...

each day has forced warmth
upon me as if it were a ritual,

the annual harvest of my sanity.
blood poetry
el Mar 20
Maybe being insane
Is the curse
That was gifted
To every writer
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