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tryhard Dec 2023
i have the terrible gift of foresight
seeing the future before it happens
the ability to bend time
when i look closely in the mirror

you know what they always say
'with great power, comes great responsibility'
but my power is destructive
i have already built ruins
before the foundation is laid

it is a terrible habit
sneaking glances at the ending
i would have gone blind
stopping everything from changing

hindsight offers no comfort
when i already know the end
i've seen it myself
because i played a hand in it
quick poem because can't sleep
M Jul 2022
Faking it til I make it,
but there's a monkey on my back.
This normal way, I have to say,
is starting to show cracks.

Turn up to work and get boring **** done,
be nice to the ******* who think they are fun.

Clean up my jokes and censor my speech,
**** corporate blood like a well behaved leech.

I'm dying inside and I know this ****'s killing me.
I feel the old poisonous tentacles pulling me.

Just get ****** up,
and **** it all off,
live your worst life,
the one that you love.
s Oct 2021
6 years old
loves barbies
plays outside
learning to ride a bike
shes getting taller

9 years old
loves chapstick flavors
walks outside
rides her bike everywhere
she is the tallest in her class

14 years old
loves mascara
runs outside to burn off the cupcake
bike sits alone
she is the biggest in her class

16 years old
loves black
runs lines down her arms, she doesnt see the sun
she drives around for hours thinking about everything but nothing
she is shrinking

18 years old
loves loneliness
runs and runs and runs from herself
she drives around hoping that she will be strong enough to make it home
she is breaking

20 years old
loves skipping meals
goes running until she feels like she's going to pass out, then runs another mile
she drives around thinking about her suicide attempt and thinks about heading home
she doesn't even know if home is a place or a feeling or if its real
lines going up her thigh now because she found out that wrists make people worry

23 years old
loves medicine and **** and alcohol
goes running and then to work and then tries to sleep but never can
so she turns on phoebe bridgers and goes on a drive at 3am
she decided that home was a place on her childhood roof looking at the stars but her parents sold the house
she got a tattoo instead of making her own scars because if she’s going to be in pain anyways someone might as well make art out of it-
but she found the tattoo didn’t hurt her at all so the grid on her thigh came back anyways.

people don't understand
the process of self destruction
it started a long time ago
and it will never end
until she does.
neth jones Jan 2020
burn all the study notes
smash the greenhouse windows
destroy the lab equipment
and flood the basement storage

shell anything personal
shuck any valuables
abandon this invested waste
become unpossessed

you think your heart is broken ?
her token is silt in memory
take it to the streets at night
sully it thoroughly
and file off the organs remaining operations
make it un-abusable
and option-less

what about your face ?
bleed away
you recognize nothing
bleed actual jail from your eyes
and crawl from the fight that mauled you
claim your part in the background
a pant of the great huffin'
lose yourself in the noise
the trade
the interference
the indifference

you're a vile version
and drag this edition
to it's rotten point
the lowest style of limb
where you needn't fend
where you are securely unmended

a gentleman approaches...

you peer from pinhole

he looks 'the you' over

you pass the city border
beyond the last streetlight
you have earned ghost
now you may be of some use
now 'you' are not

                                        - canvas
fray narte Jul 2019
she liked vibrant colors.
how could she not?

i mean,
see how striking
red looked

against the paleness
of her wrists
fray narte Jul 2019
writing you poems feels like relapsing into self-destruction
fray narte Jul 2019
you —
kissing the scars on my skin;
such a delicate, carefully crafted
form of poetry, honey,
i will lay it down apollo's altar.

your lips.
my wrists.

and again.

and for a moment there,
they don't look like
a bedlam of veins cut open.
for a moment there,
they look nowhere near
the metaphors
used in place of my self-destruction.
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