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Claudia Cates Apr 27
You’ve continued to Gaslight me
and minimize my concerns
whether they’re about me or you,
and it’s making me crazy; it’s making me doubt myself and
my every move
when it comes to you.
And sometimes
what i do with my life.
And I’m not sure anymore darling;
i don’t think this is light anymore.
This is dark—
it’s gotten quite dark.

When did it become midnight?
It’s pitch black out here,
and i didn’t notice until the pink faded away
and i turned to look at u
instead of the dark blue.

You were my distraction,
my medication,
my muse.

And what’s worse is that i still haven’t quite gotten a handle on deciphering between whether or not
to get upset over something that was not ill-intended...
but i do.
I always do.
And it’s my fault
because it’s my mind;
it’s something the chemicals in my brain do.
And i guess I just can’t do this anymore because
you’re not healthy for me.
My brain doesn’t seem to be producing those chemicals I need
when I'm without you.
Do you know what that’s called?

So I’d look at your eyes
instead of the night sky;
the sky that was as black as the ink in my journal,
where I write endlessly about the things you do that hurt me because I can’t, I (just) can’t tell you them.
(Your schizophrenia and depression do regardless.)
And anyway, you tell me otherwise.
You make me feel crazy, remember?
Like I have memory loss or an early onset of dementia...

You motherf*cker.

All the while,
I never realized we were in the dark.
We’re still in the dark.
So, what do I do?

What will I be left with if I do that thing you’re going to tell me to do?
wrote this after i couldn't take it anymore. am i crazy?
Can I ask you?

With vice and disguise,
Are you happy with what you are?
Inflated with pride,
Knotted with jealousy
The unknown balloon burst
With a just ***** of words.

Camouflaged beauty as you were,
Coated and polished to be the society,
Mastered were the words,
With strokes of affection,
Appreciated as I  felt.
I swam in the pits N holes
While thinking of the oceans

The deeper I tried to discover,
Shallower did you get.
Layers and layers of faces,
None uncovered to the core,
What you are still a mystery

I breathe in the pain of phrases,
Toxicity of incoherent love,
I feel the wrenching smirk,
Once which was a curved smile.

I hear the Echoes of my wails,
Strumming in the veins,
Tears were never there
But unseen scars dug deep.

In brighter days,
Darker shadow growing,
In hours,
A nightmare breeding.
You were what dismayed me,
Much more than breaking,  
Maybe a peaceful shattering .
Deciphering what you were ...
Gabriel Apr 15
You wanna talk balance, huh?
You got a lecture to give,
and I’m not allowed to pour a drink
to get me through? Well ****,
if this ain’t ridiculous,
but I’ll listen. Nothing else to do
up here in the snow and the solitude and the shining.

You say things started alright,
and I nod, sip something unreal,
and say yes, my dear,
yes, perhaps I broke his arm
but I’ve vented the pressure
out of the boiler now.

And ain’t it a **** shame
that I don’t talk to Al any more?
‘Cept to sneer about the history
of a place that’s too far away to push
him back to drink.

So sure, tell me I’m unravelling,
and I’ll call you a *****
and you’ll lock yourself up in the room.
Give him the key, I’ll show him
that the **** in 217 is far worse
than a broken arm and a ruined career,
because this will take me away.

Who’s the other one inside me,
worming into a space
that I thought was mine?
Two in one body, a ******’ perfect
discount deal on everything
that can destroy a family;
check one, a son with a broken
arm and a fractured mind,
check two, a ***** for a wife,
and check three, me
the head of it all,
proclamation, divination, damnation
of the foundation of this stutter
looking over, overlooking,
a broken record skipping to the part
where I **** the pressure,
**** the boiler.

I’ll see you in the next one.
From a collection of poetry I wrote for a creative writing portfolio in second year of university, titled 'Spiral'.
Hex Apr 12
On a night where no moon shines,
I lie and brood in my confines,
Nocturne's wolf has come to dine,
Gnashing canines with sharpened claws,
Over is night--devoured by the maw,
The wolf opens wide, an unhinged jaw,
I stare in awe, in saccharine fear,
A beastly roar is all I can hear,
Yet I feel no pain--Only a lonesome tear.

I open my eyes to a room bathed in black,
On the floor is a woman, in a dress of lilac,
She stands with a shiver, and turns me her back,
Dark hair covers cracked skin--porcelain but soft,
She stared at me gravely, shaking oft,
Then slowly she danced as I sat and watched,
She twirled, pranced, and spun, but once she botched,
Then she sat, knowing night had its victim notched,
The Ballet of Shadows had come to rest--
     --but not yet had my final test.

I slept again, and woke in the dark,
Now, there was a mirror, a saviour from stark,
Painted in white, it was fit for a monarch,
On top, a remark, a blackened skull,
My reflection itself, appearing so dulled,
My face was blank, and emotion was null,
My eyes were closed, but I could still see,
As I watched my smile twisting with glee,
Crimson nectar now leaking through teeth,

The mirror shell cracked, my nerves were wracked,
From the mirror I retreat, but with me it backed,
My instincts raced, my psyche attacked,
The me in the mirror began to convulse,
Quickening was the beat of my pulse,
Beating like drums, a rhythm repulsed,
Then it stopped, the mirror froze,
And off to sleep I began to doze,
Not before my mirror had one last prose,

One finger raised--be silent, mouth closed.
An experiment with dark and disturbing poetry. Let me know if you think you can decode this one.
Zack Ripley Mar 14
Pain has always been there
To help remind us that we're alive.
But not all pain hurts the same.
A broken heart starts with a shock.
A bullet, a hole of fire.
A stab or slice, a sting.
A punch or kick, an ache.
But the worst pain isn't physical.
It's psychological.
Over time, you may forget the pain
Of being shot, stabbed, or punched.
But you'll never forget the words
That were said or the fear you felt.
The point is,
There are different types of pain.
But none of them hurt
or heal the same.
Sun Drop Mar 11
A million painted faces on a page of barren white
The awful newest symphony casts poison cross the hall
We found ourselves among a miser's quickly failing fight
The **** of aphrodite spans the conscience of us all

A hole through souls is burned until their psyche is left bare
The death to end all passions finds its way into the mind
A sense of dread and toxic gas begins to fill the air
We stand amongst our corpses and raise flags to e'er remind:

The sacrifices made by those before us shall not waste
A human mind cannot become a battleground of lies
The desperate isolation of a lover lonesome chaste
To frighten all opposing us, and who we most despise

A painting of normality remains upon the wall
The old conductor's growing old, his bones grow awful frail
We offer our condolences, though know that most of all
The new horizon's gleaming and it shines against the pale

Anew we birth ourselves into the wake of oceans pure
To see if we, against all odds, resist temptation's lure
Slumbering in my capacious tomb,
I dread the surrounding recesses.
I've carefully examined every room,
silence building into deafening excess.

A horrid intuition commands me now,
Something watches at the threshold.
Hours have passed without a sound,
But I'm no fool, silence, I withhold.

Feigning sleep, I bow my head
allowing the stranger to approach my bed.
No longer a spectre, it draws its knife
springing forth like a cobra to take my life.

Snarling like a beast, I counter its jab
Horror marks its face as I ferociously grab,
Wrapping its head with my blanket,
I twist, and lay the beast into casket.

Every night I battle my beast
And never have I ceased
To terrify that familiar freak,
Haunting my subliminal sleep.
Inspired by "The Tell-Tale Heart," by Edgar Allan Poe.
Ola Aduloju Mar 16
Nothing puzzles me so much more
Than the shortlifeness of good things
The great heroes of yesterday
And to be found no more

Thanks for their good deeds
That bears the witness of their existence
Oh! Why do good things never last?!

What is the fate of a candle lit up in the wind?
It glows brightly but melts rapidly
Such is the life of men – the real men!
Good things never last

But my fellow men
It’s not how far but how well
I repeat, good things never last.
NAL Feb 26
I took a step back and thought about it,
cause' there's always repercussions
when it comes down to you
heavily-inspired by She Wants Revenge 's "Tear You Apart"
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