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Sick of crying,
Yet tired of trying.
Yeah I'm smiling,
But inside I'm dying.
whørechata Jun 2015
wake up
it's a cold sweat
but a red-hot dream
that stabbed you in the side
like a dull rusty blade
that nobody remembered to clean
breathe deep, it was just sleep
but what if you weren't quite free
what if the Deep called you back
and you found out what your brain
decided to keep
hidden between the neurons
you've forbidden yourself from
"look no further"
you tell yourself for the umpteenth time this week
but you know
it'll happen again
you don't know when
but soon
it'll be you and them
in the room where you bled
and not even in the way that gets
someone's attention
you're gonna claw
and you're gonna scream
but who will hear?
it's a mascot's dream
and while we're here
who's team are you on?
this dream won't just disappear
but it's not even a dream anymore
dreams don't leave you waking up sore
you have to get out
you have to escape
but wait
it looks likes there's some more

stop
not again
you've done this before

what's really difficult to ignore
and I'm just curious how
the light fades
right as the punch line rolls out
and maybe one day you'll get
that fists were never meant
for the inside of your skull
and maybe one day you'll know
that the inside of this hull was
compromised by those
overboard thoughts
the one's you mocked:
"it's probably nothing"
but it's not.
Ryan Unger Jun 2015
I wish that you had told me the inner pain you felt,
And fully understood the pain that your decision dealt.
You hid your secret deep down inside and unfortunately hid it well,
Nothing seemed to bother you as far as I could tell.

At soccer practice you always had a warmth about your face,
It seemed like to the rest of the team you were in a stable place.
We always went to movies and hung around the mall,
I never thought a confident guy could have self-esteem so small.

Behind your eyes lied a hurt that I can’t comprehend,
So much so that you decided that life was yours to end.
We were supposed to meet at school the day your mother found you dead,
I thought that maybe you got sick so you stayed home instead.

During lunch I texted you but I didn’t get an answer,
I never thought it was because of this self-loathing cancer.
And I still didn’t believe it when I heard, I knew it was a lie;
Some people might **** themselves but you weren’t that guy.

It wasn’t until your funeral that it finally hit me like a brick,
I could still see the bruising around your neck and I wanted to be sick.
It’s like you hit the morale of our town head on with a bus,
You may have ended your internal pain but you pawned it off on us.

The night I left the funeral I cried until I had no tears,
You cut short our memories, of which we had many more years.
School seemed bleak, and life seemed cold in the many weeks that followed,
I couldn’t stop thinking of the depression that you swallowed.

I felt like if I paid more attention I’d notice something wrong,
And see it sitting behind your eyes, humming its sad song.
Wherever your soul now resides, I hope the pains no more,
But know your choice still haunts the residents of this town to the core.

Maybe in another life we’ll be best friends again,
And if you ever relive those awful feelings, you can tell me then.
Kara Jean Jun 2015
Equanimity;
How stoically your eyes shroud
those growing storm clouds.
I know you're hurting, please don't use this façade with me.
Ashley Singh Apr 2015
The voices inside my head are taking over.
These u-u-uncontrollable quirks I have.
My eyes twitch as many times as a heart beats after doing a triathlon.
In my head of runs a marathon of thoughts that don't belong,
things I can't do because they're wrong.
Within my blood stream flows 1.26 grams of dopamine given to me by doctors who don't know how to fix my situation,
only mix prescriptions to intensify vexation. Pharmacists eyeball me fearingly because I appear to be nothing but someone with chemicals wandering around into the little bit of a brain I have left.
Serotonin to regulate my mood, appetite, and sleep but I still only wish for all of this to be nothing but a dream.
All of this making my intestines mutilate, slowly dying inside as if I had Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Otherwise known as I.B.S. but I know for a fact that this is all just a bunch of B.S.
My enterochromaffin cells may just burst, I am often told.
If only I could tell what was real from what was fake.
For I also have A.D.H. - whoa! What's that?!
Sorry, where was I?
Oh. Tourettes Syndrome.
I guess I just twitch it off.
Maybe these are all figures of my imagination from the hallucinogens.
Who knows?
After all, I am a schizophrenic.
Any constructive criticism, guys Please feel free to say. By the way, I'm not a schizophrenic or any of the above, these were just some thoughts roaming my mind.
Benjamin Novak Apr 2015
I shouldnt resent feelings for arent they me?,
A mistaken representation of my internal sea.

Though the messengers native tongue is without face,
the message is clear "you've fallen from grace".

The sensation avast of our reality,
I relinquish this dependence on sanity.

Please defend me in my cry against man,
And witness my fall into the depths again...
MV Blake Apr 2015
Your thoughts fly like splinters of glass
From the mirror you smashed on my face.
I glare at all of you
Under the dim light,
Wishing you were someone else.

You all wink at me as you extract a piece
Of silvered glass from my bloodied skin.
You blink for a moment,
A thousand-fold,
Then show me your teeth,
Gums bloodied and sore from the strike.

I soak a warm cloth in ice cold water
And dab the blood from your chin.
You all wince and curse at my touch,
But allow me to remove but a trace.
Despite all the pain and hurt you've done,
I would do this for no-one else.

We're in it together,
My shattered self and I,
Though God knows we cannot win.
Ordinary Apr 2015
The problem with emotions is that they aren't backed in gold
It doesn't matter how much you have, how great your GDP is or who's on the bank note. It doesn't matter. Without a gold standard your notes are just paper to others. You're one economic crash from having all of your worth becoming valueless to other countries. There is no exchange rate. it doesn't matter how many marks you have after that war. Everything you have, all that you're worth and all your desires, can't buy ****. They are now only good for burning and keeping you warm. Because emotions aren't backed in gold, their only guaranteed value is in yourself.
it doesn't matter who powerful your emotions are for you, they remain inside you and do not have an exchange rate.
WickedHope Mar 2015
Run and run and run in place
All our efforts
Are such a waste

When we work
In such simple opposition
We cannot help but
Let go of firm position

Release
Your grasp upon yourself
Silence your cry for another's help
We have choked out our inner peace

There is nowhere
Safe left
When you have two people
Living in your head
**Title is archaic Greek.

I don't know.
I keep trying to be two people at once. It's not working very well.
Sorry this *****. Writing isn't going well at the moment either.
W a i s t i n g  a w a y in a world of
Hellions bent on the worldly
Extortion of the Beautiful
Rarities, Bewitching their realities and leaving
Exposed Bones and Broken Hearts on a
Dim evening, on the corner of a sidewalk.
Insubstantial, empty Words cause
Discord in Souls whose
Temperament is pure and Kind just to be
Hit in the face by Cruel Monsters.
Earnest faces of
Young Children were once
Glowing and Knowing no pain besides scrapes and papercuts,
Only to be s h a t t e r e d by this Unholy Desolation.
I wrote this less than a week ago. Inspired by a myriad of people and things.
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