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ashw 7d
Once, the static in my brain
Aligned so perfectly with the rushing in my veins
That it became central to my consciousness.
Perceived by my ears as an ever-rising crescendo,
My heart swelled, radiating pin-****** - painfully,
Down to my fingertips.
I was immobilized by dread,
And capitulation to fear was imminent,
As I realized the presence
Of an unwelcome and terminal essence;
It was striving for control, unwilling to settle for less.
I at first tried to fight- but the hold was too strong;
My limbs were too weak to fend for myself,
My mind too frantic to offer help -
So I accommodated instead, and ever since.
Jeremy Betts May 2
I don't care,
I can't care
Not about who or about what
Just when and where
Lurking like a jump scare
Stimulating neck hair
Never taught to prepare
Never thought I'd get here
Stuck in my own layer
Of an inception daymare
Not much darker after the lackluster transfer to nightmare
It just goes to show the **** show goes on long past forever
A morbid trend setter
Left wishing I was a quitter
No need to wish, it's a clear no brainer
And wicked obvious, at least from what I remember
Though I know I don't remember a lot but whatever

You were enchanted by the mystery,
You thought it was love and pursued me.
Been excited to discover every part of me.
Touched me like a book, what an interesting story it could be.

I am just ordinary,
people might see me as an old book that could not be understood easily.
I am just nobody,
but you brought me up to life where my existence has been saved from a tragedy.

You have stolen my heart that made my feelings to ramble.
'T was confusing...
and for a moment, I never thought that this will cause me to slumber.
'T was frightening...
A nightmare when we became lovers.

We both made this story, a fairytale.
In the end, it's ourselves that we fail.
Fantasizing each word, trying to mend the aching wounds.
It's not the sword that cuts, but the lies that's ripping us 'till we hear the rhythm of the heart that pounds.

I have never lived my life through your expectations.
Still, we tried to chase everybody at their romantic phase,
while being deceived by our own illusions
As I turned the page, showing fears that I couldn't face.

I laughed when you told me that, alone, I can write it beautifully.
like the songs with a perfect melody.
You think that tearing me apart could turn into a perfect art,
Leaving me afraid and lonely.

I was left there, hanging.
In every page, horrible scenarios are ranging
I was left there hoping,
Just in case there still be a happy ending.
Jeremy Betts Apr 25
Depths of despair
Hang thick in the air
Almost daring me to care
And step into it's crosshair
Not realizing I'm aware
I've lived that nightmare
Been caught up in that snare
Somehow pushed past the warfare
Came through worse for wear
But it no longer has power
Over someone who can't care
Forcing it to find it's next victim elsewhere

Jeremy Betts Mar 30
Life can seem like a nightmare
I'm afraid of all of the time
I release my flair in the night air
Noticing all the fear is of the same kind
I more than recognize the familiar glare
The eyes looking back at me are mine
Aware that I'm unaware
Fair or not,
Witness my paradigm

In a world just on the otherside

Are shadows in the light

Whispering screams into the upside down sky

Where fire is cold and water flies

A dream where life ends but you can never die
Jeremy Betts Jan 30
I've been lost in my head, I might outlast forever
I know it's cliche and can play the part of a trigger
But I don't feel safe, can't recall if I have ever
Awake or asleep, it's the same nightmare
Collectively we already know nothing in there fights fare
And the fabric between the realities are threadbare and beginning to tare
I can physically feel the line blur between what's fake and what I'll be held accountable for later
Poetry, to me, is just me attempting to map out every square inch under my thing hair
Behind eyes that can barely show they care
In my fake grin, and between my left and right ear
Taking caution not to ruffle a feather on the ****** of devil's on each shoulder
I'm sure to discover rooms I haven't been in since I don't know when, oh dear,
What's the year?
Hey, what's in here?
To dark to tell but oh do I know this smell all too well
Unfairly familiar
That putrid air
Nothing can compare
I'd recognize it anywhere
What we have here is fear
Maybe it'd be irresponsible of me to share
Probably not a good idea to push much further
Clear and present danger
Nothing's properly put together
Can't make sense of the clutter
Extra pieces from every fixture
Litter the ground next to the broken glass from every family picture
Shattered dreams scattered everywhere
I know what it looks like but there's not an interesting story here
I can assure it was no thrilling adventure
But I can not ensure a safe future
No one should witness the part of me, the litny of every nasty memory, everything I was forced to locked away in there
It's my headspace and I'm even too afraid to enter
I thought the scar meant it healed but then how's this door ajar?
What's going on here?

Perpetual nonsense stews in me like a brine
For all this ***** flesh needs a curin’
I no longer see, but I sit and stir
While a party yells- I bubble quietly or
can myself discreetly.
Whose heart is more precious: the tinman or the oyster?
My merry-go-round concoction is a family recipe: throat pigs-
swelled to save suffering
Step 1:Run the tap
Step 2: Wait
Step 3: Repeat
Step 3: Repeat
BLD Jan 3
My mother cannot find her camera,
and I wondered if I'd left it with you.

My stomach churns like the deck of a ship
amid a raging mid-Atlantic tempest,
its bowels tender and full of friction,
a morose resentment of an azure message sent.

The Dungan name supports its own;
the pain of one is felt by the majority,
an empathetic woe of a blessing understated,
our emotional reason ranging far and true.

One text sent and the world turns dim;
I've tried to manage the mania and valleys
of the experiences endemic to our core,
but the truth remains that I've not healed at all.

I can envision the late New York nights,
our Hoboken studio glimmering in the sunset,
the white walls imprinted with our fingertips;
open bottles of wine half-drank scattered around
while the subway roars underneath the Hudson
as it zips to a jolting halt.

Meanwhile, the scars embedding my skin
have healed themselves through and clear,
yet the bruises around the perimeter remain,
their coarse outlines distant reminders
of the pitfalls of the love we once shared.

Fire and ice juxtapose into a glass of lager,
a cool glide down the warm embrace of my throat;
nightly cocktails of Lexapro, Lamictal, and Hydroxyzine
haven't succeeded in easing the terrors
plaguing my core in the brightest of nights --
it is surmisable that these wounds are lethal,
but I refuse to succumb once more to your flaws.

My mother cannot find her camera,
and I wondered if I'd left it with you.

Whether it lay with your father and his bourbon
or your mother and her manipulating lies
or your brother and his ignorant resolutions
or your friends and their misogynistic gazes,
I cannot say,
yet I felt compelled to outstretch my fingertips
as a solemn branch of the willow tree
waving in the wind, scattering in the breeze,
an innocent attempt to brush aside the despondency,
a sprout into maturity to digress from the winds
raging between us while residing so far apart.

Never truly have I possessed a hatred so seething
than the alps of brimstone in the frame of you.

My mother cannot find her camera,
and I wondered if I'd left it with you.

Perhaps I should have remained in oblivion,
restrained myself from the shackles of your presence.
Still, I refuse to conform to the demands of those
unaware of the true nature of my nightmares,
their benevolent intentions disregarding my truth,
white wisps of flowers stained with brutal crimson,
inching its way down the crevices of my mouth
while I reel away and encapsulate the open flesh
I'd just bitten through with this impulsive decision.  

But still...
my mother could not find her camera,
and I'd only wondered
if I'd left it with you.
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