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emily 57m
I take my prescribed pills with an energy drink
Monster energy if your wondering
And it's always the zero-sugar version
Because the sugar will rot my teeth.
I’m constantly on the verge of healing and destroying myself
Like a seesaw that's perfectly balanced
I am fed up with breaking my hand
And then bandaging it up myself.
I am my own executioner and doctor all in one body
The healing in the midst my own self destruction
I am the silence before an explosion
The calm before the storm.
maybe i'm just sensitive
I stopped writing
because I was happy.

The part of me that wanted to rip my heart from my chest
like the jaws of life just to watch it writher on the black top was gone.

Gone with it my desire to slash the caverns of my mind for some inspiration, bloodletting pain into something that could resonate with myself and maybe someone at Denny's at 4:15 a.m.

Yet like an addict I always seem to slither back to an old friend.
Dinamus 1d
Sometimes I feel
Like the rain
Cries for me

These bottled-up emotions
I hold onto underneath
Leave me hurting
And empty

But then it rains
and it feel like something
knows my pain
And I don't worry

Thank you
Aimée 1d
~~~~
Do I really wish
My pain would end, when it
Stains my world so bright?
Somehow these few words say it all, even if they say it vaguely
emily 1d
I was 17 when it happened
I trusten them
It was going well
Until it wasn't
And a fun day with a friend became a nightmare
They invited me over
To play on their xbox and watch tv
But watching tv became perverse
Their hand drifted towards me
And became an uninvited guest that I never wanted
It all went too fast, too unknwn too wrong
I became a stranger in my own skin
No longer aware of what was happening
Like a passenger on a ride
Watching my own body a few feet away
It was suffocating the corruption of what he did to me
Years later i still remember his body on top of mine
And the smell of sweat is still **** in my nose
And i try to distract myself from the uncontrollable shaking that i can't stop
But all I can think about is his hands on my throat
And the fear that still lingers today.
Till this day i have never spoken of this
But today I have immortalised the day that I wish to forget.
im sorry im so so sorry
emily 2d
It's cliche but she’s wears her heart on her sleeve
It's visible for all to see
She’s aware of the risks
Regardless she wears it like a pageant sash for all to see.

But over the years her heart has seen pain
Bit by bit people have come in and out of her life
And signing their name on the anatomy of her heart
In sloppy handwriting with permanent ink.

And one by one her heart became more broken
She started wearing longer sleeves
Covering up her vulnerability of her passion
So maybe one day she won't fall for someone again.
Not myself
Footsteps within
The mile

For what
Can a
Mule fight

Against itself
Eat and
Sleep well

Detox thyself
A destination
Unseen forward

All ends
Or perhaps
Me again

I give
Up contact
For all
Old poem, decided not to originally share.
Oh the unease
        My heart is green: to be
A vessel filled with the envy of a sea without
       A land to conquer
My words are dry; as of a tongue itchy and ****
      My excessive indulgence of an activity of lonely
Before the groin pain I had  to fasten my *****
      I am the poem—of the words unsung: that of which
The lyrics come from my God above, and strong

But I’m so weak
      To please her of a valuable love
She’s young as of having heart in her large *******
I am old—to be a man carrying his pride
     She’s warm inside; as under a blanket of a cold night
A warmest embrace of a kiss so personal to face
     She was chased by her beauty; feeling unnatural to this world
An angel now disgraced
      Or a ghost haunting tears each time she appears

It’s clear to me now
     That a love sweet as ecstasy dreamt on my pillow
Is as it seems—only a dream!
               Therefore: is anything in my life as so real?
irinia Sep 24
Poetry is the weeping eye
it is the weeping shoulder
the weeping eye of the shoulder
it is the weeping hand
the weeping eye of the hand
it is the weeping soul
the weeping eye of the heel.
Oh, you friends,
poetry is not a tear
it is the weeping itself
the weeping of an uninvented eye
the tear of the eye
of the one who must be beautiful
of the one who must be happy.

by Nichita Stanescu, translated by Thomas Carlson and Vasile Poenaru
Savio Fonseca Sep 24
Like Flowers My Life got wilted,
despite the pouring Rain.
The One whom I most needed,
left Me in Agony and Pain.
Trust when broken, is Poison.
It seeps right thru your Head.
Creeping into your whole System.
Leaving U good as Dead.
I thought She would trust Me.
I thought She would Care.
I thought She truly Loved Me
and would always be There.
I now........no longer feel so Open.
I don't wish to show My Face.
I find Life, is so very Cruel.
After My love lost it's Race.
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