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fm 1d
i take what i love about myself and wear it as a badge of honor, but at night i stare at the ceiling
and list all the things i hate. i stamp it in a
journal and time-date it, bookmark the
page i left off on and i put the leather
bound away. once a year i visit
what i hate about myself and
find that as long as the
feelings are inked
on a page and
not weighing
heavy on my
chest, there
isn’t much
to hate
at all.
i’m not as bad a person as i claim to be
Left To Rot Apr 19
I don't recognize this face in the mirror,
this didn't use to be me,
what am I?
How far away am I?
All the damage I've seen,
all the harm I've done,
maybe I deserve to be uncertain.
All the life has been ****** out of me,
I might've done this to myself,
I could be held accountable.
I try to be smart enough to show what's inside,
I don't believe I am,
no words seem to be enough to show what I mean.
Is this all just selfish of me?
Narcissism, is it what this is all about?
Not everything is about me,
why do I feel all the pain?
Can anyone tell me what this is all about?
I'm scared, hopeless, and alone.
Every sentence might be the last.
All my stuff might as well be tagged sad or depressive.
Laying beside
Direction the same
Aligned against
Hands on your stomach
Staring at the black threads
That streak down
Never out of place
I memorize each thread
Questioning if you even
Recognize me
After gazing at the wall for so long
Almost lifeless
But laying alone, myself,
I'd rather be buried.

It kills me knowing
You're away in your head
Not present to feel
The touch of my fingertips
Or the silent breathing
Against skin

I lay in wishing
With each breath
That you'll remember me
Longer than the next morning
I lay in hope
That when you face me
You won't tire of what you see.

I lay in desperation
And in fear
Of losing you
With ourselves sitting,
Watching
These eyes and heart
Fading away
Less than an arm's reach
From the desired dream
Less than an arm's reach
When I'll lose you

And I'll be cast
Into detriment
Soaked in self-loathing
Screaming internally
At my mistakes.
47 lines, 295 days left.
This carving knife
Tears skin
Like plucking threads;
The pain of the mind
Let out
Through physical response,
Immeasurable.
A tear,
A grain of sand,
Time ticks
Present to past.
It’s an awful state
To survive
In such a way;
Not even living,
Just pulling through
On a razor blade
To appease the nightmare—
The shadow;
What an awful presence.
20 lines, 314 days left.
Joe Workman Nov 2020
I'm asking you to look at me
What do you think you see
Chances are it's not what's really there
A color faded through overuse
In search of a simple truth
Chances are it was never really there

Can't pacify the unsatisfied
Or rectify hurt caused by lies
Can't change the past
Can't change the past

Dying behind a liar's grin
Just let me sleep again
Chances are I'm rotten to the bone
If I'm around you should walk away
I've nothing good to say
Chances are I should always be alone

Can't justify how I terrorized
Your entire life with all my lies
Can't take it back
Can't take it back

A billion or so other men
Would treat you better than I ever can
They'd give you the world and
Ask nothing in return
Honestly I'd like to see
You kick the dust from your tired feet
And never look back
Just let me ******* burn

But your eyes show another life
Where maybe I can make things right
Forget the past
Forget the past
Joe Workman Nov 2020
"It's just so hard to live with someone who is
        so ******* miserable
        all the ******* time."
"He's always been such a frustratingly
        depressing guy."
"I don't like you."
"You do nothing. You're useless."
"What do you mean, you feel like a failure?
        Never mind. I don't want to talk
        about that."
"You've got so much potential."
"Well, you're a ray of ******* sunshine."
"Have you tried being happy?"
"You're giving off vibes of tension and
        frustration."
"The kids are scared of you."
"Jesus! What are you so sad about?!"

They're not wrong.
Eggshells,
        eggshells,
                step gently around Joe.
I don't bring joy,
    and I don't get more likeable.
I am miserable.
        I just wish I didn't bring others
                down with me.

No, they're not wrong,
but I really wish they were.
Joe Workman Nov 2020
Mirrors are not the worst, but I sure don't like them, though I like them more than what they show me.

I look into one,
afraid and armed only with
determined resignation.
I'm finally feeling old, and it's a lonely thing.
I'm tired of outliving friends. I'm tired of losing.

So much time I've wasted. So much pain I've caused. My sore back is not the only reason I slump.
I ignore my own advice, though I think it's good advice.

My heart is rough and there appears no fair way to stay on course. I disguise my overuse of metaphors and think myself clever.

But I'm still breathing and
my family loves me.
Joe Workman Sep 2019
And now what?
(now nothing)
Self-saboteur,
unhappy with being only unhappy,
will you not stop
until you are completely miserable?
(i do not deserve happiness)
Will you continue until
nothing is good and
your company is avoided?
(i do not deserve goodness or friends)
Why do you so strangely insist
on thwarting contentment?
(i do not deserve to be unbroken)
Why will you not love you?
(i am unlovable)
But we care, we do care.
(then you are wrong)
We want to see you smile.
(only poison comes from my mouth)
We want to see you happy.
(you are not listening)
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