Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Filomena Aug 2022



Psych ward poetry.
Set 3, poem 28.
Zygos Jan 2022
Tracing smoke with dry ice fingertips,
I hold my breath and begin to float.
The heat of a bellies past burden
steams to my head, until I begin to rise.

No where to go, except everywhere I'm late,
so I drift along a black and blue sky pretending
to be a storm. Pressing clouds into my skin
that slowly evaporate into recovery along the way.

Unconscious and shattered, I land where I've
always been. Cloaked in dew drop kisses and
pink morning yawns, I could pull the earth over
my head just to snooze into eternity.

But there's a mouth at my neck, breathing sticky
lies and humid affairs. Each whisper a grain of
sand, filling my vision with a million fragments of fog.
Blurring what ever I was and who ever I will become.

I drink shape shifting water that always refills as
*****, lubricating contorted lust and pages that
won't burn. Scraping scabs for clues and emptying
all my pockets for loose change as a compass for hope.

Slippery slumber, the hot air rises to make room for
cold confrontation and chilling truths. On every
surface you'll find manic scribbles that feel
like immortal truths
bleeding from my fingertips,
only to wake in silence with no resolution.

Just the melodic drone of recycled air from the AC.
Finn Dec 2021
When I'm left to myself
My wrists tingle
And I vividly see what it would like like
To scratch and scratch,
until blood flowed like a river
To pry my nails from my body,
with a squelching sound
To pull my teeth with pliers,
feeling the roots' empty place
To stab pencils into my thighs,
and leave them in the contracting muscles
To pour acid down my back,
and feel it burning and bubbling and the tissues peeling off
To scoop out my eyes,
and finally be blind to the world,
with crimson tears running down my face
grave Feb 2021
thought enters.
& repeats,
& repeats,
& repeats,
& repeats,
& repeats,
until another comes to take its place,
filling up the cluttered space
inside my mind.
a hoarder's den of memories i don't wish to find,
& others lost to passing time.
i'm not much of a poem writer but i think it could be a good outlet.
Lavender Menace Feb 2021
Let's go into the forest and play together in the end
A subterranean Wonderland to race afar to land
We’ll walk right past the gates, the signs and pleading in my head
And run right into the forest and dance without a flow,
Alone in all obscurity without our head and weave a twisting garland to hang upon our neck
Let's sing about non fiction words we play, I want to tear your hair out and prance around the trees.
Let's go into the forest with oil and a match,
let's sing a song so silent that everyone will hear, they think that we’re in pearl, chase us around the forest but you'll never catch me.
Let's write our songs on paper and blow them far away
and shudder on the pavement with oil in our hair. And oil slickens skin and it tastes like hay and statics round our tongue until there's nothing we can't say
Let's go into the forest, play hide and seek. I can't really hide from what's inside of me.
Lets dance and sing and fiddle and pull apart our ears until we hear the shanty everyone will hear.
And when it's dark  and cold let's strike a single match and whali about the colors as we watch our fingers catch.
Let's sing about the boiling bubbling on our skalp, and when the skin it cracks then you'll finally let me out.
Let's sing of all the birds that are trying to escape, racing from the forest out to seal our fate.
Let's sing about the smell of burning fur and oil and whatever's left of what I hurt looking for my morals,
Let's dance and fit around and try to listen to the glow, a miracle that creeps about your face and sharply trickles nettles that craze amongst your skin.
Lets **** about and croon out and feel my pretty eyes burst apart like a firework and even when they shush us never will we stop.
Let's sing about the simmer we feel upon our skin and about my hair as it burns oh so thin,
And all can hear the fissures that blaze along our neck.
Let's sing about the scars that render down to black and blaze and hop and boil like a bunny's pelt.
And even as our body shakes and jumps about we will still be buzzing until the fires out.
Let's sing about our heart as it ruptures with the flame, and as it withers up I will cry in joy and pain.
With the tears that never come, we can sing our song but when your eyes are melting and your cheeks are cracked that last thing left to warble is a joyous song.
And even when the heat folds and cracks apart our voice, we will keep on singing loud enough to hear the noise, and by the time they douse me with the holy water my song will be too low to reach the son and father.
Let's go into the forest and lie awake and think of the thinking things to do and the thinking things to make, and even if you miss me, I know that it's nor fair. I love you friend and even when you helped I never cared, please walk away alone and afraid and find someone who never wills to go away. And I will stay in the forest fighting through the night lying on my back and hoping you won't cry.  
Im sorry.
intrusive thoghts be finna realistic tho
Lydeen Dec 2020
Cars light up my room.

I count.

The moon keeps me awake,

I can hear you.

Telling me to do it-
Hurt me, you, them...


Words begging to become actions.

I close my eyes.

Deep, deep, deep breath.
It's just a thought.


Soft sheets, pillows...
Moon, stars, lights.

It's quiet.
I don’t want fame or riches
I just want those solid fixes
I don’t want that perfect house
I only want a way out
That everyday
And certainty
That my thoughts aren’t me
Just because you have a bad thought that doesn’t mean that you’re a bad person but it’s hard to see that when you have OCD.
onyx Oct 2020
my mind
has parasites
they control
the way i
think, and
tell me to
do things i
don't want
to do .
it's like
two warring parts
of an intimate
*****, the
one that resides
in my skull
two forces of
opposite sides
against good
and evil .
and i am the
once full of life
now quite lifeless
as they take
me over
a shell .
i cannot think
my own thoughts
i cannot breathe my own air
if i fight with
they'll just
**** me
instead .
this poem is based off of intrusive thoughts.
(C) Elissar Mustapha
crowther Aug 2020
rustic brain calls upon late a night, wishing things will be done by the breaking of dawn.

oh, how i wish these sleepless nights could end in a spur. for years i have calculated, but have not documented those hideous moments to ever enter my sight. everywhere i look, a bickering thought arrives as if a group of chattering teeth lines through my mind when i'm suppose to be at rest.

in this shallow moment, let this end.
in this shallow moment, let's stop crying silently in our bed.

and as the morning rises, we could see brightly of the horizon. forgetting it for awhile until it crawls through at night. an unending cycle that causes a lot of fright. as if our brains lingers to the thought too tight.

rustic brain will soon heal
or so, or just life's haunting thrill
a prose
Next page