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Kaiden Nov 2024
Is writing a gift,
Or is it a curse?
I could be a doctor, a lawyer, a nurse,
But i chose to be a disgrace instead.

I sit in my room, writing nonsense
That no one's ever gonna read.
Random words, without any context
Among other plants, a simple ****

A normal person sees this as a waste of time,
Takes away my notebook
Little did they know, it was the only thing keeping my sanity intact.
Wrote this at like 2am..
Lemon Black Nov 2024
That kind of longing you learn once you miss.
Goes by a name only a heart knows how to pronounce,
and doesn’t hesitate to call when you care to listen,
so it absorbs as it unfolds yours every ounce.

Of all the things, it’s absence that can’t be overcome,
a void of crushing torment you have to sustain
alongside hope that one day it will leave.
But that’s like hoping for a night of clear skies
that guides your way home in the middle of the storm.
You might as well sink. As there’s no burden
heavier than the love you can’t give.
A feeling that, once settled in, leaves you asking questions about the meaning of all of this, never hearing back, or worse - learning haphazard explanations. No matter the intention, indifferent to your plans, it’s always there. You know it’s there. Waiting for a dram of attention, ready to overflow you, to petrify your lungs, leaving you gasping for air fighting its waves adrift. A chasm of terrifying depth, frightening the eyes to avert, wanting to never look back. Yet, left unattended for too long hollows the interior with apathy, offering a coup de grace of sweet numbness one step ahead, out of reach, unless you’re willing to take it one step further. The small things come to the rescue, small wins: some chores, routines, comforting others. The clipping works, occasionally watering, but better not reach for the roots, definitely not unprepared.
The walls of the mind
Are sacred from birth

For it can only hold
Holy words of the heart

No other words
On these walls
Hold true

Yet I have gifted all
A space to write
On these sacred walls

Insanity has become
The outcome
From every pen
Honored a space to write

I still
Naively proclaim to be free
While I fight a war
On the battlefield
Created inside
The most sacred place

An indoctrinated mind
It has now become

Hijacked by dividing pens
Not knowing
These holy walls
Were only created to be

Written upon by the
Pen of the soul

- By NwK
“The Holy Wall” is a piece from the chapter I Speak Truth from my published book RELEASE| Inner Conversations To Lead Us Home. ( Order here - https://lnk.bio/by.nwk )
Emery Feine Sep 2024
I wake up under our tree, next to her
The oranges and pinks of the sunset in the distance are a blur

I don't even care that she's gone, she's next to me
"Rose, stop stressing!" She says, "can't you finally see?"

"You helped us! You saved us all."
"But you're dead," I respond, "so why do you stand tall?"

"Plus, it's not fully back yet, they're all gone still."
"I know, Rose. You're incredibly ill."

Her skin melts into the roots of the tree
The tree decays until just a stump in front of me

The pinks and oranges of the sunset turn into rain
I run through the dying grass, wondering if I'm sane

I run through thick fog until a ruined castle is in my path,
still injured from its past with the Wrath.

I then realized my nightmare must've been a memory
Behind me is him, "Hi, Professor Emery!"

I think to myself, "this will only be a memory of the past",
as the student's skin and the castle walls begin to melt fast.
this is my 18th poem, written on 8/8/23. I had the same vision/dream over and over again so I decided to write a poem about it !!
IP Jan 5
when the planes of your being
are yet disagreeing
It's hard to keep grip on what's actually real
Zelli Sep 2024
writing is what keeps me sane.
I keep fighting these unfair games with my brain
the commotion in my head so loud I can barely think straight
sleepless nights and empty walls
my mind is an endless hall
chaos, madness, hurricanes
I can't seem to turn away
maybe I'm the one to blame.
Jeremy Betts Aug 2024
The result of life is death
The price of life is your sanity
The toxins leach more from each drawn breath
Eating away at both mind and body
One day more replaces you with one day less
A simple enough concept conceptually
Everything living is born with this terminal illness
No one has ever survived this tragedy

©2024
neth jones May 2024
.

i wake before the others                                                     
                                          betraying the family bed
conduct domestic procedure                                 
         (the sun has yet to rise and punish)
the rooms are illuminated       with the city dim
   projected from streetlight in
a dossing grain of orange                        
                   wiltered by the sheets          
 we use to cower our windows
 
in this near light i go to spread a morning meal
a tray of fruit, yogurt and breakfast biscuits
i bring it too our low living room table
but Abrupt !                                                            
   ­    there is a form   occupying the table

i scout for a spot to place my wares                            
put the tray / direct contact / the floor
                         and make a closer examination
on the table                                                            ­        
it is a soldier boy       simple      life spent out

this warrants artificial light                                      
i pull the cord on the corner lamp                      
   in a glimpse of eyes the bulb pops dead
               i know i won't meet result this way
its a brain pattern going on  i determine        
   and remove shrouding from a street view
orange wash lends  to the olive uniform
both hands hitched                                                
to his webbing   in the middle of his chest
helmet discomforts  his head turned to a side
eyes yelling a relaxed nothing                  
no surprise to his ****** features
boots that haven't even made mud yet
this is clean    but   for the blood reduction
a syrup for his presentation
no fooling  and there is.. the gun                          

the child in me and the child in him want it
he makes seventeen at most
and it is now i feel
when i see the device

war oversees
makes international the weather
Aidan Feb 2024
It’s amazing, it is
How people can go about life without a care
How people can say one thing then the next
It’s amazing, it is
You think that you know someone
And then they turn around
Saying the opposite of what they told you
Why does it happen you think?
Why does this confusion happen?
Why does anything happen?
It’s amazing, it is
How can someone hold so much inside?
How can someone be so bottled up?
Bottled to the point where they may burst
Bottled to where they may blow any time
How can someone be so isolated?
Maybe it’s by choice
Maybe it’s because they feel it’s the only way
Maybe because they haven’t found someone
Someone to confide to
Someone to trust whole heartedly
Someone they know will be there
Someone they know will support anything
It’s amazing, it is
How some people find it so easily
How some people can be a group
And then be so close with a few
It’s amazing, it is
How someone can feel so alone
When they have people around them
When they have ears willing to listen
But the only ear they want
Is someone pushed away long ago
Someone that offered but the way panicked
It’s amazing, it is
How an opportunity can go by so fast
How an opportunity may not come again
How small the time limit is
But you know what’s really amazing?
How we can contemplate this in our heads
But never verbally
Because of this is ever put into words
Then something has become real
Something has been put into the world
Something that one may regret in the future
Now that’s amazing
preston Jan 2024

She's gone

And all the years
of holding in
Of denying  my truth
in order to protect her
from-

     the truth ..

Of the horrors that she has done
Of the horrors
they both have done.

They are both gone now
No longer inhabitants
of this earth
No longer here
to bring the risk
of making little
what it was
that was not so very little

Even if they owned it
who could find the words?
There are not words
to describe the horrors

Are there left  enough years
to make up for the ones
the locusts have eaten?


    There  are no words
    to ever be able  to describe

    just  how  much  
    the locusts have eaten



🖕 ❤xo

https://youtu.be/GjAdjzsrEBQsi=HQdfY1cjlm8aOWq5
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