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Anya Sep 12
When I’m down
Real low
I start writing
Like a disease
Busting out those poems
Like a waterfall
Or like puke
As the words tumble out of me
Till I’m dry
But I never seem to be
Stuff your mouth with food, so that you can stop your crying.
Don't think twice about the effect it will have.
You'll take care of that later, my dear.
Trust me.
Tara Jun 19
Wolves gnawing at my stomach
With every move and twist of my body
Burning me inside

I want to eat
I need to eat
But I can’t
When I do
Just a bite

One swallow
I feel full
It’s an empty full
Then I puke
It all comes out

Gross acidic taste
The wolves keep eating me from the inside out
Lightheaded and dizzy
Am I okay?
I’m lost in the stomach
Anorexia. Oof. My demon. I haven’t been affected that much but a few months ago it was pretty bad. My mom and friends parents always said Sweetheart your so thin. That made me really sad because I was still called fat face because of my faces bone structure of being round... no matter how skinny I was my face stayed the same.
nic carwile May 12
I swear,
Each nervous footstep I take,
During my late night pacing,
Pounds the phrase
"Nobody cares about you"
Syllable by syllable
Further into my mind.

And in my peaceful moments
Of ignorant bliss,
My brain snaps back
Numbly whispering,
"Things would be better,
If you were dead."

I swear,
Every chaotic night that I try to empty myself
Of all my words and problems
In the form of blood,
and with the tool of a razor blade,
My brain looks on with a satiated look,
And says, "Good job, but,
You didn't cut deep enough."

And when I empty my stomach
Of regrettable food, a.k.a empty calories,
Into the fresh-as-ceramic-snow toilet bowl,
My brain smirks and says,
"Good job, but, you didn't get enough up.

I swear to you,
My empty canvas,
My blank page,
Now corrupted with ramblings,
That when I tell my brain
That I am 'trying my best'
My brain roars back,
"Your best will never be good enough."
mjad Jan 15
I'd rather stay in
than pass out drunk with a guy you refer to as "him"
because you were too tipsy to ask his name,
and now are sleeping in his puke with a migraine.
Temporal Fugue Oct 2017
I feel, my insides a churning
I know, there's something on the way
Looks like, that chili is still burning
All I can do right now is pray

Don't spew it out tonight
You, know you'll be alright
There's a bathroom on the right

I know, it's gastroenteritis
I know, my end is coming soon
It looks like, I got some on your sweater
Oh Hell, better get the mop and broom

Don't lose it all tonight
You, know it'll be alright
There's a bathroom on the right

I think, I may be shortly dien
I can't, control this train I'm on
I better, get my ass in motion
Even though, I'm already gone

Don't erupt tonight
You, know you'll be alright
There's a bathroom on the right
Yeah, in Texas, true chili has no beans. (thank god)
These lyrics are some of the most misconstrued in music history, I just went with it :D
seven shades of shit and puke
stuck to the soles of my shoes,
eight days straight drunk before noon.
new flat, new friends,
all blowing smoke and jostling me
through musky basement staircases
into dismal dust filled rooms.
where you're waiting for me with
this heavy fog that clogs my pours and follicles
making me feel dumb and unclean.
making my words wet and sticky,
they cling to life unyielding,
falling at my feet, falling short of expressing
their own inadequacy.
and i shuffle uncomfortably around
in the puddle of my words. they
stick to the soles of my shoes like puke,
and the stench summarises me perfectly.
Crimsyy Aug 2016
We all have our secret hideaways, we all have our cures, and our bandage solutions, and we all have addictions.

You will eat to fill the hollow kindly provided by someone who's left you lying in bed at night, wondering why you weren't good enough, or maybe even just enough, to make them stay.

We all carry earbuds...more like soulbuds. Hello music, goodbye world, goodbye sorrow. We all break down, no matter how hard we hide it, no matter how well we can disguise it...eyes can't lie, but they sure can act.

And we all try to bandage our wounds, though we're the worst doctors. I puke smiles, you puke smiles, we ALL puke smiles...

but no one's meant them for a while.
Poetria Oct 2015
I'm sort of sick
To the stomach
On the brink
Of puking in the sink
Too much time
Too much to think
Another drink;
I need another drink.

Your ecstasy
Is calling me
Bubbly little smiles
And sharp crocodiles
You're a paradox
Of yourself
You're a masterpiece

I love you,
Though I don't want to.

An eyeful
A sky full
Of you's
Dark blue
With shimmering
Directly from your heart
Shooting down
To find mine.
In this darkened
World of grime.

I guess I just need some time
But as usual, time doesn't want me.
Any good title suggestions?
This time I'm completely lost.
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