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Joshua Phelps Jun 13
tear and thrash,
create, then crash—

no meaning left,
no faith,
just ash.

am i the only
one who feels
under the gun?

i’ve fought
for something more,

rose from flames,
still wanting more.

i’ve endured
all i could endure—

and now all i see
is blood
in my eyes.

but i’m
not giving up
yet.

i’m already broken—
but i’m not
gone.

how do i go on
when nothing feels right?

i stare into the sun
just to steal
some light.

you’re not the only one
falling from the sky—

but how can i be strong
when you keep
singing goodbye?
inspired by Story of the Year’s 'How Can We Go On', this piece is about survival after collapse—when there’s nothing left to hold but your own strength. for anyone still standing, still searching, still screaming: this is for you.
****** Leaves My System

Others — white and dark —
Order their coffee in environmental mugs.
You don’t get stars,
Only reused syringes.

****** leaves as joy —
A nub with no shadow.
Trauma’s shadow is bright white
In my pipe.

Who says addicts are unclean?
I scrape my pipe and cooker,
Shockingly clean.
I don’t get anything.
UC tomorrow —
Do you sleep sound?

The rush — excitement.
Why wrap so tight?
Don’t break the crack in the pipe.
Sounds like joy.
Smoke fills my lungs.
Yet I get nothing.
In burning light,
Where was my life?
Vapor fills the room.
Oh, there’s a feeling —
I’m content.
How about you?

Could you ***** yourself a hundred times
Just to feel a little?

Stop — there’s blood in the needle.
You think an ****** is good?
You’ve never seen blood mixed with life in a needle.
Trust me — don’t try.
You miss all the shots you don’t take.
Ones you don’t take can’t **** you.

I wish they would —
The ones that hit hurt more than the ones that miss.
Well, ask him:
******, needle, arm —
The true holy trinity.

Just ask Jesus —
Blood of Christ, blood of an addict,
Redeem me.

Needle exchange —
Well, I need a life exchange.
Maybe something sharper.
Sorry, I meant to say spare change.
ki Apr 22
Trying to keep my cool knowing i'm losing my sanity.
Knowing that feeling wasn't mutual, constantly being led on by those who leave.
Knowing that those 5 minutes of fulfilment is going to turn into emptiness.
From waking up to excitement to absolutely nothing.
Looking into the mirror knowing their sweet words now has no purpose and I question "Why?" Just why...? Reminding myself everyday that I am nothing important.
Just something to fill in someone's time. Something they go to when they are bored.
My heart is tired and all it wanted was to acknowledge not ignored.
a poem for the ones who feel too much and receive too little. this is about being someone's temporary comfort while silently craving something real.
it's the exhaustion of giving your heart just to be left with silence. for anyone who's ever questioned their worth after being used, ignored, or led on... this one's for you.
z Jan 6
I like your pathetic.
Maybe it’s sick,
Maybe it’s wrong,
But the tears your eyes cry for me
Turn me on.
The way you beg me to stay,
The way your voice breaks—
It feeds something in me
I can’t even explain.
I don’t want to fix you.
I don’t want to save you.
I want you raw,
Ripped open,
Needing me.
It’s not love.
It’s the craze.
And I want every drop of it.
Kewayne Wadley Nov 2024
I smell the wild on you.
How the snow is caked in your fur.
When the night falls, what does
It offer besides survival.
And the means to be something
besides human.
We're stuck here somewhere where
The earth has broken.
And the cold envelopes everything it
Touches.
You stand there in the snow
Teeth bared.
Not afraid to go at it once more.
I've grown tired, so very tired.
Your eyes burn the snow.
That fierce longing to stay alive.
What else does the night offer,
We've consumed pretty much
everything else except each other.
And I am tired of fighting.
Nothing pretty survives out here alone,
In the dark.
Together, you and I nestled in each other's warm.
When hunger subsides.
We'll find it in each other
Rexhep Morina Oct 2016
concealed by the fog,
shaded by the darkness,
dulled emotions
sharpen inbetween the haze.

silenced by the rain drops.
leftout,
to only hear my own heartbeat,
each second seems longer than the other.

time is my friend,
time is my enemy,
whats is time?
nothing but a human construct;
a creation of the self,
by the self,
for the self.

my vision is blurred,
sight is a luxury
in such nights.
in such nights,
we get devoured
by our own thoughts.

eaten alive
by things unsaid,
screams that no one can hear,
no one can feel,
but our self.

— The End —