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Maria Mitea Jun 2
I get stuck too,
because
sometimes
I wonder
what to say
when I
myself have not finished my waiting,
my obsessions, my doubt, ...
and when I finish it,
how will I be able to advise you?

How I can be sure?

When, still, all my obsessions
and commitments
go hand in hand.

I don't know,

Honestly,

Sometimes,

If these words are not superfluous,
Forgive me for announcing you
That you have your own life,
Wait for it!
As she waited for you …
”No shortcuts to the top”
Kaitland Dec 2020
How much more pills do I have to take?
To even feel a thing, a glimpse of hope or anything? The days pass so quickly and I always wonder why, I don’t stop to smell the roses or point my face towards the sky, I never even try. I’ve become comfortable in my sadness, though I hate it so. My depression, my madness and obsessions is all I really know.
tia Sep 2020
You took my hand into your small
Gentle fingers, yet to be tainted by years
Guiding me with rainbows and tireless curiosity in your eyes
Flowers bloomed beneath your feet
And as I followed you, I trampled them
My heart warmed at your sight
Weaving a young and delicate desire into me
And I couldn’t let go of your hand
When you turned your back
An obsession grew, violently
Your kind don’t last in my world
And I’m happy to devour the innocence
I will crush you with wounded hands that you bandaged
I’ll smile like how you taught me to
I’m simply overfilled with joy
As you smell the scent of the lilies you had given me
Your innocence turns to death
my friend said he liked it, i feel happy :)
Lydeen Dec 2019
Kissing my wrist.
1. 2. 3
times. I should

be good for
a few hours.
Then repeat again.

Stumb- stumbling stumble
over ov ov
stumbling over over

over over over
stumbling ov over
my over my

words. Every time
I try to
speak to you.

Kiss, 2, 3.
Now I won't
accidentally hurt you.

Picking at my
skin, pinching, frowning.
Cutting each and

every bite into
a perfect cube.
A PERFECT cube.

Into the car.
Kiss, kiss, kiss.
Now I won't

be in another
car accident. But!
Don't forget, don't

forget. Do it
again to be
sure. You have

to or else
you'll get hurt.
Hurt your family.

Hurt someone else's
family. Break apart
a whole life.

I can count
every single calorie
I have eaten

today without even
looking at the
label. I can

taste and tell
you which artificial
sugar is in

my energy drink.
But! I only
drink the ones

with guarana extract.
It's all natural,
so at least

kinda better, right?
FREEZE! Here comes
a new thought.

What if I
suddenly ran out
into traffic, got

hit by a car,
and traumatized someone.
Or, consider, if

I went to
a theme park,
and just jumped

out in front
of a roller
coaster, horribly traumatizing

a whole train
of children. A
huge explosion of

blood and brains.
Don't do it,
don't do it,

Don't do it,
don't, don't, don't
It's a thought.

It doesn't control
you. It doesn't.
Let it go.

Kiss kiss kiss.
Kiss, 2, 3.
Kissing my wrist.
William A Poppen Feb 2019
Within
stirs a persistent bane

birthed
while on her Mother’s knee

Now her bones
grate against the chair
amid her rhythmic rocking
that breaks the dim silence

Images reverberate

on the back walls
of her mind

Disquietude prompts alarm

as her obsessions claw
to unearth graves

of fears

she pretends are invalid

Her desire to flee

from reminders of falsehoods

and fake passions

nags her endlessly

like unforgivable sins

haunt a cloistered sister

Neither pleas, nor prayers
quell her ruminations.
A revision, originally written in 2011
Kelly Truong Aug 2018
The roses bloom around a house
Reaching over the roof and into the clouds
The thorns pierces the windows
And the roots becomes the floor I stand on

The living room becomes uninhabitable
With glass shattered on the sofa,
The TV split into two
And the air becoming unbreathable

The kitchen is full of insecurities
With rotting food in the fridge,
The missing knifes found in the tub,
And the family table with lost chairs

As a family we protect a single room
The walls are covered with mirrors
Gifted invincibility by our imagination
We stare at our reflection in wonder

Our shoulders are back
Confidence in our eyes
Our head is held high
And into the clouds

We became lost in our protection
Unable to see what is below
Until the dark and bright clouds part
Allowing the star to pierce the sky

It's is a fact that when there is more light
Our shadows become fed
Growing darker than before
And whispers into our ears

We believed we were giants
Taller than our house
And one with the roses
Wanting to seek the blue sky

Instead we trapped ourselves into the clouds
Becoming lost children
Who ignored the open window
And got pricked by a rose

We were smaller than our disguise
Once there was nothing left to compare to
Light shun into the room of mirrors
Leaving a broken family in sight

But we were all addicted
To the beauty of the roses
Who petals became clouds
And the stems that became ladders
Chabadtzke Jun 2018
People say I'm obsessive, and I wholeheartedly agree. I'd die for a favorite artist, and I reread stories I like until I hate them. I force myself to love every song performed by "my band" (which, incidentally, is Twenty One Pilots), to a point where I'm not entirely sure which of their tunes actually earned their place in my heart.
It brings to mind a modern-Hebrew term, "protektzia". It can be translated as social leverage, or "pull". Protektzia is when you are related to the administrator of an elite high school, or when you're friendly with the secretary of a sought-after doctor. It's as if songs walk up to me and say, "hey, I know I'm not that great, but I was written by so-and-so!"
All that changes when old Depression drops by. Suddenly, things I cared so much for are meaningless. It's like quarreling with a close friend. Although, I don't hate my former faves so much as scorn them, for being silly enough to exist.
Why does depression do this to me? Because depression is the drainage of passion. As a cow needs to be milked and a dripping air-conditioner needs a bucket, what are obsessions if not an outlet for the passion contained in the heart?
But neither are necessary when the cow is dead and the AC off.
Thankfully, depression to me is a mood rather than a condition, and so I host frequent reunions with my beloved idols.
You are all invited!
I'd like to take this moment to thank my heroes, among them Twenty One Pilots! Stay alive, frens! |-/
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