Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Descovia Jul 26
[Chorus]
I'll never go back home.
I'll never go back home...
I'll never go back home.
I rather be all on my own.
History rewritten in stone.
Not to burden anyone
in a place
Where I never belong.
You will miss me being around
Remember my voice
This is the way peace sounds.
What goes up.
Must come down..down...down...down....



If it's persistent.
Then remain consistent
In the process of handling it.
Temporary problems
Never require a permanent solution.
It may bring silence
In the most dreaded nights.
Blinded by rage
Remember all in sight.
Think twice before you
remove yourself from your own life.
Everyone involved in this story
Composing their chapters.
Trying obtain resolve
Regain. Recover. Repeat.
Questioning everything except
The truth in all which is right.
Detrimental to determination
Destiny, comes in search for you.
As so it does for me. It does for all.
Realistically, there is no down fall.
If you never stay down, from the moment you fall.
It's not just fact. It's honesty by Default.
Persephone Jan 6
To all the ones who didn’t make it,
Tell me are you finally at peace?
Did the weight of the world truly leave you be?
I’m simply asking because I am one of the ones who did make it
And wonder what would have happened if I didn’t make it?
Has the addiction to be perfect stopped eating you from the inside out?
Or the need to please everyone, by now surely that drive must no longer be around?
To all the ones who didn’t make it, tell me it got easier?
What about the voices, the voices in your head that could never be drowned out, the voices that always told you “you’d never be good enough” for the love of god tell me they finally listened, tell me they finally shut up?
And are you still able to feel numb to all the hurt?
That you don’t have to fight the cravings any longer? Tell me, tell me there is no harm to just giving in?
Tell me, tell me please
To all the ones who didn’t make it, tell me how it was worth it?
Or would you rather ask me first?
Would you rather ask me how warm the sun feels on a lazy august afternoon?
Because you can’t seem to remember what that feels like any longer
Or if the roses still bloom with the promise to smell sweet and to bring the honey bees around?
You’re starting to forget what they look like
What about chocolate you ask, is it still known to melt in your mouth and bring a smile to your face?
At least that is what you think the rumours you heard say
And is laughter with loved ones truly contagious?
It’s been a while since you’ve done it yourself
You go on to ask about blue skies and cozy rainy days
Old teachers that made you fall in love with learning and the ones you’re happy you’ve forgotten about
We discuss friendships new and old and how far they’ve come sadly in your absence
And when I’ve answered all your questions you finally agree to answer mine
But I simply smile and say,
To all the ones who didn’t make it, may you please forget I ever asked?
This year was supposed to be better
It was to be the year I got my life back together
Last year was incredibly horrible
This year I was hopeful
It was a mistake to feel that way
My accident left me feeling such dismay
Leaving me with such hatred towards the drunk driver that could've ended my life
He almost took away my chance to find a wife
It's been 6 months since the crash
I'm drowning in so much debt; I need some freaking cash
My brother wants me out by next year
Tbh it makes me wish I never moved here.
It's been 3 years and I never experienced a year of happiness
Everything I've been through built up so much stress
All this stress adds to my depression and makes me prone to suicidal thoughts.
Lately I've been thinking about what it feels like to die
Will I feel anything, will anybody even cry?
Does anybody truly care about me?
Or am I just an empty soul internally.
This is how this year has got me in my feelings
Just a lot of things that's been on my mind lately
MPB Jul 2021
Don’t

sleep

forever.


Just

rest.



M. 7/28/21 @ 11:02 p.m.
You matter.
Yemaya Feb 2021
Sometimes they yell,

"WORTHLESS!"

And I listen,
Because

"Listening is the polite thing to do."
Pensai Jan 2021
Alone, cold,
Misunderstood.
Fighting a battle that began before our conception.
Cursed. The physical manifestation of ones fathers mistake.
Emotions removed, confiscated. No longer relevant.
Useless.
Sympathy lost when love failed us.
Patience is the only retribution.
The endangered struggling black father.
On the verge of self destruction.
Restricted from the love of his own life force.
With no direction. No support.
Intense emotions personified by a series of precise phrases representing static progress and consistent negligence.
Our efforts are never enough.
Our words mean nothing.
Our concerns, suppressed.
Our worries, neglected.
Our respect, vaporized.
Our life. Devalued.
The endangered species

The struggling black father...
Depression can be detrimental to a Black Father determined to defy history. Men struggle. Men fail. Sometimes life deals us a ****** hand that takes time to play through. But society has no patience for a man in the process of bettering himself. Especially a father....
Clove Jan 2021
I think about dying
At least once a day
It's gotten to the point
Where I crave death:
To the point where suicide
Doesn't seem so bad and selfish and cruel
But more like a solution to all my problems

Of course, I'd rather die
From natural causes
But the progression is way too slow
So, I'm trying to speed it up a little
By destroying my body in the best possible ways:

-Junk food
-Laziness
-And bad ******* hygiene
You're all welcome to my funeral. I'll be in a glass coffin so everyone can take turns watching my body rot. ♡^♡
Mia Mehnaz Nov 2020
Suicide; society tells me it’s a ***** word

Blackens your tongue and brands you an

Outsider to your beloved community;

Tarnishes your dazzling reputation and

Takes a beautiful, cherished, short-lived, soul.

But why did society not raise me like the

Painstakingly adored roses amongst

Its garden of thorns; why can’t I be

That happy girl. Why have I been

Doused in fertiliser, a wretched ****

Amongst a garden of beauty, growing

Faster than lightning, roots of gnarly

Agony and shoots of grey, blurred hatred for

Every atom of my being- screams for the ****

Killer to embrace me by the neck, apply a-

Seductive dose of love-dripping pressure

And set this crow free; unchain my bruised wings

And I promise I will leave you be, I will never

Bring misery or misfortune again.

But suicide; is a ***** word, a cheek

Burning, soul smouldering, darkening

Shadow on the pretty plastic cases over our,

Mechanical hearts. Not for the great pain of

Losing a barely, blossomed flower- took one

Heavy dose of white-pain sunlight and

Wilted away into the black, bottomless soil.

Not for the gaping loss of a singular

Fertile crop in an endless year of draught and

Famine. Suicide, is not a tear-wrenching,

Palm-sweating word for the, heavy and huge hole

It leaves in society’s newly plastered walls-

But it is an unspeakable word for the pure

Shame. The surly shadow of unspeakable

Shame that it leaves like a, stain of red wine

On the pretty, sensible woman’s white blouse

Like a ****** tattoo on the arm of an infant.

We do not grieve their death. We grieve our pride,

Our bruised and bleeding pride at not preventing

The stench of failure as a race of people, in the death

Of one melancholy drowned person, we practically

Placed the boulders in their pockets and said drown.

And I am holding my breath; tight roping this

Misery that smothers me at sunrise, see I am

Permitted a feigned slumber of peace in the dead

Hours of night yet I awake to the,

Asphyxiation of pain, eyes bulging in terror of

What awaits me when I run out of time, oxygen fast-

Fading and the orange, pink of dawn lights a

Fire in the honey pools of my eyes- small, mocking fires

That sneer at my desperation to cease, at my plea for peace-

Tight, burning stabs that tingle in my throat and

I’m running low on air, on time, almost there-

Deliria, ecstasy, glee dripping from my limbs

And- the noose I fabricated in my non-

Functioning, disabled mind slips away, faster

Than I can catch it and refasten, and I am, cold

In my bedsheets once more. Welcomed again,

To the now bellowing daylight of, depression

Another flightless, fruitless day of carefully,

Hand-stitched smiles and sinfully pre-tuned

Laughter. The world tells me to stand on the

Pinnacle of misery with one broken leg and

If I dare fall, I am a branded shame on the surface

Of the earth, I am the centre of all failure in the

Universe so I, valiantly ride into no-mans-land,

A knight in shining armour except, I have no steel

And no bronze to, protect my heart from the cannon fire

Of pain, I have no shield to shelter me from the

Poison gas of self-hatred. But I am perfectly okay being

Defenceless in the brazen gunfire; I am still breathing,

The titanium arrows of misery protruding neatly from

My mangled limbs and my broken heart.

And that word, sombre and dark as ever

Flashes once in my head and I swat it away with

Deep-rooted disgust, and a dire hunger for such a desire.

Suicide;

Society tells me it’s a ***** word.
Possibly the first time i've ever written explicitly about this particular, raw and deeply personal topic.I always seem to skim stones and step over pebbles when integrating this into my poetry. But at 5:12am today I said, **** it, the world needs to hear this.
Cas Aug 2020
Resting your head on the side of the bathtub,
Half-hoping you won't fall asleep and slip under the water.

Walking into the street without looking both ways,
Half-hoping you won't be hit by a car or some other vehicle.

Running down the stairs, taking them two at a time,
Half-hoping you won't trip and fall all the way, all the way down.

Turning off the oven after cooking your dinner,
Half-hoping the gas hasn't leaked and isn't filling your entire house.

Leaving a candle lit for a moment as you leave the room,
Half-hoping it won't fall over and set your bookshelf ablaze.

Doing any number of seemingly monotonous chores,
And half-hoping your mind won't hope for the dreadful way it could



end.
I'm half-hoping once again
scrawny Jul 2020
Cutting my own arm
every other night
cause of what I am hearing
from the ones I trust
Next page