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Don’t give any suspicion, no, not ammunition

I wouldn’t want a repeat, but there’s always another lurking.

You’ve checked my closets far enough, breached and infringed on all my stuff

How does it feel peaking, ravaging the room and sneaking

What knowledge are you peeping?
I see that you are freaking.

Yes, I’ll change, yes, I swear.
Go away, don’t ******* stare.
No, I haven’t slept in days.
I’m pondering my next escape.

It’s really quite exhausting,
I’m either paralyzed or resolving
a bleak and bleary future,
maybe drugs and unhinged stupor

But you know as well as I
That I absolutely need to survive
I can’t afford to die
I can’t afford to die.

If not for myself, I’ll live in others
They’ll recall me when they shudder
Something’s in the room? No, another
Hallucination, some type of clutter.

You’ve built my insecurity,
you’ll fall for false maturity
The doctors will say I’m a-okay
Holy hell, she’s changed her ways.


But now?

Wellbutrin’s in the flower,
the flower’s in the tea ***,
resting by my bed side,
you’d never check my bed side.

Razor’s in the picture frame,
I reminisce of when it maimed
my skin and I felt something,
now I feel just nothing.

I tried to hide, these things of mine,
well enough you wouldn’t find

something wrong the next time,
there will not be a “next time.”
Poem about people catching onto your mental health and scavenging your room, breaching your privacy, locking you away, until you take the steps to get out of it.
BoringBoy Jan 7
The first time in a long time, you've finally been able to rest.
No, not a rest your eyes for a few minutes type of rest.
The real deal.
You're on a break from your job.
From school.
Life has started again.

You can talk to your friends.
Really plan a date this time...
You've been talking to a guy/gal.
You can't tell if you're starting to fall for them.

You've never done this before, but you've wanted it so bad.
You don't get complimented often.
You've never been flirted with by someone you've been attracted to.
It's not like you're only into models or pseudo-**** guys/gals.
Your type of "average" is cute, so your bar isn't that high.

You get a text message from your phone.
You grab it and read what it says.
Your eyes widen!
You clutch your chest!

...Your heart stops.
It drops...


                                         "I've found someone!"
...What's that cracking sound?
you made me Believe,
Anything was possible,
if you are with mE,
To fight, to love, to hope,
some said it's against Realism,
It's does not matter,
you and only us, i Cared about,
Endlessly i will love you.
Jemevic Dec 2018
Days and night pass by
Your smile couldnt switch on my bedroom light.
I gulp down my inner voices;
Burning my throat and body.
I can just say," i like you"
Needing not to beat around the bush.
But it's so hard,
To move my tongue and say it bravely.
My words are not smoke
Dont put out with your cold heart.
On my happy moments,
I wanna share my joy.
On my sad moments
I just want to lie on your chest.
It is just a sick fantasy!
I hurt myself
With these fantasy.
I neglect my family and friends.
I hurt them.
Dont let crushes destroy me. Self note
L Oct 2018
Lifes not fair. Im not pessimistic. Im realistic. But you will always only see just what it is you see.
Ian Jul 2018
No, I don't want to get a tattoo with you,
I may not have a mark on you, but I'm covered in you.
Our past has brought with it a dizzying myriad of hardships,
Some by my hand, some by yours,
The only difference is I've changed,
And you still lie.

No, I don't want to get a tattoo with you,
Why would I share something so meaningful,
When you keep so many secrets,
Omit my existence to others,
And lie to my face?

No, I don't want to get a tattoo with you,
Because the idea of looking at my body,
And having a permanent memory of our lives,
Is a sickeningly sweet lie I cannot face.

No, I don't want to get a tattoo with you,
It'd be fake, just like our relationship with one another,
A lie we should've gave up on sooner.

No. I don't want to get a tattoo with you.
Lily Flower Jun 2018
If insanity is a crime, I am on for a death penalty.

If dreams belong to a third world, I am definitely not earthly.

If man is to partake but in all societies, I doubt my species.

If hearts are closed to love and close to feud, I am so hollow in the chest.

And if it is truth everyone claims to own, I am most certainly a liar.
jas Jun 2018
searching for a reason
a meaning of life
to keep on pushing
seems living is a fight
without resistance
and yet the past doesn't quite seem let me forget it
incapable of letting things go
i just miss it

if only you knew
all of the scenarios in my head
replaying daily
the spider weaving its web...

eating at me mentally
considerably the amount of judgment
received in this society, hideously

when will the search end?
Non descript hedge rows sculpted into
ornamental animal via botanical artist
wielding pruning shears and chain saw
carved, limned and sculpted with wrist

wrought voila uber prestidigitatiously
head turning botanical picturesque Sun
kist animals at an exhibition transformed
miraculously via Te Deum divine fist ***

ping, whence realistic fauna burst alive
with an explosion of colorful twist and
shout of foliage, where scalloped super
flu us detritus manna for naturalist de

cid Jew us detritus capacious carpet boar
animation punk chew waiting groundswell
Liszt ghost would arise from the grave to pro
deuce magnum opus without a beat missed

such shrubbery mimicking the likeness, sans
glistening fleshy sin yew, and gist about ready
to become bone a fide (green behind the ears)
thriving vox populist, per species and genus

wrought thrashing into birth as delicate crafts
man promised to imbue life, liberty and pursuit
of happiness whittling away leavings, thus did
exist the nascent then omnipresent visible entity

emerging from cocoon an herbalist meta morph
hosed from imagination of skilled, practiced and
mentalist conniver viz extracting the initially
obscure blessed beast, where with august magic

wielding tools of this specialty vis a vis bringing
breathing manifest destiny ala Pinocchio (trans
formed from wood to flesh), whereby finest
dexterous chiseling blistering hands baffle on

lookers as coterie of topiary harvest breaths mind
bogglingly astoundingly authentic rooted ready
to frolic in the grass menagerie a gamesome group
of linkedin live progeny, the MichelAngelo of

dirtiest canvass, an earthen tabula rasa of sorts
where application threshing re: electric cool laid
ahs hid test brings out chlorophyll doppelganger
green hued key luster.
clever Apr 2018
dreams are the worst kind of drug
when the high ends and reality sets it claws
into your hope-induced stupor
all your happiness disappears as
your dreams are ripped to shreds by
common sense
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