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to avoid the pitfall of prospective homelessness
which near future prospect
   induces existential angst i confess.

Today (end of rope rhyme rote
   approximately deux orbitz round the sun),
i wanted ta die and bid god riddance grandly
   going gamesomely gra grave,
   de deum, and cymbal crash

to Bing mulct emotionally, physically and spiritually -
   all the grinding hardships would be gone in a flash
how tempting to seek ot a solution sans hemlock
   or other deadly potion,

   whereby toothless mouth need not gnash
boot simply swallow and drink from the goblet of
   mortal freedoms renting psych *** under
   with purposelessness mine hash

tag, which bout with suicide
   while n the edge of thirteen -
   Anorexia nervosa defeated -
   then as now experience
   10,000 banshee maniacs whip lash

lacerating, flagellating,
   and repeatedly rousing thoughts
   shin to circle back to why death be not proud
   when life on par with a mash

up of ennui, futile gobbledygook housing incubus
   analogous luft waffe bombardiers quash
the joie de vivre per je ne sais quois spritely spring
   in step happy jollity,
   and levity attempt to make light

   of psychological me's mental illness rash
whence thru the (then) lvii roam min years
   as chief garbage taster of trash
hurled my way gnome matter

   the gremlins dwelt within the Wabash
distance to inflict din er of dissonance
   targeted this mortal for'er abash
as soon as he got expelled
   from the womb, his reddened ears did bash
from sonic screaming boom causing astir the nurses

   into the maternity ward
   of me late mum sped like dash
her, and fast as a comet Prancer doth emulate
   a con ***** dancer, cuz ova this rude half
   re: that came a boot
   from genetic chromosomal dna wash.
eleanor prince Jun 2017
where is the note
I long to hear
the one that echoes
freedom
life

insects, birds
maddening sharp
should be solace
stylus cruel

when armour's slipped
no safety's found
each breath is work
to think impacts

audacious sun
attempts to smile
through winter's hold
reprieve to none
unsettling, bitterly cold day
Pauline Morris Mar 2016
Sooner or latter your numbers gonna come up
Sooner or latter you'll have to drink from that cup

That's the reason I got my phone disconnected
Maybe, just maybe I won't be affected

But death plays for keeps
It's only job is to reap
Very few get a reprieve
Death is very hard to appease

So live every day like there is no tomorrow
Don't leave behind bad memories or sorrow

Because you might not even make it through the day
So leave them all something good to say
About your life and how you lived it
Even if you lived to be a hundred, you'll have to admit
Life is to short
Sooner or latter we'll be standing in the Almighty's court
Greggory Haffer Jan 2016
What if you're not ready?
What if you don't want to be set?
But you're supposed to be,
So reluctantly you do it anyway

But why?

If it's not for you, then it's for them.
Except, it's not

Don't you get tired?
Don't you just want to leave?
Not because of anything they did
The hurtful things they said,
You're stronger than that

Yet you still want to leave

The worst feeling is you can't figure it out, why you want to go
When everything in your life seems
to be going perfectly

But you're still not happy,
And it's not your fault

So why do I run, you ask?
I seek perfection and nothing
at the same time
I just run because that's what I know

I don't think I'm scared of anything
And it's not because I don't love you
I run away for me
Me and only me

I don't know if I'll ever stop
I imagine it would be nice
To let people back into my life again
But I'm not ready for that yet

You running along beside me
does not bring me comfort
Rather, it's the exact opposite
I am the most okay with myself
when I am unsure what is ahead

Running, running, still running
Everything I am, was, depended on,
knew, loved, hoped for, dreamed
All fading fast behind me

And yet I keep running,
All because I'm not ready,
nor do I want to ever be set,

I just wish to forget it all
and you with it
Havran May 2015
Yesterday,
I could have sworn
that I could live out
the rest
of
my
days
in peace;
content
with knowing
that you’d be
able to fulfill
everything
that you ever
wanted in life,
even without me.
Right now,
I’m a wreckage;
another
shipwrecked,
abandoned,
forgotten
remainder
of a love
that
someone just
couldn’t take.
And it kills
me more inside
than I would
ever
dare to admit;
how,
even after
everything
we’ve
been
through,
I still wasn’t enough.
I still wasn’t the person
anyone would choose.
I still wasn’t the person
anyone would fight for.
I still wasn’t the person
who you’d love
and want
to stay with.
— D.C., You are my rest.

— The End —