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trixmilk Jun 26
lately everything makes me wanna cry
so i'll fix it by going out and getting high
drive straight through 234 like russian roulette
to see if i'll get hit
i need another hit
and one turns into the whole bowl pack
i get dazzled in a daze of technicolor and emoticons
flying through my eyes like doves
i hope the black birds don't come
because i'm superstitious
throw salt over my shoulder
so satan doesn't come near
but what does that do when i have horns too
with a halo hanging on them like ring toss
i don't wanna do drugs anymore
i can hear my liver whimpering in the corner
begging to not get beat
but i use the belt again
and bash my head against the bathroom sink
sometimes i wish i died in my dad's bathroom
when i fainted from my prescription
funny how the legal drugs
almost always **** me
but i wake up alive after altering my mind
funny how peaceful heatstroke is:
losing sight
drifting sound
moving farther away like my ears are
detached from my head
last thing to dissipate is touch
until my fingertips turn blue
funny how burning off my fingerprints
wouldn't remove my identity
because i already wiped it out
with the ganj- and the grass
alternative medicine isn't healing
if it's being abused
and i'm so tired of feeling abused
even three years into the future
demons seeping through the cracks of my walls as i sleep
they haunt my dreams and flip them over into nightmares
but i will always go back to sleep
because i get to escape here but stay here
i want to astral project
and shoot my consciousness into the sky
instead of shooting myself in the head
i want to soar
and pick shooting stars out of the sky
and hold them in my hand with the same warmth as yours
i want to feel body heat on body heat
until i start to sweat and squirm
and you twitch in your sleep
i want to stare at space
instead of into it
when you can see the trauma
hollowing my eyes out
and caving my face in
from bashing it against the bathroom sink
and ripping my hair out
strand by strand
clump by clump
i would cut myself
but there's no spot on my body
concealable for when i feel better
i don't want to be reminded
every day of how i used to feel
because my mind already does that for me
i have good moments
so i tell myself after the bad passes, good will always come again

i am building a brick wall
in front of the mirror
because she's saying that when the bad passes, the good will come again
but what's the point when the bad comes back
an uninvolved father
stopping by every now and then
to use the tv
with the sound off and the static on
dissolving into the couch
like the lysergic odyssey melting on my tongue
absorbed by the grayscale of unhappiness
but i'll never say depression
because i'm scared of going back to therapy
backwards progress is not progress in my head, it's failure
maybe that's why i'm scared to go sober
because i'll always relapse
Lotus May Jun 8
I gaze in the mirror
at the bumps and blemishesโ€”
unsightly mistakes etched
on a canvas of skin
I pick at all the red spots
๐’Š๐’• ๐’˜๐’Š๐’๐’ ๐’ˆ๐’ ๐’‚๐’˜๐’‚๐’š ๐’”๐’๐’๐’
I pick at all the scabs
๐’ƒ๐’†๐’‚๐’–๐’•๐’š ๐’Š๐’” ๐’๐’๐’๐’š ๐’”๐’Œ๐’Š๐’ ๐’…๐’†๐’†๐’‘
I pick at all the scars
๐’๐’๐’ƒ๐’๐’…๐’š ๐’Š๐’” ๐’‘๐’†๐’“๐’‡๐’†๐’„๐’•

I peel off all this rotting skin
only to find more layersโ€”
of crippling fear
of clawing jealousy
of heavy shame
eating away at
what is underneath it allโ€”
a woman who does not have
the courage to love herself
Mrs Robota Mar 26
An empty frame
is not a window
is not a door
is not a mirror
so how do I see
behind the scene?
my body is not a line you can draw parallels to
i am unfamiliar, and distinct, all curved and cracked edges
i am not straight.

my body is not a line you can draw parallels to
but i'll still find a way to sketch our similarities, a comparison;
shirts off and tracing the patterns of conventional beauty
like a dot-to-dot that doesn't align with the mass of me,
all my dips and swells:
a child that can't colour inside the lines

sometimes the ***** of my nose makes me wonder
how often i must lie to myself,
and my reflection repeats "i'm a real boy"
and we repeat, and repeat, and repeat until the mirror breaks.

i am real.
breathing.
alive.

fingertips pressed to my cheeks, and then
squeezing at the flesh of my hips
i push and stretch and pinch
this way and that
messing, fiddling, curious and carping;
but when i'm done, i don't ... do anything
other than walk away

despite the critical caricature of my image
this is not a confession of self hatred, but in fact
the opposite is true.

this is self-acceptance.
this is love.
this is learning.
this is healing.

i didn't notice when i stopped trying to please my eyes
i just know that i did
and once i focused on me, not my mirror
i was happier with what i saw anyway

see, my scars are more visible in my eyes than on my skin, but
if you look closely enough
you can see the trajectory from despair to kindness
wounds dressed with watercolours, and smiles
and a promise that i'd give myself a second chance

and life got one too
Murakami Jan 23
it's not enough, my waist spits at me in the mirror
I know there's so much more, she spits as I undress
it hurts - Well, there's no time to be hurt. No, not now.
You don't want to upset him, do you? I know you don't.
i don't. - Then close up. It's time to make him want you, Ok?
ok. - Let's start with your face. There are some things I dislike.
Too straight, too narrow, too large, too small. Don't you agree?
yes. help me. - Oh, I will, dear. Now, will you give everything?
everything? -Yes, I need everything. Give your chest and soul.
You're not hungry anymore. Okay? -you're right, i'm not.
Hold your stomach in, get up earlier, ****** him
Find your passion, but don't abuse it. Oh, and
Don't forget: do it all in heels. No one cares
If it hurts. If it looks good, you're set, see.
Learn how to be smart, not too smart
Don't worry that he looks at them
Just look better. -you know it
won't change anything.
I do. but you need it. No one will like you if you don't, especially not him.
i see... is this enough?
No, my dear.
it's not?
No.
ok.
-
Do you want to know how it feels when it breaks?
Headache:

Illusion,
hidden,
non-existent,
unexpected persistence.
Annoying obsession with their secrets
plead guilty to an endless stagnation of the thoughts, watch the time,
donโ€™t you dare to run that fast,
what an unfair distance of my past.

Iโ€™m in love with the moment I believed the lies.

Merry ******* Christmas:

The smell of December afternoons remind me of my beloved lost field,
a place where their fears didnโ€™t fit.
The ocean at night, the foam of the waves, the unknown submerged, the revenge of the whales.

The sincere,
hideous,
laughter of the kid,
charming snort of embarrassment,
disaster and awkwardness well deserved for the king.

Iโ€™ve never felt the snow of the winterโ€™s tale,
never believed in the white bearded obese man,
the red walking miracle in flesh or in the newborn baby on a December night.

But when I look at the skies, I do try to look for that star, I do sit calmly on the swing of my hometown park, tried to comprehend the distance between me and the unreachable sky.
Wish I have a big enough fan so I can scatter the clouds, wish I could find someone else
as intrigued and dissatisfied as myself.
But what if thereโ€™s no one up there?

Friendship:

When we were all friends,
remember! When our ties werenโ€™t supposed to be unleashed, when our blood our pinky were as sacred as unique.
Remember! The sunset at that abandoned ***** beach, the ringing of my ears unexpectedly started to emit, that sublime but creepy melody, that made us all smirk,
as well predictedwe lost the sun that evening, my peers.
We lost it all, the carless state of being ashamed, the bruises and the scrapes.
Our disgusting bitten blue nails, the eggnog sticked in our greasy hair, the ashes from Mr.Bobbyโ€™s dog, the lust and hopeless mood on our road to fictional love, the promised goodbye, our last play on the trash, we didnโ€™t know it was the last.

Bedroom:

When did I stand up from my bed? Looked at the ceiling, increasing emotions of defeated.
I rejected the successful, luminous path.
Neither abomination nor ambition, I spied on their lives, neither shame nor proudness for them.
They became the ensembles of relate, the shadow of triumph, the dinner for the lions.
I was still standing there, my toes were nailed to the soil, my neurons were paralyzed, almost to the void. My heart was projecting an image of familiarity, a far but so near remembrance of sweet tragedy.

Fantasy road:

That dead end road, that nightmare but dreamy  orgasam, I never claimed to stop.
I just wanted to sit, on that beautiful but desolated long street.
Heat penetrating through my **** cheeks, our lingering truth was shut down by the stormy roof, the instant picture of our nostalgic bereavement, that half smile of nearly achievement.

Smile in the war:

The yearn for crying of joy, bliss, felicity that feeling of undestroyed.
Never cried it but so desired it, I want my red lipstick to be wiped off, my mascara to be inked into my leather and soul.
I want my jeans, my sneakers to be burnt off, all in flames, cremated remains into its lust.

Episodes of coconut:

Iโ€™ve always liked to go through the tempest alone,
one day I wonโ€™t be able to let go.
I erased the paranoia by holding my tears, supress the tsunami in front of my dears.
When my voice breaks, my hands start to shake, I look away.
Please donโ€™t hug me, my heart might explote, I donโ€™t wanna sail again this flood.
Iโ€™m the the Dictator of Happinessland, Iโ€™ll be smiling even when my ******* will be full of sand.
I built the highway of miserable state, I found comfort on being wrong in a good way.

Friendship:

There are just shadows walking, now all I see are their ghosts.
****** up and vanished from the streets of the yesterday.
Actions, promises, we were gonna be last the ridiculous standing.
It never mattered, It wonโ€™t never matter.

Bedroom:

Iโ€™ll disintegrate myself supposing someday Iโ€™ll try my best.
Iโ€™ll decompose myself shouting from my mattress, my cave,  such a shame.
Friends are called dogs to me, human companions are named Mom and Dad.
The more pathetic it gets, hide your bother, donโ€™t watch me cry.

Child in the last row:

I used to think that someday I would understand, โ€œwhen I grow old Iโ€™ll celebrate to be themโ€.
The times at the backyard, the mud  in my palms, my old tamagotchi was my lethal weapon on display, these naughty aliens wonโ€™t get my by any chance.
I peed in the line to brushing  my teeth, nobody remembers how I cried, nobody remembers me  in fact.
I was the first to get caught in the game, my rolls didnโ€™t allow me to run, I tried to keep my posture, I still fell, that garbage can just got in my way, what a winner I became.
The teacherโ€™s room was our getaway from the tumult of recess, what a 12 year old badass.
Weโ€™re just practicing the flute, itโ€™s too much of noise outside ma'am.
Iโ€™ll just spin on the chair until the bell rings, keep making sounds with this stupid instrument that I never learnt to play.
The Winnie the Pooh mural never meant nothing to my eyes, the words  โ€œdonโ€™t rush and sit to enjoyโ€ were just a low whisper to my ears. I  feel nothing when I left. Iโ€™m feeling everything every sunrise on this Earth.

The failure of the butter:

The bathrooms smelled like purification of golden ****, the humidity didnโ€™t permit me to look at myself, I prefer to watch them put make up on their clean, pretty flesh.
I used to fall to the wet ground even more oftently back then, I weirdly enjoyed it, those goofy laughs gave me life. These times weโ€™re inseparable, the grass and bullet ants will never disturb us at any predicted chance.
The destroyer was disguised as ourselves and the mysterious minion, the so called inevitable time. We were just pretending to care. โ€œChangeโ€ the old enemy of many out there, a bittersweet goodbye to you, my dear idiotic  friend.

Heartache:

That old pathetic wish to go backwards to the point of start or the moment youโ€™d like to be frozen in time. The universe might be immense, the complainings of my mind are not that irrelevant to care. I was built to properly play their master game. My energy is too low, pass me another battery of wise ignorance. Iโ€™d like to be normal and logical again. The acceptance from the tribe, the acceptance of our lie.

The end of the train rail? :

Iโ€™ll brusquely let my back lay on the soil with this rocking chair, Iโ€™m trying to restart this smudgy aged brain.
As I  fell to the void, as my spine cracked, my skull brutally bounced, my memory gently engaged the regret. The free gift of my private sold ache.
As a venomous serpent I spread the bitterness to my environs, my well kept tears where drowning  my designated  ones, their love was on doubt, I owned the fault. I owe them all.
The psychedelic trip was ruined by my old desperation, my frustrated self,  scratching inside from home sweet home of indignation.
Memories of ****** and self- joy,  blurred, exported and deleted to the never void.
I experienced the underated pain, I praised to gain and gain, I lost the nostalgia of the better days, I locked my desires of the will to vividly feel, I warmed up my limbs to melt down my putrefaction of thrills,  I sank myself into the state of not that sad and crippled ****,  I missed the unforgettable moment  of getting trapped next to the not so evil man, I poorly drew my fate, Iโ€™ll miserable forever stay. I camly crawled on the sand, โ€œagony let me lay downโ€, I felt envy of the moon, I watched all of your glances, you all seemed like wondering when it was going to end.

Am I still here yet?
On the castrated futuristic **** a jump had been executed. I witnessed it, he adjusted his boots, felt like vanishing, the leaving of pure prudence.

Nothing makes any sense when the revision turns into continuity. The dawn is inexpedient to the lousy recumbent and its prosperities. The unawareness has made it to the core, therefore, the nightfall passes its independence and unfairness to our own.


Oh! My irrelevant donkey, that one, to whom I've seen tumble down and not approaching a grip. To his uncovered castration had been given a hopeless drop of newly celebration. That the donkey responsible for the path, the vintage tumbril cannot allow him to surpass.

Suspiciously probable for the conscious well wrapped up in the voluminous indifference, a conjugated apathy choir with granted presence and simplicity.

For him, that was, the moment, the freeze, the calendar date, the burial, call it a day. Of this cursed sequence, uncertain, an emerged insomnia confined in a sepulcher of paranoia.

It has torn, that liberty of unknown. His frozen bowels, it spans, a recommended dealer, I now ingest the syrup, it has darkened a bit in this limbo. The glucose did not annihilate the glutton, enough insulin was more as to come to delicacy, the quadruple figure does not reflect with no lens nor ability.

A hanging genital, fully outworn, in debt to the swelling and proceeding bomb. The ****** hole has been closed to the visitor in roll. A relic since conception, sodden with my self-distrust, muzzled to the art of action and disrupt. Poor dehydrated, yet to inaugurate, an everlasting sedateness of demising absoluteness and abundance of self-reproach.

I **** you! You irreverent donkey, to a steady furore and irrelevance, quite a damaging endorphin. Your tutelage did never flood me with yearness, it had to disguise with this sugar barrel of stupidity and clenching. This untainted audacity will never lift a curtain hiding the unseen and revolting... thing.

The mentioned tumbril and diluge of fresh sweat, a dryed armpit but a head transpiring with a tiny leap. An immense extension awaits for the indolent sailor, outstanding intentions to be a renegade, but somehow those rails just... get to him.

Hallucinogens of the stepmother earth, it is time for the urged recess. Bell, bell! I beg you to blare. Esoteric prairies dance to the classic and strange macarena, transported plebs by European train, to Trainspotting it reflects. That turbulent, nostalgic and wondrous effect.

Oh! My irrelevant donkey, all you see and will come to see, will puff out as everyone ticks. Your indignated throbbing will pace as impatient as you may. Your pant for conclude, but also recapture will barely endure. Nevertheless, your undoing will bash up all you never cared to do and take.
Joshua Penrod Dec 2019
Don't tolerate anyone
Who is too blind to recognize
Your true value

-JP
Francie Lynch Dec 2019
A person's stature
Is never to be measured
By height.
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