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William de klerk Sep 2019
In my hand I hold a ****** pen
repeatedly staked
into my hole ridden heart.
-As I write walls around my mind,
I am locked so far away
from the scolding stares
of ignorant eyes.
I mark the trail of my escape by
Silently bleeding ink across the canvas,
that is my written world.

In my shaking hand I hold a pen,
A sword secretly unsheathed each night
To resist  the unrelenting
demons that dance in the depths of my mind.
Afraid to succumb to sleep
for the fight to seize a soul so shattered
that it longer swings, slashes and stabs
at the black hands holding down
the broken body
desperate for demented thoughts to dissipate.

In my hands I no longer hold a pen,
as out the throat that screams
of a self fulfilling prophesy of pain
protrudes a pen,
and as only silence survives
an empty shell stares back,
haunted by what I've done
longingly gazing at the light far above
as I crawl out the  black pit
I willingly plunged into
for the last time.
Sometimes writing is an escape, other times it takes you to the deepest part of your mind that you fear, and sometimes it's the strength needed to break free from the hold of the darkest parts of your life.
ChrisYellow Sep 2019
A carcass of your touch,
with mint pop gum
A shadow adrift of a cloth
used on the floor hanging to dry.

You came back! Knee on
the stone step of this front porch
as last night on my pillow, vowing...
to stay for good, to make it better.

But... You left!
My thoughts drifted to when you did,
that salted dam released my burden,
I felt the air enclosed in no more.

At last,
my tongue gained ghostly words, its last:
"I am sorry, but I can't... let you in.
I'd love to trust your word, but... I... don't.?!"

So my hand closed
the heavy door of wood
and after facing it motionless
I too... left.
eleanor prince Aug 2019
those eyes are scarred
from damaged winds
on pavement singed

rent scenes recite
a diatribe
how do you live

holes dirtied leak
torn shadows sigh
they shelter filth

you cull the heat
until dice turns
to excise rage

with scalpel sharp
reprieve in sight
a poor man's

prize
----
©
At times we see old eyes pass us by, biding their time.  It may be on the street, in a bus or train.
Sometimes we see it in the mirror.  We know we would never do the deed. We seek to rise above injustice, to transform. But the primitive mind wants its moment, if only in mind ©
Empire Aug 2019
Trigger warning: Self harm, cutting


Lately, restraint has been my enemy
Too controlled
Too obsessive
Too withdrawn

But tonight
It saved me

In my head for dayyyssss
Endless barrage of temptation

...the scar has nearly faded...                          ...what if you just.....

...what would it look like...              

do you remember the feeling?

do you remember the rush?

don't you deserve that?

relief?

I was looking forward to it
But I knew I shouldn't
I reached out
Sought help
Exercised
Restraint

And you know what?
It felt pretty good.
Actually kinda proud of myself tonight
Smiling Queen Aug 2019
I am in pain,
You are my relief.
You are amiable.
You are really sweet.
You are the reason of my Smile.
And the reason why my heart beat.
You are my life.
And YOU MAKE ME COMPLETE!!

~your smiling queen :)
09/08/2019
This is what you are for me, but I am Nothing for you.
You left me broken.
Carl D'Souza Jul 2019
Singing out my sorrows
in poetry
I feel
my emotions relieved
my thoughts clarified
and I am ready
to strive for joy and happiness.
Carl D'Souza Jul 2019
Save your self
from your suffering
by seeking liberation and relief
through philosophy.
Isaac Spencer Jul 2019
I've been waiting for Death to come knocking-
On my front door, oh I've seen him stalking,
The lock is dusty, the screen door is creaking,
I think I hear him speaking,

And he says-

I've been patient; I'm Death, walking-
Down every side street, I hear people talking,
God, money, drugs while their life blood is leaking,
Nothing on Earth can stop me from seeking.

I hear Death, he's outside talking-
I walk out, the porch swing is rocking,
The chains are rusty and his voice is thinning,
I'm weak, he's at the beginning,

And we say-

I've been waiting for Death to come knocking-
On my front door, oh I've seen him stalking,
The lock is dusty, the screen door is creaking,
I think I hear him speaking.
TS Jun 2019
I have an intensly difficult time opening up to anyone. I have been burned so many times, yes, but this isn't about that.

It's about the way you will look at me when I tell you how my mood swings from happily eating ice cream for dinner to throwing out all the food in my house because I should stop eating forever.

It's about the things you will say when I tell you I want to drive my car off a bridge the day after we had a grand time at happy hour.

It's about the energy I will feel when I explain why I don't let myself get too happy anymore because I am afraid that will be it for me - the best memory I will ever have.

It's about the people you will call and the places you will put me when I finally say how I feel about my life and my desire for it to end.

It's all about what I know will happen.

This is why I stay quiet and I cry alone in my bed. This is why I put a smile on each day and break down as soon as I step through my front door. This is why I will never tell you how I feel because I know the moment I do, life will never be the same for us again.

In all reality, everything I do is to protect the ones I love. I stay alive because I couldn't bear to put anyone through the hassle of dealing with my dead body. I keep quiet because I can't burden you with my words. I cover it all up, keep it shoved down deep because I will never open up this storm of emotion to a person who lives life in such an unapologetically perfect way.

I am here because of you. I am still breathing because of you. But I am still hoping that one day, unprompted, you give me permission to leave. THAT is when I will breath a sigh of relief.


-t.s.
Ashera Masamune Jun 2019
I want you here by my side
Not to have someone to console me
But to have someone to cry with
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