It's all in your head.
It's not real.
They're just hallucinations.

Are they?
I'm beginning to question my own imagination.

Holding my own hand,
to see if I'm still there.

"We're all mad here."

Can somebody help me?
I'm dreaming away.
In a fantasy land,
where flamingoes are
used to play
croquet.

Who am I?
I've changed several times.
Why is a raven like a writing desk?
I don't know why.

Why do they not recognize me?
Who am I?

Banished out of the pretty garden.
The sweet flowers turned bitter
as they sang.

Like the cookies I consumed
without a second thought.
Washed down with drinks
that I knew not.

I say ,”I'm not a ****.
But I'm not me.”
I'm big.
I'm small.

I'm nothing at all.

Can somebody help me?
It's all in my head.


Off with my head.


- August

I lay here in the depths of paralysis,
Frozen beyond all I could miss,
My heart is heavier than I can hold,
My tears streaming like water so cold,
I feel you, I feel you so far away,
Yet I keep searching for you everyday.

Is there something wrong with me,
The memories so few, all I can see,
Crying at every thought of your return,
Silence instead, present in an urn.

One day it wont feel as bad,
One day I wont make you mad.

What am I?

While listening to the song forgive, I did not realise it would affect me so much but guess what it did. It feels like life around me is crumbling, heart is breaking and everything is not what it seems like. I had stopped writing for days because everyone around me seemed better somehow, better in this language, better in grammar, better even in expressing whatever was in my mind. I grew up avoiding the person I was and always focused on what I want to be. I still find it hard figuring it all out. Nineteen year old teenagers who I grew up with suddenly seem so mature and complicated while I look into the mirror. I see a person struggling to breathe even though it's one of the easiest things to do. I am sorry for everything I say because deep inside of me a person keeps criticizing all my actions and I keep hitting backspace to all the words I thought i should never write, I am angry, I feel hurt but there it's directed to no one, not even myself. I want to keep asking questions and get no answer, because the answers make me feel more complete than I already feel I am. The red and blue bars under the words I write show how incorrect I am. I genuinely wish in life my actions also had these lights guiding me, but all I have is insane conversation in my mind all end up on one thing, I am never the person I think everyone deserves.
Deep breathing and closing my eyes wishing it all goes black so i can forget it all, i write as though i have gone through some big tragic event and i pray to god, i really wish i had at least then i will have something to blame but right  now i only have this unsettled feeling running through my body.
I am trying, I really am. But i keep getting hurt, nobody tells you how many scars you need to stop feeling the pain. At Least Icarus had a sun to fly to, why don't I have anything to look at?
I go silent on my own and want this world to stop and yet I crave for someone to come give me attention. I don't know what I have become like, someone who regrets every step she takes.
I do not know how to stop feeling this hate or to start feeling that true happiness. Why after moments of my greatest achievement I feel, someone else deserves it. Not me.
I really wish i could stop crying and running around circles. Is it bad to ask the genie in the aladdin's lamp how i can stop this all. I don't know what am I supposed to do while I want to ask the question about life, the grand design, i want to  just close myself in a dark room and howl like a dog, i am scared of myself sometimes, how can someone feel so much pain without any trigger ever. It makes me question this pseudo self i put myself into. What am I? Why am I this way? Give me something to blame, some label to justify this. Some therapy to fix this because right now it all feels the same, Incomplete and drowning.



Ricky Parker

I often think of you, the one that got away.
The nights staying up until 4am
I regret nothing.
I wish you would let me stay
I thought to you my humor would mean something
But alas.
It is you after all, Mark zuckerburg.

Insurrection
by Michael R. Burch

She has become as the night—listening
for rumors of dawn—while the dew, glistening,
reminds me of her, and the wind, whistling,
lashes my cheeks with its soft chastening.

She has become as the lights—flickering
in the distance—till memories old and troubling
rise up again and demand remembering ...
like peasants rebelling against a mad king.

Originally published by The Chained Muse

Keywords/Tags: insurrection, night, dawn, wind, lights, peasants, rebelling, mad, king, old, troubling, cheeks, chastening, flickering, memories