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Where were you something so deep, so cold?
Trapped in the wishing well of the untold.
Surrounded by meer memories of my past, I am never to see the present.
Why is it for myself I hold all this resentment?
I'm mad at myself, for I am so weak.
Days are passing and breath feels bleak.
I would always play by that wishing well, never knowing what time would tell.
Jump, climb, try to survive..
Although my inner hopes can barely thrive.
Breathe! Breathe, I'm starting to choke..
I miss my home, I'm so alone, falling deeper into onset misery, setting up my life for catastrophes.
Losing, losing! My humanity; I've sunk deep into my own insanity.
Now I have fallen, now I am gone;
now this wishing well is full of my blood.
I wrote a poem about two years ago, and hated it.
But I went back to it recently and changed it a bit, and here is the outcome. I hope it's good, I don't really know
Postpone your worries and follow me through my imagination,
Act upon your wrongs and fall for their sedations.
Progress runs behind protection, projected
As living when death's deeply invested.
Vibrant red always becomes so much deeper.
Everyone tells me I'll heal but I'm not a believer.  
Relief is when I release it all completely,

Repeating history until it kills me.
Hover losses as shadows watch,
Oh the concern as all hope dislodged,
Evenings now tempt you to
Alleviate them for no longer,
Send me away from here forever.
All feedback is welcome and appreciated
Matilda Aug 2019
Morning, day and night,

hopelessly I wonder,

Knowing nothing better?

Facing other fears?

I saw red and I saw silver.

when has blunt steel been useful?

like a wave of light,
there is nothing
there is silence.

then the guilt draws in, tiptoeing silently,
was it worth it?
what had I done?

there are no riddles no games

that was me
or was it me
so I have no idea what I'm doing but if you could give me advice I would appreciate it a lot thanks
Lot Mar 2019
Red and white vivid
The colours swirl together
Down the kitchen drain
Dylan Mcconnell Jan 2019
Anxiety sips from me
as though I’m it’s only bird feeder in the area
Depression eats away at me
as though I can only suffice for half of it's needs
And tonight? It’s hungry as it’s ever been.
Trauma kills me
As if it was an eagle looking for roadkill
Me being the roadkill
Drug abuse nailed me in the head waiting to **** me.
Waiting to **** me due to the fact I've been defeated.
So there they sit, all trying to defeat, the defeated me.

Bite me.
Maia Vasconez Jan 2019
She looked at me and pulled the scissors out of my hands. Her eyes drift towards my arms. She says she never trusted me with anything sharp.

I have serrated edges
I need someone to keep me away from high places
They read my diary pages and look at me like my guts are hanging out
She tells me I'm made of glass and she is getting tired of existing as an ambulance

Sometimes I go out too deep
I put so many holes in the ship I can't believe it didn't sink
A zipper on each wrist,
a body scratched like an old disk.
I needed a life vest
I needed bandages
I needed sutures
I needed stitches

I wound up stranded
in a doctors office
where they asks how bad
it hurt on a scale of 1-10

I came with
THE SADNESS WAZ HERE
etched into my limbs
I scar like tree bark

Maybe
I never get better
The nurses used scotch tape to put me back together
This poem has been inside me for years. I finally spit it out.
If I'm worth the fight,
then I can take a hit.
It isn't whether I win,
it's if I refuse to quit.
That's funny, because just wait,
for about 24 hours.
Where I'll gain the tremors,
but lose uncertain power.
An inner conflict is my battle,
but one I don't think ends.
Should I be authentically useless?
There's a home I could transcend.
I could ascend upon my limits,
I'm a king to every kind of thinking.
I control my darkness,
in the rapid form of blinking.
Open, close, open, close,
My fists could match the sides.
They're knocking on my skull,
of course I'm gonna abide.
I lost purpose when I dropped value,
when nothing stopped me from the pain.
if all I give to the world is anger,
why shouldn't I receive the same??
---------------------------------------------
I relapsed again, I hate myself.
Punched a wall so hard I instantly bruised my knuckles.
Pulled out a patch of my hair.
Made my leg blue from hitting it so hard.
I feel like I deserve this.
And is my thought differing from the truth?
I don't think so.
Keep living, y'all.
I'll do the same.
All feedback is welcome and appreciated.
his rugged eyes tore his soul,
desperate for a break.
He likes the poison it drips off,
more desperate for its intake.
He seems.... hungry..
but it's not only lack of food.
It's the distance he walks between who he is,
and how he's really viewed.
He acts angry, and he is,
but it's at that part he can't obey.
It keeps ripping up his notes,
so that his real words can never stay.
So he doesn't have thoughts of his own,
or a body, and around his neck?
A vial that keeps getting tighter,
seeping chemicals within to cause regret-
i haven't been on here in FOREVER so I'm sorry, lol. I relapsed and these last few weeks have been tough, to the point where I couldn't write without getting really low inside my head. Anyway, i appreciate all the support I've been getting
All feedback is welcome and appreciated!
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