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Millie May 5
At night; love loses the fight.
The night cannot protect you from the truth.
There never seems to be an end to the tears.
Or the sheer terror pinning me to my mattress.
My body recognises I am exposed to venom.
It’s innocent efforts make me cry.
It forces me into sickness, my body the only one to look out for me
Protecting me, spilling anything foreign from my body
That could make me feel such unbearable discomfort.
I am terrified that I can’t see you.
There could be blades or tyres or water
And I can’t see it. And I can’t save you.
I want so badly to save you,
But your tone is accustory, your voice unfamiliar
And I don’t know how to pull a stranger from the ledge
Without it seeming like sabotage.
On cold asphalt at 2am I sob
And when someone comes to complete their charity case
I am shocked by my shaking words.
“He is the only one that loves me.
I cannot lose the only person who has ever loved me.”
But am I delusional to see reciprocation?
Because while I gasp at the slightest scrape
And scream at every one of his blows
He can only remind my breathless lungs
Of their selfishness.
I am in agonising pain every second that you are hurting.
And yes my lungs are selfish when they breathe, whispering;
“I wish someone loved me that much.”
jade Apr 23
I've twisted myself into something disgusting
When it comes to love and hope I'm completely distrusting
I hate this face, the way it contorts
And I'll **** myself with my selfish self loathing retorts
I hate this body and how my bones jut out
And I want to scream but instead I'll cover my mouth
I want to rip myself open and let my soul fly away
But I think I may be empty I'm really not okay
Let's spread my ribs apart and tear my chest open
I don't care if theres nothing because I'm already hopeless.
I continue to sin
Because I don't
Want to face my
Guilt and
Self-loathing.
Thoughts?
fika Mar 26
I am my Storm.
I am my Sun.
I am partial to a shifting psyche
I am hard to find when I give up my act
I find the long way back

I am a lighthouse when the wind blows south
I am open mouth when I go off the track
here’s to the long way back

Parallels with my insides
Luminol on my black tie
Lucid all til the white lie
I’ll buy anything you say

Archivist of the meeting
Red of wrist and of feeling
I exist just to see it
Seems to be all that I crave
I know that face,
I’m quite sure I do

It looks nearly like
one I daily reflect
upon as I brush
teeth and hair and foster
good proper hygiene
linked to my well being
I sip serial from a bowl
put on shoes whose sole
purpose is to cup feet
walking to complete
different destinations
under the same stars

I know that smile
gone from my life for a great while

It has been called treasure
which many try to bring out
a smile borne on shoulders
similar muscled boulders
yet its teeth stand taller
making me feel smaller
like I have been told to be
I do not see him suffer like me
he has a good job, loving wife
free from all my strife
a vision of what could be
possibly what should be me

I know that face,
I’m quite sure I do
but all the rest
belongs to you
~
NM
08/24/18
SWebster Mar 21
That pain you feel?
Those nails digging into your skin?
That blade you feel?
It’s for you.
It’s to teach you that it’s your fault.
You should know better
You should care less
And you are stupid for not learning by now.
SWebster Mar 9
Mud brown eyes and bent nose
***** skin and straggly hair.
Calls unanswered
Ignored and unwanted.
2D, flat, plain and uninteresting.
Nothing to contribute
A collection of roles, services rendered
And monotony personified.
Empty, devoid and boring.
Why I chose to write this about myself I don’t know but here we are.
Lexi Feb 21
she had nothing here, in this house.

Not a shelve, not a chair, not a window.... Not a care.

She could hear air going into her lungs and then leaving...

She scratched at the floor hopelessly.

The sound brought a moment of relief.

She scratched again & again & again!

Her body burned all over.

The tips of her finger nails were coated in her own blood.

Suddenly she was on her feet punching the drywall....but the wall didn't seem to end.

There was infinite amount of wall to punch.

More blood flowed freely from The Empty House

she collapsed hitting the floor with a thud

The Empty House's walls seemed to beat like a sore head

steadily, She Screamed

And then breathed

Fast, Slow & then Nothing....
This poem is meant to be read in a soft and quiet tone
cristina Feb 11
1st take
oftentimes I still struggle  
to keep in mind
that my life is no battlefield
that nobody’s purpose has been molded to bring me down
it still amazes me how the only words meant to make me fall
are my own

2nd take
oftentimes my mind is still a racing car
competing against beings so much more superior and human
I have to prove myself and reach up
always up, up, up, up – it’s never high enough
up in the clouds, fog in my head
I sometimes notice
how life is passing me by
longingly looking at me on the other side of the glass
so far away
and yet so close to the chances I regret never taking

3rd take
I always fantasized time would one day be my dear friend
unlike those old ladies
ever complaining about their white locks
so ashamed they’d colour them away like a flaw.
when I was a child
I promised I would love my white hair so much
like a well-earned and long-awaited prize
I would proudly strut in the streets
carrying in my purse the kind of contentment
only self-love can gift you.
and yet , as I breach from adolescence to adulthood
like an injured prey thrown to the wolves
I can’t help but already feel the weight of time
(ever ticking by my ear)
upon my spinning head – not what’s to come
but what I left behind.

4th take
oftentimes I still struggle
to function like a proper human being
in a room full of people
how can I be one of them?
there’s more days I am my mental illness
than days I trick myself into believing
I’m not.
I still consider myself a teen
that’s the age I was truly born
the shock of learning a prodigious pill can’t help you
surely does feel like dying
only to be thrown into a life
you never asked for
all over again.
unprepared as one always is
learning from scrap to make weapons
out of years of self-loathing
I still struggle to understand how
could I possibly love myself when my mind convinces me nobody else does.

5th and last take
do you even exist?
I ask myself when you finally decide to act up -
you have never given me a warning sign
a red flag
you’re unexpected and so **** good at making me doubt myself
and if I don’t believe me
who could I ever possibly believe?
I could choose to believe you
but I will never give you the satisfaction.

the strangest feeling is constantly being watched
but never truly seen,
talking
but never really being heard –
you told me you are the only one who does not judge me.

there are days you know me
better than I know myself,
you are my best friend and comforter then
but I learned how to hate you when taking control of my body as if it were your own
using it as you please
destroying it so carefully
brings you so much power
(you always drain me
and I’m always tired)

your care was never selfless
but selfish and greedy
even when I give you what you want
desperate for silence and peace and loneliness
I was never truly free
the aftertaste of the words unwillingly spilling from my mouth
has always tasted so bitter

fighting you is a losing game anyway
I’m so ******* glad
if I go down, you’re coming with me

- to my anxiety disorder
                   (*******)
this is an old piece I found in my drafts, since I have little time to write something new nowadays I decided to publish it
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