Hannah Jun 19

Medicate a generation,
So no one wakes up or asks any questions;
I'll take the pills because the truth doesn't make this worth living,
and I'll take the drugs because I'm tired of living a lie.

lc Jun 3

symptoms of anhedonia.
                   a triumvirate, perceived
                   Inanition& Inertia& Inaptitude:
                                      they are ugly triplets who hide under leather
                                      and self-loathing &stink of last night’s pinot
                                      noir
                     ­                        from fuck knows where.
                   their fingers, cigarette-stained and calloused,
                   reach into my prozac pillboxes
                   &crunch my anxiety (meds)
                   into fluoxetine powder and ivory between
                   their yellowing teeth.

I Do Not Cry When The
Sandman Knocks                                      
For He Sits At                                      midnight:the witching hour,whenthe
My Porch Bearing Sweet                                      siblings curl up besides me to
Dreams &Sister Death, Whose Touch                   ,                   ravage;
I’ve Long Wished For                                                         they will not
                                                                ­                       leave me
                                                              ­             untilthe
                                                         cloyingly sweet
                                         perfume of Death
       is scrubbed clean fromthe

                                                        ­                    pulse
                                                                ­            point
                                                                ­            of
                                                                ­            my
                                                                ­            wrists



There is nothing There is nothing There is nothing There is nothing There is nothing for you here.

Nothing will bring me back. In three years time I’ll still be dead. My bed sheet is my shroud and Death holds my wrists in a vice grip. He still leads me below.

                                      here is the untruth:
                                                        ­ i am here,
                                                         Penelope at her loom,
                                                         waiting for a lost lover whom I know
                                                         will take ten years to come back to
                                                         my awaiting arms.

                                      here is the untruth:
                                                        ­ in three years time,
                                                         I’ll still be dead.

                                      here is the truth:
                                                         nothing exists six feet under except:
                                                         hell
                                                         chalk dust
                                                         powdered calcium.

a thing i wrote for my theatre course, inspired by Sarah Kane's "4.48 Psychosis." this was a monster to format and i hope it works?? this is v experimental and i am Sorry

At dusk
The lights went out
And never came back
Left my earthly husk
Through the lips
The whiskey spoke
And it sounded nice
Easy party trick
Broke
Into your medicine cabinet
And saw my face
In the bathroom mirror
Eyes fell
Like red feathers
Slowly
Timidly
To the overclocked veins
In my neck
Carrying steam and spirit
Glass droplets
On my smoke-drenched skin
A humming sound
Outside the ivory door
My frenzied grin
-
Stay awake
And we'll stare at each other
Until we become familiar
Or fall upon the sword

In the stalks
I smelled the rain
Before it spilled

My temple
Blood was roaring
Fog and fantasia

The field
Shivered beneath
My uneasy steps

Supine
On the cold black ground
In the centre of it all
I watched it come

The rain fell

And it was good
To sleep and dream

remembered my meds;
didn't clear my head.
still thinking of you,
tempted by the blue
overdose by one or two
hundred, something to do.
maybe the pink;
she'll make me think
of nothing at all,
be as blank as a wall,
still as a statue and twice as calm
as i used to feel tracing hurt on my arm.

James Court Apr 30

seas of
entire
realities
take their
rhythm from you
and stop me
living
in
normality
eternally

skye May 3

you had me in large chunks
and at some points, you had me whole
i had you in crumbs
and at some points, i had you in pieces and it wasn't fair
that's part of why i had to run away
you knew me too well and all i knew of you were the tiny, sad parts
but eventually i realized that she probably knew these parts, too
and i didn't feel like i knew you at all anymore
and still, i wonder
do they know what i know?
do they know about the bullets you held so close to your skull?
or about the xanax you would lay on your tongue when the sky was starry and your blankets were wrapped around your shaking body?
or about how you are so scared of people being behind you that you shake like a puppy and sweat beads up on your freckled neck?
does she know that?
will she?

still confused about him.. i don't know him like i thought i did. he knows me well but not that well.
honey May 1

the pills are useless
you just can't cure a kid that's already dead
my mind's gone
replaced my tablets of therapeutic poison
i'd give up
if it weren't for the people i'd leave behind

shitty but hey! that's my style!
honey May 1

i’m faster than the wind when the meds don’t work
and that’s when you say you love me with soft words like honey
you like the neon lights in my eyes and i love your tear-stained eyeliner
you said you were intoxicated by my danger, you said we were invincible
i’m bright eyes and bad ideas, I’m toxic waste with a lipstick smile
i’m a bottle of vodka, bloody knuckles, bare feet in the snow
there’s no sleep, just a restless head and electric eyes
it’s not poetic when it’s your life
and it’s time you saw that

I’m down again soon and it’s sad, i guess
im the boy with scars on his hips and a past he’s hidden
I’m the boy with shaking hands and blood smeared on his mouth
you don’t see the light anymore, you said the flames went out
the pills i swallow are too much for you, just like i am
i’ve never been invincible, just untouchable
there’s nothing beautiful about it
you should run, baby
they always do

i think our love was ill-fated
you’ve got his hands in yours and you don’t miss mine
you said soulmates never died and our love couldn’t expire
the signs were clear, but we never read the warning labels
maybe it’s how i flinched at your touch and my inability to trust
or how you never heard me when i spoke
i’m a live wire and you’re a swimming pool.
i should have seen this coming
this is how it always ends

wow! surprising! i wrote another poem about a bad relationship! who woulda guessed?!?!1?!1?
Carter Apr 27

I spend much of my life
within the confines of my mind
Some days I am unsure
Whether I am dead or Alive

But the medication that I cling to
removes the existential fear
and allows my thoughts to relax
yet, it also seems to suppress my wonder

Without the pills,
I can intently watch myself write
As each stroke of my small wrist
Leaves grey stains across the blank page

With them, I can feel happiness
I can detach myself from life's pain
and realize my distractions
instead of permitting them to anchor my heart

But with my medicine I cannot create
not in the ways I wish to
They build a border between substance and surface
while it blocks out the depression
it also limits my humanity

Yet, if I were to quit taking them
the darkness would return to haunt my world
strangling my limbs, until I have no will to fight
or even to move for that matter

Without them, I can expend myself
in this art that has kept my heart beating
My emotions can freely guide my movements
in the hopes of creating something beautiful

But those pills have also saved my life
and yet, they have a dark side too
The anxiety they breed produce
such a significant strain on my actions
that I can't tell if I'm truly living

So as I sit in this barren hallway
listening to the echoes that disrupt the silence
I wonder whether my temporary refrain from my "lifelines"
will lead to my success or my demise.

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