mollie 2d
sitting underneath the stairs, i realized suddenly:
i could die here.

i could die here,
and would anyone know?
i could die here, under the dirty staircase,
and nothing would change.

a friend of mine came for me eventually;

someone i don't know too well,
but well enough.

and she squeezed my hand and told me,
"you're not alone."

as my breathing grew ragged and my chest constricted and my eyes ached, i belatedly realized that was the most terrifying prospect of all.
only thing worse than feeling alone is knowing that so many others feel alone... hope everyone out there is feeling loved
Bomb lives till it blast
Making a live, dead

At the end, it commits suicide.
Genre: Haiku
Note: Against lethal intelligence, call for a peaceful air
12.27.17

Anxiety used to consume you
throbbing like a cry in your chest,
terror forcing your limbs still.

It used to tear apart your sentences one by one,
dropping each word like wood splinters onto the floor,
your feet bloody from stepping all over them.

You used to cry in your sleep,
your panic muffling the sound.
In the silence, your sobs feel heavy like stones
keeping everyone awake.

You used to call begging for help,
but eventually they stopped answering
so you called louder.

You used to shake like you were
falling apart,
torn limb from limb
like a ragged toy doll,
except you aren’t afraid of dogs
and unspoken dangers are much more real.

You used to tread on bloody feet
to get a glass of water at 2a.m.,
thinking that maybe somehow
if you’re quick, quiet, they won’t hear, and
if you return to your room right away
you won’t have troubled anyone else’s slumber.

In the morning, you’ll be okay.
THE POET IS AWAKE AT NIGHT
HER PENCIL SPEWS OUT PAIN AND FRIGHT
A GOOD NIGHT’S SLEEP IS OFTEN RARE
WAKE HER TOMORROW IF YOU DARE
THE PAIN IS RAGING, COUNT TO TEN
ERASE IT ALL AND START AGAIN
A FEW MORE WORDS, YOUNG LOGOPHILE
THE TORMENT ONLY LASTS A WHILE
THE LYRICS FROM HER SHATTERED HEART
THE SEAS OF DULLNESS SEEM TO PART
HER BODY AND HER HEART GROW COLD
SHE HOPES THE AUDIENCE IS SOLD
THE POET IS AWAKE AT NIGHT
HER PENCIL SPEWS OUT PAIN AND FRIGHT
A carefully constructed tribute/second part of my older poem, BLACK AND WHITE.
mediocrity Feb 15
Itchy scritchy
Creepy crawly
Something in my skin.
I pick and scratch to free
Fictitious bugs that squirm within.

Whump-a thump-a
Thudd, thudd
Pounding in my ears,
Punctuating every sound
with thrums like stabbing spears.

Wiggle wobble
Swoopy swirly
Motion fills my eyes.
Saturated, inundated,
Stillness its disguise.

Shaky shaky
Twitch-a-twitchy
Static in my limbs,
Sucks them tight together
Til the chaos finally dims.

In the quiet, darkest, smallest space
I sit and reminisce
Of back when just existing
didn't make me feel like this.
the world is an overwhelming place
Philosophers, poets, and parents alike
Will advise you
to stay focused on the future
To not stand rooted
with one foot in the past

But how can I walk forward
When I am anchored to the ground
Drowning in my anxieties and doubts?

Guarding my heart and head
Like a snake slithering around it’s nest
One wrong step or misplaced sound
And the vicious bite
will take my life

So I bury my head in old photo albums,
re-read books that once made me feel free,
And wash my sheets every Sunday
So that the smell of lavender and linen
never leaves my skin

Then I wonder to myself
Why Christmas doesn’t warm my heart anymore
Or why the water at our lakes edge
for once in my life Feels cold
why I don’t
laugh as much as I used to

I trouble my mind so much
That I have to distract myself
Just to stop worrying about wasted time
And to rid the recurring realization
That at this moment I am oldest I have ever been
And the youngest I will ever be

When did getting older become so complicated?
When did it start to feel  suffocating
Instead of liberating.
I never feel heard.
Seema Feb 7
Water level rouse,
like a giant fountain, in
middle of desert.
Where slowly, my soul dying
Tho, floating in the ocean.

©sim
Tanka
5-7-5-7-7 syllables
KJ Feb 1
I wish that I could trust you,
sometimes I almost do.

I crave our old companionship.
Why did you have to ruin it?

I guess I didn't mean that much,
I deceived myself completely.

I thought you cared as much as I did.
I know that was my mistake.

Your only fault is constant disappointment.
Maybe I just expect too much.

Is it too much to ask for loyalty?
Was it too hard to be trustworthy?

You deny the whispers spoken behind my back,
but don't you know I can feel the slimy betrayal?

The knife in my back still hasn't left,
not with you constantly pushing it back in.

I wish I could trust you,
but now I know better than that.
I found Fear on a street corner
with his hands stuck in his pockets
and a whistle between his teeth.
We waited for the light to switch,
for the two of us to go our separate ways
and never meet again, that is until one of us mourns the other.
But as we stood there I clicked my jaw back into place
And nodded up at the large red hand holding us in place.
“This thing’ll never change, will it?” I offered informal banter,
yet Fear turned his shoulder to me and continued
the shrill notes between his two front teeth.

After a moment Fear craned his neck,
the whistling stopped.
“I don’t talk to strangers,” he replied quickly
and returned his gaze to the street light above. I shuffled
my feet and pondered
about stepping into traffic
letting the cars sweep me into the air and take me far away from here.

I had one foot on the dark pavement –
“I wouldn’t do that,” his voice came through the whistling
but the sound never ceased. He didn’t
turn, but through the back of his head I could feel his eyes on me,
tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.
“Getting run over hurts –
getting run over by ten cars hurts worse,” he said.

I stood in silence but didn’t move my foot from the pavement.
“For someone who doesn’t talk to strangers,
you have a lot of life advice,” I huffed and brought my foot back to the sidewalk.
Fear’s shoulders tensed, his hoodie scrunched, the cowl brought up over his head.
In one quick movement, he moved on the ball of his foot to face me,
but only his silhouette came through the shadowed fabric
And he said to me,
“why else would I be here?”
As if he were some sort of god sent
down to protect me?
To keep me from stepping into traffic and–

“You have a lot of nerve -,”
but he was gone and the light had turned, a brisk person in place
instead of the hand.
My neck cracked as I searched for him but
Fear was gone.

And I was left alone with three seconds on the timer before I’d be frozen
in place again with only one foot ahead or behind.
So, I shuffled across the street toward
a destination unknown, and found myself
at the mercy of my own actions.
I never saw Fear again.
moon child Jan 31
Panicked
Inhale
Thinking
Inhale
Eyes wide
Inhale
Sinking
Inhale

I can't seem to get a
Breath out
Lately.

It's not uncommon for me to have
Anxiety
With Zoloft on the ready
Who's to know.

My dreams blend
To reality
Can't make out
My fatality
Was it real-Am I dead-Just a dream

I can't seem
To get a breath out
Inhale
Inhale
Out
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