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Joshua Phelps Jan 18
Gimme a moment to breathe,
I can’t take it anymore.

Gimme some space,
so I can break down
these walls.

Tried to fake it,
and tell myself
I’m over it,

But you come back
when the rain’s pouring,

I’m back in the corner,
Once again with

No reprieve,
no space to breathe,
and nowhere to go,

Just tragic and lost,
without you.

Your memories continue
to haunt me and

Remind me of
what we used to be.

Chaotic breakdowns,
screaming at the void,

I wish you would listen,
listen closely this time,
to me.

All I want is to be loved,
I’m not trying to hide.

This isn’t a vague poem,
I wouldn’t lie to you,

I’m just a tortured soul
writing words until
my heart stops bleeding.

I’m forever lost,
Forever lost without you.

So gimme a moment
to breathe

I can’t take it anymore.

This push-and-pull
tug of emotions,
almost like clockwork.

Nothing can compare,
It’s far worse.

Gimme a moment
to breathe,

This torture
is not worth the cause
to me.
Mark Wanless Sep 2023
angels of heaven
torture a mind to persist
in the realm of god
Ackerrman Aug 2023
What is love?
Don't hurt me,
Ha Ha.

What is life?

If you knew you were dead
Would you continue to go to work?
Like weeds,
Growing on corpses.

I didn't understand life,
I don't understand this.
This dream,
This dream in death.

Free will,
Does it exist?
I eat
Because I am hungry.

But **** am I always hungry,
I cut myself
Because it hurts,
And ****, it hurts all the time.

Can't count the cuts,
I miss the blood,
The way it trickles,
But I don't always cut.

I miss making decisions,
Could word this hypothetically:
Like it was for the audience,
The ghosts of the dead that watch life.

Did they have free will?
To die?
To watch the entropy,
Do the dead souls experience entropy?

Oh audience!
I hope you appreciate
All the effort I make
To balance my thoughts for you

Or make them entertaining
Or philosophical,
That is, make it take longer to process,
That you may miss the next.

I write because the thoughts
Are bleeding out my ears.
Did I choose, Me, did I choose
To pick it up?

And have these black lines
Wrap around my neck
And softly choke me,

A testament to silence,
For the ages,
Just letting nothing know
That I was thinking of it.

And **** knows!
If the nothing-forever
Could pick up my book
Even if it wanted to.

This self destruction.
As all things are.

Inevitable heat death of the universe,
Revert to singularity
To explode.
Then let's do this again.

What am I doing?
Pain perpetually?
Until when?

Is brief non-existence
The only reprise?
All I have to look forward to
Is sleep.

And ****!
What is the ******* difference?
Between sleep
And death?
Anais Vionet Jun 2022
I miss you - your methodical intelligence, your clear and definite character, your scratchy-blue-beard, your voice - a high fidelity love song.

I’m less obsessive about you in the rush of college with its narrowed perspectives and endless, immediate goals. It’s harder on vacation. There’s too much free time.

I’m tortured by my own needs.

“I can live without him,” I say, out of the blue, to no one - we’re lounging by a spa pool - “I’m going to reel myself in,” I add, listlessly “or I could just invite him - he’d show up for his own reasons..”

“You’re talking to yourself.” Lisa says.

“I’m seeking expert advice.” I answer back, shaking my head as if to throw off doubts.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: fidelity: being faithful to someone or accuracy in details.
N Jan 2022
Love, do as you wish
with my aching body,
but do not leave any bruises

Destroy what is left
of my heart, if you must,
but do not leave me again
This is love too, right?
JR Nov 2021
I think a lonely night is made by you
Leave my high and dry
No consequence finds you
A whirlwind of questions
Why put my love in one place?
Where’s my green light to go?
Can’t you hold on to what’s enough?
Leave tonight or leave forever
Pick a fight or work together
My lover is not kind
And I refuse to be clever

This is a poem for those tortured by love.
Nigdaw Oct 2021
he went down screaming
as most men do
relieved of his freedom
set free of his will
he wanted her badly
lustfully, madly
she would take him
and break him
on love's wheel
The uniVerse Jun 2021
You’re such a tease you ease between nonchalant and fervour • I favour the latter the scattershot words of intent • you invent new ways to torture me oh fortunate me to be the subject of such cruelty • what is a man to do that’s caught in the crosshairs of a shrew • to reciprocate with such hapless abandon or offer up random excuses why he must refuse this attention • my heart tried to stage an intervention but the other members rejected the motion • it's already had some wear and tear so please can you just handle with care.
My Dear Poet May 2021
Salting snails is torture
But once they’re cooked then salted
It’s fine
Sometimes it’s the process which makes all the difference
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