Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Go to sleep.
dream of great, ginormous things
after you
lurking in the dark,
don't make a peep as you do so!

If you wake momma and papa,
they'll be mad
they'll be outraged
that you ruined their sleep.

Find a way out of it
chin up little one
don't let them know what keeps you up,
what fuels your nightmares...
they may send you to the bad doctors.

ughhh im still up???
Arke 7d
I can't collect my thoughts
They're too scattered
I think of her falling
I wonder what her last thought was
I hope she wasn't scared
The tag they left in her house
"For disposal of human waste"
She's human waste now
We all are, we all become
The house smelled awful
Everything decays
Everyone dies
Nothing lasts
I shouldn't be so choked up about this
I'm alone now
So freeing
No one will notice if I'm gone
I could take off to Korea
Or hang myself in the garage
There is a hole in the centre of my chest
And I thought it couldn't get bigger
But like an infinitely expanding universe
My being expands into nothingness
I worry others can see it sometimes
They notice I am not whole
The sky is too heavy against me
I lose daylight and night alike
Every moment merges into the next
People fill that universe in my chest
Sometimes, rarely
But I consume them
Like a black hole of fire
Or a plague
I consume everything
And I can't help but feel
Like the world would be better
Without me in it
I'm not scared to go
I'm not scared to leave this behind
Let the antimatter break me apart
Limb by limb, shred me
I can't write any more
My thoughts are everywhere and nowhere
I'll stick to tasks
Mindless busy work
Pretend we talk now like we never did
Speak to the emptiness as though
It could speak back somehow
Let it destroy me and rebuild me again
No more writing. No more reading. Depression is slowly taking everything I loved. But I'll fight it, every day. Write ****** poetry no one reads. Cook and clean and act normal. I'm so tired. I've never felt so lonely and defeated. Nothing in life is working out right now but I'll rest easy someday knowing I've tried my hardest and fought this every step of the way.
Ammar Dec 2018
Thinking back on what went wrong,
I was wrong to think nothing was wrong.
Have a spectacular weekend!
Louise Oct 2018
9 pm in Cubao,
It was only my second bottle, but how come I can't recall whether I left the house just an hour ago?
Ah, I wanted to escape from the chaos that is the metro.
But I loathe this particular place, so why here again?
The record stores were even shut like they'll never open doors again.
That's another magical thing about vintage shops—they look hopeless except they're everything but.
But I'm half grateful, at least one less memory of this place are shut closed, too.
Though I am less woeful, knowing this is not just another equally less woeful night.
After the last bottle, I blew the city a kiss, bracing myself for the unfamiliar ride.
I've stopped counting the months in which I've been dying to see the sun rise by the beach and not by the concrete jungles of BGC.
I softly let go of all my uncertainties,
but holding onto the excitement firmly.
Oh, I can't wait much longer for the ocean breeze.
part 1 of 2
Arke Oct 2018
your spark was so deep, intense and warm
you defied the gods and gave me your fire
I had wandered through frozen wilderness
couldn't remember feeling heat against ice heart
I melted, held to your words and arms
didn't even consider that I could get hurt
your body gets used to always feeling cold
but the fire restored feeling in every finger tip
skin against skin where you healed my frostbite
so of course, when you left and the cold set in again
I felt the sharp curse of a million needles piercing me

your spark was so deep, intense and warm
that I never noticed when everything burned down
creating another frozen wasteland to navigate
the difference is now I remember that fire exists
even if I don't have a paper map to find you
or enough dry wood to hold a flame of my own
with the memory of you, I can recreate a fire
for the next person who has lost their light or spark
thelemonpolice Oct 2018
There's so much food
In my section of the fridge that's way past it's sell by date but not quite rotten yet.

I know I'm
not going to cook it, but I'll still wait till it's moulding before I throw it out.

I haven't been the same since you left me.
And if I can't tell the truth to anybody, I guess i'll have to write it here and call it poetry.

I wish I was one of those people who could realise that I'm fine alone, but I'm not.

I need people and my skills are ridiculously deficit, I feel like I'm fooling these people into believing I am someone worth hanging out with.

They don't buy it at all.

They don't buy food they know they won't cook.
alias Oct 2018
I'll bury all my secrets in my skin,
come away with innocence
but bleed my truthful sins.
the world around me feels like
a tight cage
and "I love you", is just a camouflage
for your next episode of rage.

If you do love me, let me go
I'll probably run away before I truly know
my heart is too black to care,
is it destroyed if it was never really there?

I'll find my penance, delivered to my true state
if I'm alone I have no one to hate,
but myself.

My love was banished long ago,
if you still care don't ever let me know.

Angels will lie to keep control
making over heaven like some paradise we all want to go
dead trees are painted white
and she calls them beauty, art.

My selfish thoughts colour my life
and I call that my heart.

If I had to fix myself I don't know where I'd start
But I suppose,
I'd cut each limb to the bone
and tear my entire self apart.
inspired partly by ***** by Slipknot. and the insanity that is my life and mind lately.
Jen P Oct 2018
If I considered you for a day
Would I know love?

You pull at me
like taffy.

Place a sticky tendril in your mouth,
and deliberate on the sickly sweet
as it coats your tongue.

I look from where you have
and feel
like empty calories.

someday i hope you
and your sticky hands
Arke Sep 2018
poetry is masochism
seeing the cataclysm
both inside and around
and for every fresh wound
every word you've stabbed
poetry is picking at your scab
rather than letting it heal
watching how each layer peels
poetry is getting hurt
using your voice to assert
by showing your cuts
scars, bruises, guts
to everyone in the world
letting your emotions unfurl
poetry is being carved
feeding others when you're starved
being open and true
words for others to turn to
let them rip out your beauty
aesthetics becomes duty
Next page