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the good guy supply ran dry
21st century bled them empty
entitled smiles and toxic masculinity
mistreating our lovers became trendy

the nice girl merchandise is missing
scorned women turned hazardous
glassy eyes and defence mechanisms
self sabotage never looked so glamorous

maybe we're not as good as we think
trying to match our collective catastrophes
drunken *** and desperate divorcees

damaged people cause the most casualties
just my thoughts on the whole "where did all the good guys go" theme
Rowan 13h
They say "I'm not sure,"
and they know it's veritable.

Cluttered desk--hats and
textbooks and papers and
earbuds all askew, heart
pumping too quick

Sitting on a black plastic chair,
legs curled up underneath, eyes
flickering to The Latehomecomer,
stomach unsettled

"I'm not sure." of what?
head down, eyes searching,
mind spinning, lungs catered
like coffee at noon

Supplied lies, shaking hands
pouring chamomile tea into a
white cup, hoping for--
that too.

"Everything?" on their mind
is falsified and unknown,
twisted skin ruddy,
shoes all in a row,
nails bitten like marionette

"Anything." of confirmation
belongs to the stables
which blossom with the
stench of sweetness and
wild, roving insecurity

"I'm not sure," they
murmur, "what you mean."

Precipices are lonely business
and so are "People like me,"
Forks are steel but the
mind is molten
and rusted in decay

"dream of quiet," they laud
slick on thin ice of
the essay due tomorrow in
history on the death
of too many

Sunglasses are similar
to winter waters and
lightning spirals in;
they are in debt to
themselves, in depth of

"broken moments." that
clash and too much
to think
              slivers down in silver

carcasses of thoughts
"Okay, I can't help you."

"I know," filters out
behind lips of burning iron
"I never expected you too."
floats down the crowded

They're not sure of
everything and
I'm not sure of

I know it's true.
a week ago
i turned 26.

two days ago
i hurt myself again
for the first time
in four years.

this time i didn't
use the little blades
from my razor.

this time i
got more personal.
used my own fingernails
to dig deep for the life
i'm scared to live
beneath this skin.

then i took some
deep breaths in
& restarted the journey again.
yikes. isn't it so scary to be so honest with yourself?
Grace 14h
Laying on the floor
All I can really process
Is the feeling
Of someone squeezing my chest
Because my mental ache
Has become physical pain too
I feel absolutely terrible. I cry all the time on my floor because it physically hurts my chest to move. I don’t sleep. The nightmares aren’t worth it. I just wish my depression would fade for more than a week
Marissa 1d
Cure me
Hurried energy
Churn inside
Exploding through flying limbs
Arching back

Turn me around
And around
And around


Soft fingertips
Caressing the air
Silk against my skin
Wrap me in comfort
Catch me
Safety net

Anxious thoughts
You cannot reach me
I am empty
Music fills my gaping soul

Every nerve
Stretching to each distal end
Drawing thoughts
Swirling through each wire
Conducting electric currents
Bursting out with each

These thoughts lay dead on the floor

I have won

I am alive
A great dancer once told me that she continues to dance because it is cheaper than therapy
I'm a sociopathic narcissist with suicidal tendencies
I never had no friend disease
I only see in enemy's
And eat these evil entities for energy
And hope they will be the end of me  
But something lives inside of me
And controls everything I'm meant to be mentally
Says I'm free from empathy and sympathy
With out no remedy
Now I'm pretty sure there's something your not telling me
Something that's propelling me to therapy
And never ever can it let me be
Simpley Ill sell my dignity for equality
Take bear s* but no goldly locks wants to swallow me
But you can follow me
It how it has to be
Drastically rapidly pulling apart your anatomy.
Deep in the game but only catch birds
Like a mathematically **** dastardly
I never asked for life
Yet it found its way to me
Every time I try to hide it
The shame of it transcends me.

People look at me with fear
They see the madness in my eyes
And those who don't
Still see through all my lies.

They see me for who I am
A shell alone in the sand
And every time I reach for the waves
It's too far to understand.
Jen 3d
To find

As if
A Phantom.

Holding your soul,
Close to your body.

A Cocoon

Rolling, rolling, rolling...
To where?


Then crystalizing
Over sudden sunsets,
Across the horizon.

Moving towards
As concrete
Fails to set
Within them.

Swept up
On the stairwell
Of a helix,
Waiting to
See where
It ends.

Caught up
In the never-ending
Space of Obscurity
That sometimes seems
This poem might not appear to make sense at first.  It came to me as a visual image that suddenly popped into my head as I was thinking about how I feel about a life situation that I've struggled with for a while. It actually has dual meanings as after I wrote it some subcontious thoughts also surfaced.  I've heard poetry is good therapy and believe it. So the inspiration came as the sun started to go down as it does now at 4pm.  I was thinking about a piece of life, closed my eyes and saw myself exposed and ***** laying in a dark, empty space. Then I realize it, and so my entire being rolls itself up in a cocoon for protection to find that my mind is very abstract and struggles in this concrete world, especially around a lot of people who are very concrete and black & white thinkers. It's time to find a new field but it seems like a big leap. Just thoughts and visualizations put to words....
Becca 4d
I need to ***** my tears
into the black hole of the void
I went to the doctor
and I accepted the pills
because they all said I was different

They said something wasn't "right"
and I accepted the pills
I didn't put up a fight

but when I asked the doctor why

The doctor just stared
and I finally began to see
that the sickness was me
I was talking to my medical teacher,
and she spoke about Mental Illness
and it took me a second to realize
that she was talking about me.
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