Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Delta Swingline Sep 2017

Are still in a relationship.

I have never been in one.

You... are travelling to Costa Rica.

I went to France a million years ago.


Are still subscribed to my YouTube channel.
And I have no idea why.

For all I know, you're only subscribed because you don't go on YouTube all that often...

Therefore... you've forgotten.

I don't blame you.

I'd like to forget me too.

I... am lonely.

You.. not so much or at least it seems that way..

I... am blind to my own pain.

You... are probably the same way.

You... still keep certain people as friends on social media despite how things ended.

I... don't even have Facebook.
Or Twitter.
Or Snapchat.

Or anything that would make me any "Friend" of yours.

You have no idea what's happened to me.

And vice versa.

You... have changed your hair for the hundredth time.

I have cut my hair for the first time in months.

I... have no idea what I'm doing.

And you are going to be set to be a history buff.

Funny thing... history huh?

How you will go on to study world history.

While I fall apart over our history.

What a mystery, the inconsistency of our lives right?

Because we weren't supposed to be friends.

I was never supposed to send you songs.
I haven't in 7 months give or take.

I cannot bare the weight of an unwanted conversation.

I have been told not to worry about hurting people.

But I don't worry about things I have already done.

So congratulations, you got out while you could.

And I deserve it.

On any other day, I would asked you to be alone with me.

But tonight.

I'll just be here.

And yet...

I wish we could talk about something else...

Like music.

I'm no longer one of your favourite artists.


I'm glad we still have something in common.
My right to pain.

I've got pain to write.
Delta Swingline Sep 2017
I've always said that I wouldn't mind being in a coma.
Because the world wouldn't have to worry about me so much.

Now truthfully, most of the world has no idea who I am, so the world doesn't have much of a reason to worry, but still...

The small percentage of people who do know me, would be so worried all the time.

I would always be in one place.
The hospital.

I would always stay in the same position, and have the same reaction to everything.

Good news, bad news, no news at all.

And yet...

A coma for me is just a cover up.

I wouldn't want this to serve as an excuse for someone to visit me out of guilt.
And I would be able to respond if they told me they were sorry.

It kills me to know, that beyond being a limp body, I'm also a lost soul.

But even as I am here now, awake.

I feel closer to dead than anyone can ever know.

Only because I finally lost it.
And by "it" I only mean... me?

Like I was put on this planet just to hurt people, and I sure did...

I sure... did.

This feeling..

Of having people around, but still feeling like the most truthful thing to say is "I have no one left".

I can say it, and it still feels true.

I never wanted to hurt anyone.

So maybe people would finally feel guilty for leaving me if they just saw me close to "drifting to sleep".

Breathing harder, and feeling my T-shirt suffocating me.
And then feeling the vice grip of my sins wrap around my neck.

And I can't take it any more.


Sounds too biblical and cliché right?

I'm tired of fighting to live well.

I'm tired.

Let me sleep.

Or induce a coma.

And put this whole thing to rest.
Fever dreams aren't easy to come by.
Delta Swingline Aug 2017
The three poems I have made private here are all about you.

It seems like everything about my opinion of you is some kind of private matter.


I still care about you.
I think you're amazing.

Maybe I still love you.
But not in the same way I used to.

I'm sorry I'm not worth all that much nowadays.

I just wanted you to know that I'm going into therapy soon.

Getting help.

After all.

You said I needed to "sort myself out".

I've been through a lot of things that shouldn't have happened to good people like us.

Or maybe I was never that good person.

Who am I kidding?

You're not reading this.

Last time you did, things went wrong and now all those poems are private.


I can't even muster up any courage to say "hi" in any situation.

So I won't.

Makes things easier.


Sorry I didn't try harder.
Sorry I wasn't there.
Sorry I called you late at night.
Sorry I still remember the circus.
Sorry I still want to send you gifts for your birthday and Christmas.


Sorry I didn't say anything the right way or even at the right time.

Anyways... talk later?

Or never I guess.

You'll be busy.

And I have a therapy session to go to.
Delta Swingline Jul 2017
~September 2014~

They came to me with hair filled with colour.

We met.
We talked.



I miss them a lot.
And the only thing I seem to remember is the shape of their hair and all the rainbow it contained, from blue, to pink, to red, to green, to blonde, to finally going back to the normal root colour.

You could say the hair had personality of its own.

~August 2015~

Summer camp.

She was a stranger and a musician, and I had to know her.
She was a strong soul, and even holding her hand felt like a superpower I couldn't control.

Short cut hair.
Swept over her eyes, over her ears.
Framing her smile.

~December 2016~

Techie girl.

She is the most complicated thing to come from all of this.
The semester didn't treat either of us well.

Slight curl to dark short hair. Shaven around the back, kept remarkably short.

Leaving her face untouched.

~July 2017~


I've shaved my head twice.
No shame in it.
My dignity not what it used to be.

My hair hangs down past my shoulders.
4:40pm comes around and I've lost inches upon inches of my hair.

Slightly bobbed at the ends, framing my chin and shoulders.
Changing my hair part again.
Moving from side to center.

Straight hair, dark colour, lighter.


I like the aesthetic.

And I like these people.

I miss them most days.

But even though I'm now a short haired person myself.

I still forget about it...

Only to find my reflection later.
Haircuts are something else.
Delta Swingline Jul 2017
She was there.


I'm out with some friends., we find a spot on a hill, I know some of the people, I don't know some of the people.

I'm there having a good time. Trying to make conversation, not seeming like a complete loner loser.

I make due with what social skills I have left.


The fireworks have started, sparks of colour fill the sky and loud exploding noises fill my ears.

It's so dark out.
I watched the sunset not too long ago...

The sounds, the exploding bursts of shimmer and shine.

The fireworks are so vibrant, so alive...
I don't feel scared to die right now...

Maybe I should, but I don't.


I found my car and the parking lot is filled with people trying to get out. I grab a map and sit on the trunk of my car as I wait for an opening.

The night is calm if you don't pay mind to the drivers.
And I don't, I just stare at the map, searching for a way home.


I made it home about 10 minutes ago and I'm not tired yet.
I make myself a cup of hot chocolate and sit at my computer watching episodes of an old sitcom from a time I didn't live in.


I'm here.
Lying in my bed, next to nothing and no one.
It was only hours ago that I didn't feel so scared.
And now I'm here.

She wasn't there was she?
She couldn't have been...
If she was, I couldn't possibly have...

She was there.*

She was.

Our paths just missed each other.
Never crossing.

Just hours ago, I was watching fireworks.

And now I'm here.

Watching the darkness.
Celebrate the sky, light it up.
Delta Swingline Jun 2017
I like to believe that I'm stronger than I am.
That I'm braver than I am.

And yet, I fall into cowardice like any other reflex built into my skin.
It's a program the world wanted to overwrite onto my story. Like I didn't have a choice about whether or not I wanted to be miserable.

And I want to be better.
Who doesn't?

I just... fall away. Like it's so easy to give in to what you've been exposed to. No matter how dangerous or vulnerable it makes you.

You just fall.

I drop into a broken conversation, it just ended with an "I'm sorry".

It feels so final.

Like the unsatisfying ending of a story you wish you could rewrite. Like you're in so much control, you'll do anything to keep that control within your grasp.

I didn't want this.

I didn't want the final result I got.

An open road, and being told to just go anywhere.
Anywhere but were you came from.
Leaving home, and not returning to the comfort of the arms that held up your body when it couldn't fight gravity, falling to the ground.

They pick you up like it's the only thing they were ever taught to do.

I wish I told them everything.
I wish I told them how much I could cry.
How it could make an ocean all on its own.

I wish I hugged them more.
Told them they were the best thing that ever happened to me.
Told them that I would drop everything to be there for them.

That I would write songs about them.
That I would write and write and write until we had no more jokes to laugh about.

So, I guess the writing and laughing would never stop.

I wish I said more.

I mean. I wish I said something.

I wish...

I wasn't so afraid of being here.

I was told to go back to them.

I wonder if they'd ever want me back.
After everything.

So how do I go about this sort of deja vu?

Being told that:

"Maybe one "Hello" will flip everything."

Maybe. But I haven't gotten there.

Not yet anyway.
I'm just scared of being honest even though that is one of the only things I have left.
Delta Swingline May 2017
It feels like a trial.
Like everyone knows you're guilty
And yet they still want to hear you defend yourself
Because they still want to know
For whatever reason

"Do you like your pain?", They ask.

"Yeah, I guess I do."

"So all of this... is what you want. Like you don't even want to get better."


"Why do you keep feeling sorry for yourself? You know it's not getting you anywhere."

"Yeah. I do know that. But I don't know how to get out of it."

"It's so easy."

"You can't possibly know how difficult this has been for me. For 4 months --"

"Stop making excuses, whether or not you spent the last 4 months feeling like **** doesn't mean a **** thing. You did that all on your own. And yet you are refusing help."

"Because I still believe I can do this myself."

"And how well has that worked?"

"Please stop."

"Should we call a witness?"

"NO. Please no. I'm begging you."

The whole court stares at me
The witnesses are in sight, waiting to place the blame on somebody...anybody

I can hear thunder outside the courthouse.
It's about time we had a storm.

"Please don't call a witness.
I can tell you everything
And you'll know that it's true because nobody will object saying that I'm wrong. This isn't that kind of case.
But they do not need to answer for my crimes, nobody here does except for me. The person who committed those crimes. Justice... right?"

I have told this story so many times

I might as well start crying again

I feel like the witnesses won't even defend me. I don't give them a reason to
I don't even say their names
Even if I keep someone anonymous
The truth will come out
And everyone will know

But it won't solve anything
And I will continue to feel like I'll never be happy
Because this trial... has changed my life
I guess it still is
Because it doesn't feel like I've even left the stand.
Guilty... until proven innocent.
Delta Swingline May 2017
And as I'm walking to my car...

In a church parking lot.

With the rain pouring down and the sky dark...

I start to shout:

Hey it's RAINING!!
Do you know what we do when this happens?

Nobody answers.

I stretch my arms out and feel the cool air.

As if I was in another conversation I shout:

Because I believed she saved my life!!

Look at me, I'm hysterical!

I can't stop laughing.

I've cried so much that my pain is just... funny.

I get in my car and blast the music as I drive home.

The rain really coming down, so much that my sight is almost hazy.
And I fear that I might hydroplane my car into oblivion.

But as I drive smoothly, I start to feel a sense of peace.
And I didn't care if I was about to die or not.

"Hey God, if I die right now... I think I'm okay."

And then I proceed to hit a bump and scare myself into driving again...

Not my smartest moment.

But I do eventually make it home.
I turn off the car and just watch the rain hit the windshield.
Watching the droplets fill the windows and blur the scene.

And I think to myself:

*How did I get here in my life?
So this is how I begin my 3rd week of personal pain...
Delta Swingline Apr 2017
I'll say it once and once only, because if I've said it once, I've said it too many times:

Karma is a *****.

And no, I guess I haven't suffered enough according to the rest of the universe. And I'm free game for people to line up and just hit me over and over. It would hurt less than this.

And the timing of my karma has to be the most rigged thing in my life. It's like the world has it out for me. Everybody is staring and whispering about it. They all know.

I mean, I know they don't, but I can't help but get lost in this way of thinking. It's not worth it.

I stayed up until 2 or 3 in the morning just crying. Listening to the same songs and staring up at the ceiling. My physical body trying to reject itself. Like I'm imploding. My vision blurry, wanting to scream but nothing happens.

I don't want this.

There's nothing that can even be done to even attempt to save this. So I'm done.

I'm done.

The emotions run on highs and lows. But lately I feel like I'm burning below ground with the flames of hellfire scorching my backside. And with all the smoke damage, there is no room to breathe.
Karma. That's really all that needs to be said here.
Delta Swingline Apr 2017
Any day now, I'm either gonna **** somebody, or end up dead myself.

Dramatic, I know.

And hey, maybe nobody will take me seriously when I say that.


So far, the only people who give a **** are the people who believe I'm still a good person. And I'm not saying they're wrong, I'm just saying it doesn't matter to me if they're right.

Because I don't feel I deserve anything.

I can never focus on anything. I'm writing this because I should be doing other work right now. But when I'm not thinking about this, I'm overworking, or sleeping, or crying again, or shouting again.

I feel physically sick just being in this much pain. It's never gonna be driven out of my body until I get a **** miracle.

But those aren't really coming my way.

If karma is responsible for all of this than haven't I endured enough? Something needs to break the cycle. Or I just have to break. Act out, get expelled or suspended, consider the empty possibility of my thanatophobia finally leaving me.

I stopped caring about myself when an old enemy decided to step in and come after me. But the remarkable thing is that I handled it without attracting more trouble. That doesn't mean it didn't pain me to set myself aside to do so.

I'm not a complete pacifist. And my dangerous nature only gets stronger when left unquestioned by all. So yeah, I'm scared as hell of myself. But then again, so are other people.
I hate this.
Next page