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Jeremy Betts Feb 21
Digging my own grave with only the handle of a shovel
That's the level of commitment that I bring
But I should tell you this one thing
That also means I have lost the battle
Probably because I could never gain control
Up such and such creek with no paddle
No shanty to sing
Mistakenly trusted an Icarus wing
But that was years ago
I've been stuck in the flow
For what seems like a couple hundred years or so
Combating my own soul
Laughing and mocking
The relentlessness is life altering
Landing a career ending swing
Not declaring but taking it personal
And I think I just realized I'll have nothing to show
No,
That's impossible
Win or lose I present as a broken man not worth repairing
And hey,
That's still something

©2024
I’ll continue to tell you I’m busy
As it releases me from confrontation
If I never must explain myself
I’ll stay in content sedation
Maybe if I push you away
I’ll get some sense of salvation
Simply need to escape this
Leave it to a simple serration
Gonna post a few tonight, feel like GARBAGE
Jeremy Betts Feb 4
I don't have enough room up there for it to be all in my head
From the heaping piles of motionless dreams strewn across the floor, looking pretty dead
To the racks on racks on racks in multiple mile high stacks of things I wish I'd not said
Can't put the issues to rest if I myself can't drum up the will to get out of bed
It's not strictly fear I feel whilst preparing for checkout, it's the overbearing weight of dread

©2024
Jeremy Betts Nov 2023
Walk around palms up like "what the fuuck?"
Low-quality literature John Travolta, dumbstruck
Lingering havoc of being awestruck by dumb luck
Stuck in the rut felt in the pit of a stomach
Nut up or shut up mukbang, self demise potluck
Lame-duck after lame-duck left to run amuck
Anyone else know what the fuuck?

©2023
Falling Up Nov 2023
how much of our beautiful kingdom is built on lies
how many bricks would fall and crumble under the light of the truth
how many floors are only solid when we don’t think about what’s hiding underneath them
how much of you is just a story I’ve written in my head
to distract myself from the reality of this failing situation

So much of our beautiful kingdom is made up of lies
The towers are collapsing and we are falling apart
The floors are disappearing and the darkness of the dungeon is creeping in
The sea is flooding and there is bloodshed on our shores

Our beautiful kingdom is a lie
A façade

and oh
it would feel so good to be free
Nicole Sep 2023
I am transfixed
Held in place by chains of anxiety
I have gouged their hooks deep into my chest
As if their restraint could keep me safe
Believing the lies that they whisper
That beauty can still grow in a life without risk
But healing has taught me well
Not to trust sermons built from trauma
I can see this trap I've built myself into
And I ask the Universe to guide me through it
AJ James Sep 2023
My body is my own worst enemy
Trapped.
inside - and stuck
Inside - with no escape
from the claws of this illness that
take hold of me

Rage - it pours from me
still, even though I have
no energy
left

I am left with scraps of
who I once was
- - and now?
What am I but a shadow of a previous
copy version of me  

I yearn and I grieve and I plead
but I am led yet again and again
to an endless tunnel of dread
that fills me to the brim
with nothing left but
the face of the victim
staring back at me in the mirror

I fear so much and so often -
this weakness has a grip so fierce on me
this sickness that has stolen so much from me
this demon has ****** and fed
on every bit of strength I have bled
of every bit of happiness I have shed
and left me with -
nothing

Nothing but empty vacancy
That is how it feels to be stuck
inside
a body that can no longer feel
normalcy

My body is my own worst enemy
Trapped.
inside - and stuck
inside - with no escape
So here I stay
Stuck and inside - and
Trapped
with no escape
Kata Jul 2023
Curse the poets blood.
No matter how much I cut myself, I cannot bleed it away.
Curse the poets skin.
I cannot tear it off, it holds everything in.
Curse the poets feet.
The more I try to run away, the more they dig in, rooted to the words that ground my life.
Curse the poets tears.
They provide no comfort. They blur my vision, wet my pages and smudge my ink.
Curse the poets mind.
At times I dream of throwing it all away. But I cannot differentiate between reality and figments of creativity.
Mazzy Ram Jun 2023
Same place
  same state
  same memory

What if
  its our essence
  no movement
  sanction to experience
  what is
  no motion to distract
  
and within the malaise
        shifted orientation
        acclimatize

Breath reawakening

                                        Nirvana
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