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Stephen S Nov 2018
I've spent too much time taking.
Too much time breaking.
Too many nights in the cold, alone,
shaking.

I've spent too much time keeping,
long hours weeping.
Fighting off demons that are constantly
creeping.

But I will do this no longer,
I can be stronger,
Now's time to toss the junk that's making me
somber.

It's a wholesale clearing,
an escape from the fearing.
There's a new me a-coming, my spirit is
cheering.

So now I'll stand and surrender,
Move from hoarder to sender,
and open this new chapter in all of its
splendor.
TW Nov 2018
I am a writer who hates whiskey.

I feel that I should love it like a writer's only friend,
Like I should sip it from a glass while I scribe with broken pens,
Like I should clink the ice against the sides and swirl it, deep in thought,
And take it neat and raw, in admiration of its steely course.
It should lubricate the mind and guide the flow of words to page,
And since a nervous age I've yearned to say I love the way it burns and maims,
And maybe on a certain day, I'll glug it without choking, breathless,
But for now it hurts my brain to even think about its... smokey wetness.

I've idolized an archetype, a writer with a harmful life,
Sit alone in bars at night, lament the fact that art is strife,
But recently I'm thinking more, and honestly, this can't be right,
I love the pen and paper, and I love the fact it's hard to write.
It's the way that I've romanticized it, fantasized and glamorized it,
Like I could just forget about a novel, let Jack Daniel's write it,
While I sat and focused on my magnum opus, penning parts of it in prose,
I viewed my present like it's hindsight, through glasses tinted rose.
Rich Nov 2018
Inside a forest of my own making
where the vines are merciless and though dreams may die the evergreen awakens

I must be patient,
and follow the voice at my core

through these arches, roots, through the self-made distrust
that manifests as branches sharp enough to divide me
so I’m on guard like a sentinel

You think you’ve been starved of serenity
well I have a Chimera’s hunger and a sage’s mind

a lethal combination
and I'm killing more than time
I’m after my former self
since I need a rebirth and some revenge
because that man wasted centuries caught in vicious cycles

when the key to escape was right there between two temples.
c Oct 2018
I’m watching
My happiness
c
   r
     u
       m
          b
             l
               e

and

F
A
L
L

a  p  a  r  t

In front of me.
I am so tired
c Oct 2018
When I left
I told myself
I was fine
With being me

But I’m bleeding poetry again,
So am I really myself at all?
Kiana Oct 2018
is ignorance bliss or not?
i don't know
but i have a gun to my throat and
i'm wondering whether i should close my eyes
SomeOneElse Oct 2018
I'm in the dark, my sunshine gone
I lost my spark so what went wrong
Cant see the light and feel like dying
No end in sight i sit here crying
Can't find my smile or where it went
Searched for a while and now I'm spent
My mind’s messed up, I have no clue
And I ****** things up like i always do
Still crying inside , no end i can find
An emotional landslide all in my mind
So much pain and im still crying
What’s wrong with my brain
Just feel like dying
Written to express how my anxiety fuels my depression and for me what it is like to deal with both at times.
Aniseed Sep 2018
There are days where I sit on my porch
And watch the sun hang in a low,
Lazy bauble with
Spun sugar lacing the sky

There's a day I've set up a lamp
I've bought for myself
And then wash the dishes
Where pomegranate scented bubbles
Soak my rolled up sleeves

Days I force myself to do laundry
Because I hate the monotony of it
The necessity of it
Even though it's a breath of fresh air
When done

Days of filling the silence with
Gentle croons of blues and jazz
And the feeling of wet, cold paint
Between my hands and a canvas
Or the stickiness of cookie dough
Between my fingers
And the wash of heat against my face
When the oven door opens

In these small ways, somehow,
I am healing,
Though I do not know what from

Just that these scars are paling
If only a little
And the pain in my chest settles
Into something like an echo
Or a memory
Something tolerable

Something bearable.
Obligatory note.
I'm not attempting to delay in any way,
but there are just so many things that catch my attention,
so many interests that I just don't have the time,
and I pile high the amount that I want to do,
at the same time,
that when I try to contemplate,
what my next move will be,
something new shows up and distracts me again.
I want to plan ahead,
I want to follow through,
I don't want to get behind,
and waste more time,
but it's like any addiction,
I just come back for more abuse,
to my management of the next interval,
that prevents me from advancing,
but I can't help the return,
there's always something new to see,
new to experience,
and I know that I'll enjoy what I come across.
Sometimes I wish I could disconnect from it all,
and go for the simple,
but those thoughts don't last long,
as I know I'll end up wasting that time too.
I guess I'm just on an endless loop,
that keeps pushing me to the next destination,
and I know I can still get done what I need to,
at least that's what I keep telling myself.
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