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Lot Mar 4
Red and white vivid
The colours swirl together
Down the kitchen drain
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.
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
etched into my limbs
I scar like tree bark

It doesn't matter
It doesn't matter
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 even 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, and I have a youtube channel if y'all didn't know. I made some songs and posted them on there, if you type in Lyn Defelice, I'll pop up.
All feedback is welcome and appreciated!
His melancholy eyes,
Didn't settle for the world.
His bittersweet heart,
Was never caught by any girl.
He's nostalgic for content,
Doleful hands strain to attain,
Whatever he tends to lack,
From inside those frosted panes.
He doesn't leave his room.
The window sill calms down his brain,
Knowing any moment he could jump,
To feel something upon his frame.
He's sad and unwilling,
Given strength when he loses control.
Each loss of rein will cut a rope,
To which untethered his varied soul-
All feedback is welcome and appreciated!
It's a constant battle.
I'm finding shells on my floor,
and a flood of defeat.
They got me again.
They tore up my flag;
and flattened my heart that scoped out nonsense.
I'm getting into fist fights with the mirror.
This world doesn't matter to me.
My bleeding nose and horrid mind are too naive for you to think that I am free;
breaching a shadow too small to cover me.
Mediums hover me,
and you call to connect with me.
Against my brain;
and induced will.
Against reality to assist a thrill-
All feedback is welcome and appreciated!
925 Sep 2018
I use a ruler and a
To draw a 90 de-
gree triangle on my ribs
And think to myself -
Some symmetry
In the mess that is my body
One slightly smaller eye than the
One slightly larger breast than the
My ears point in
Different directions
And my nostrils don't
Quite match up
But now I have this bleeding
Triangle on my ribs
Measured and perfect as a
surgeon would do.
Sleep escapes me. I'm not sure if this is too explicit? It's fine if you wish to remove it. Open to criticism!
Carter Ryan May 2018
I’ve got all my fingers,
The knife goes CHOP CHOP CHOP

If I miss the spaces in between,
My fingers will come off!

Slit, slit, slit, slit, slit, slit, slit,
I’m picking up the speed.

If I miss the spaces in between,
My wrists will surely bleed.
everyone knows the song from the game we played with pencils on a classroom desk. some of us have grown out of it.
i am
just another stain
another ****** stain
on a shirt
on a bandage
dripping onto the floor
because no one caught it in time
another stain to wipe away

i am
just another mark
another ****** mark
on my bed
on my hands
dripping onto the floor
because it hurts to open my mouth
another mark that just won't scrub out

i am
just another cut
another ****** cut
on my arms
on my legs
dripping onto the floor
because feeling pain is better than feeling nothing
another cut that won't heal right
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