I'm a record
repeating all the same lines
hoping that you'll continue to sing along.
I'm a door unhinged
waiting for you to walk my way again.

You're a Gothic masterpiece;
a renaissance of imperfection
spilling over a lifeless canvass.
I sit with a pen
still in my hand.

I can't expect you to hear my every call,
I can't expect that you'll fix the threads that come undone.

If these words are my voice,
then this page is God's ear.
A prayer for what is broken
to be mended once more.

Saint Titus Aug 2

Solve the cipher
Find the answers
I know

You won't make it
Becoming broken
Out on your own

Free the vision
From the daylight
Before it fades

The waking world
Is not a place
You must emancipate

Thoughts alone
Free and fleeting

No amendments
False commandments
Rain down from the clouds

You're holding on...
Too late, its too late, you must know
Let it go
Corpse sober, crumbling, not so slow

Feed the cycle
Feed the new air
Clean the new skies

Eye of god

Seema Jul 30

A dark ambience,
Falls upon a lifeless soul,
Drapped in dirty shrouds
Near an abundant wrenched path
Where he used to play kingri


5-7-5-7-7 syllables
Saint Titus Jul 9

This is expository in nature
Hang on tight

Serenity of life
Gray skies for the choices I
Find time to make
Right up until the rain
Comes down
Real time precipitation
For the sole reason
Of flooding my soul

Charging the clouds
With negative energy
Eventuality says they'll burst
Sooner or later
And as the water flows down to the earth
Then up and over my teeth
Nearly up to my shoulders
Growing ever higher
Ever getting closer
It was all inevitability

Trying to change the sky
Is slowly fucking killing me
With every single storm
That rolls by

Its beyond me
And you too

Too soon

When will I be taken?
Who can tell
But hell, if I don't know when
When time itself never began
Fuck estimations, and fuck plans

One way to escape

We all know the way

A darkened cave
A lonely overhang

No one dares approach for
Fear of going missing

There's so much more I wanted to say
Words and phrases before
I made my final escape
This cave I know
May be too cold
For The embolden spirits
Who hold on dearly to
Earthy merit

But know this
No one will be missed
In a minute

Nicole Jul 9

i cannot create today.
or at any other hour
though i scour each and every day
for that special moment
where my brain finally produces
an idea.
a thought.
a way to express the things that
I cannot,
will not
but time passes
and grasses cover the pages
where my skin used to bleed creation
and now there is nothing.
nothing but green,
or thats what its supposed to be.
and now my muted tones
have seeped into the very soul
of livelihood.
greens to grays
no more living for them.
i sucked them all dry with
my dire need to please
no more fancy lip work from me
only blank stares at a blank screen.
fingers poised in a dance with only air
because words come from mouths and only hurt,
or at least that's what i was taught.
not that you or i can ever make a difference.
who for?

I'm becoming frustrated with my lacking ability to have words come forth and pour from the tunnels of my brain. I'm losing the war of my mind and I don't know who I am. If anyone has any advice that could help remove the cobwebs that would be greatly appreciated.
Ink Jul 1

when did she lose the grasp on her will?
did she ever have it,
does she want it still?

when did she lose her desire to grow?
did she kindle her dreams,
and blow out her glow?

when did she stop trying to be pretty?
was it when he took her,
when he made her become dirty?

when did she stopped caring about her days
were they taken from her,
or did she give them away?

Saint Titus Jun 28

A holy pilgrim downtrodden
I once saw the face
A goal clear, a path to take
No fear
No hope of fame

But never felt better

Every single breath i take is leaving me sedated
I know just what home i'm looking for
And i know just how to make it
Mix up life, fucked up this time
But living isn't going to save it

Out of hate, white hot embrace
There's something here to entertain me
Finding time to reconcile
Dripping good will through an iv
A passive medication to alleviate the vile

New crime wave
Time to turn around
Its far too late
To take the fathers crown
A symbol of atrophy
Status reanimate in head space
Living through the air waves

God knows that its far too late

Decrepit in the negative
And that's the way you'll find me
Dead inside or otherwise
Becoming like a zombie
Staring at a color or
Listen for a note
To hit upon a heart-string
Played out, made up like an over coat

We live between the times
The time is stated
Above the waking world
Come guess what thread i'll next unwind
Hanging in the vacuum of a fragile state of mind

I am lonely

It's fine.

Kinda funny.
Shruti Gauba Jun 4

I knit all of my breaths together,
collect them and name them 'life'.
It helps me to wake up everyday
and not slit my wrists with a knife.
I survive and breathe and feel,
and it's hard but I keep on trying,
to fake a smile every now and then,
while on the inside I am dying.
But I learned that art is a good friend,
It stays along no matter the weather.
And maybe I have my art too;
I can be alive and dead - together.

Soldier Apr 22

Smoke clings to my clothes like a child afraid to leave mom
And I'm okay with that
Reminds me of you
Of what you're working through
And that's enough

You could let the flames burn away what you want to say
But you still have another copy
You're still holding onto her rope
Wishing she would just turn around
Listen to what you have to say

I'll sit idly by
Waiting for the moment you need to cover my shoulders in tears again
I will sprint with all my energy to be there if you need me
My windows are easy to open

She used to use matches for different reasons...
Funny how things can come full circle right?

I feel the need to burn a photo,
The back marked with the words "CHRISTMAS IS LIT"
But I can't bring myself to do it
So I'll store it away in a folder
Keep it for a time when maybe she wants it back

I'm the one who threw in the match to burn everything you had
Now you have nothing
And I did this
All of it

Please blame me
I'm the one who wrote the first text that February night
I'm the one who dehumanized her
I'm the one who stole your ring in March
I'm the one who existed
I'm the one
I'm the one
I'm the one
I'm the one
I'm the one
I'm the one
I'm the one
I'm the one
I'm the one
I'm the one
I'm the one
I'm the one
I'm the one
I'm the one
I'm the one
I'm the one
I'm the one
I'm the one
I'm the one
I'm the one
I'm the one

I'm the one who should leave right?
You wanted space to begin with and I didn't listen
My door is always open
And if it isn't, knock on my window

Just remember:
Shower, eat, work

I'm the one (X21), one mfor every page of INK we wrote
Nikko Apr 16

I am not Atlas.
I can’t carry the weight the world on my back,
Watching from below as
symphonies become sorrows
And hopes become hopeless.
As hearts stop beating despite the flowing
Of blood through the veins along scarred wrists.
And bones fracture after words stab into
Discarded bodies with lifeless heads.
And maybe Atlas didn’t have this problem.
Maybe Atlas could bend his knees,
Perhaps they were sculpted to shift that way
But, even if I wished upon the brightest star
My knees would not bend at the hands of chaos.

How deep do your bruises run, Atlas?
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