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bri Mar 11
Maybe I give myself too much credit: that I am good, I am doing better, I am great at my craft, that I have something to show everyone when in reality I am just average at best. What else do I show of myself that is worth a praise more than just “you did your best”? How bare do I have to be for people to pay attention to me? Maybe I am just having a bad day that has been going on for 182 days. But at the end of it all, I am just a mere performance worth 59% rotten tomatoes, it’s more than half, but barely fresh. At least I did my best? What other ******* do I have to say to myself so I don’t end up crying with a blade in my hand? It seems that trying is just never going to get me far, and the best I can give everyone is this: the mediocre poet who dreamed too high and fell so deep she died on sea. She had wings too weak and dreams too heavy that the only place she could reach was the clouds of 9, where she could only see from a few feet afar before she landed and died. That is the only thing I can offer.
Jeremy Betts May 2022
Everyone's dealin' with their own personal demon but I'm only ever bein' seen as a monster
Always judged accordingly, ironically by one family friendly imposter after another
Every other sinner the world over is allowed their own irrational feelings to be front and center
For them love is always the answer to offer, reassuring they need look no further
But I gotta "**** it up" and "move on" from this gutter faster which I take as to make sure my 50 caliber finisher is fully loaded with one in the chamber
And if the **** thing doesn't misfire on the first pull of this here trigger I figure I'll be a single bullet Russian roulette winner hero figure or would that make me a loser?
Am I an incurable cancer? I think I know the answer but I'm not sure and I'm sure not a doctor
However, it's only a matter of time before everything I touch turns into a disaster
Could it be that I'm just a carrier? An infectious delivery driver with t-rex arms making steering clear that much harder
What is pretty ******' clear is my presence here makes no one's life better, just spoiling the atmosphere, so I back pedal out of the picture
Then you label me a quitter the moment you notice I'm no longer there to be your *******
I guess I'll take that title if it'll make it easier or help you to feel better about what went down here, just please don't allow yourself to stay bitter forever
But rather allow time to erase my lingering stench of failure from the air altogether
It's only fair that I make way for you and anyone here to enjoy life without the fear of me being anywhere near
Your bright future wasn't mine to take and alter so I'll round up every bit of pain I caused that made your heart heavier and your life harder than it needed to be ever
Then take it with me to be a sacrificial offer next to me on the alter like a lamb to slaughter
Tomorrow will be the first day of the rest of your forever with no black cloud loomin' over

I gotta ask...

Who do I apologize to once the deed is done and I pull out of the race, refusing to run
Instead, turning the starting gun on myself to become a ghostly astral projection
It should be everyone but it'll be close to no one due to a punctured lung and crushed windpipe from being hung from inside the hole I dug starting back when I was young
No human being person type thing had a single **** to spare, not a one
Wouldn't even let a rerun apology or empty sympathy roll off the tongue, and forget empathy, ain't capable of none
Couldn't hear or didn't care before I was gone so I'm a shoe in to continue on holdin' the same position I've been in from my beginnin', now doesn't that sound like fun?
I've gone and done the forbidden so any opinion of me will only worsen as they lose sight of who I was as a person
Forgettin' my mind was a maximum security prison, the only way out presentin' itself to me was a coffin
But you're only focusin' solely on one particular fraction of an action
Ignorin' why that particular path was even taken in the first place, don't be mistaken, it wasn't a knee **** reaction
A quick observation and the pain would have been plain as the nose on your face but I caught no eyes lookin'
Just heads turnin' away the exact moment I notice 'em watchin'
Silently each formed their own conclusion and brought with 'em some ******* opinion from their twisted vision of me, all to feed the illusion
The one that claims I took the easy way out without explorin' any other option
You say you know me, you call me friend but have proven not to be in the end
But by all means, go ahead and continue to pretend you're the better person

How could you have known...

First of all, exhaustion was half the reason I was even in that head space
I could only envision this exact endin' ever takin' place as I fell from grace
I gave up tryin' to replace the dark with light cause try as I might it was all in vain, and in my haste I didn't notice the byproduct of a chronic toxic waste
Every attempt to place one foot in front of the other was riddled with set backs and laced with failure and I could never seem to rid myself of the foul taste of my own biohazard base
I'll be just another cold case with more than a trace of evidence but the answers in the proof aren't important enough to chase, never the time nor the place
Given up on before I even started the race so no warm embrace at the finish, no congratulatory smile from a familiar face
No one there to return my dinghy smile that's held in place with cheap elementary school Elmers glue paste
Why was the tare down so quick to take place with hardly an ounce of effort but the rebuild progressed at a snails pace?
There were many who watched all this take place in real time but avoided eye contact whenever face to face and I'm convinced that would have continued to be the case
I know I'm a disgrace now but wasn't until now so what excuses are you going to pull from your briefcase of two face ******* and put in place explaining why you turned your back on me in the first place, back at my birthplace?

Surprise surprise...

...a silence washes over the crowd. What happened to how proud you were with your intentionally loud gossip predicting what round I'd go down?
Were you only joshin'? Just clownin' around? Didn't think you could ever or would never be bound to something so profound?
Well here we are, you called it, the words bound freely from your mouth but now that things have gone south you're no longer able to enjoy the sound so you just turn it down
Or were you one of those hanging around saying I'd never do it but if you ever bothered to look into it you'd find the proof of the opposite truth can be found
But no, it's gotta be that I'm just desperate for all the attention it would bring to my part of town
Whatever, doesn't matter now, you could have never comprehended the reason why while shooting for cloud nine I got stuck six clouds down and wasn't able to post up for a rebound
It's only understood by people who've had the same problem with ups and downs and picking themselves up to finish the round after being so down and out that sea level was seen as higher ground
I know the way my last act went down is frowned upon and the deformation process was bound to take place once I was no longer part of the crowd
But look, you want to know why I choked down a handful of pill bottles for my second time 'round?
My problems were gaining on me quickly, I was steadily losing ground
They had to be drowned or at the very least inhumanely put down
I was no longer fun to be around, a bad joke turned evil clown
My darkness broke free from the compound where it was bound
And now wherever you see me it too can be found
Every day a new battleground
Every sundown a new showdown
A new possibility to possibly be hellbound
Just please set me gently when you put me down
And I'll try to do the same when I let you down.

Gandy Lamb Sep 2023
Number 10: Mangle
Number 9: Springtrap
Number 8: VR Toy Freddy
Number 7: Withered Bonny
Number 6: Golden Freddy
Number 5: fredy fazbore
Number 4: Nightmare foxy
Number 3: Circus Baby
Number 2: Rockstar Freddu
Honorable mention: Vanny
Number 1; purple guy
shoutout to the famous poet watchmojo, who inspired this poem
Eddie Brewer Aug 2023
The blood drips--
Warm but cold.
Nothing changes--
The feeling is old.
Quiet sobs--
Come from my room.
This unsettling addiction--
Will be my doom.
Idk. Just came up with this a while ago :p
Malia Aug 2023
i’m not a daughter
i’m a trigger
i’m not person
i’m a gun
every problem
i make bigger
reminds me i 𝘢𝘮 one

i’m not a daughter
i’m a trigger
i’m the stain on your white blouse
and everybody, everybody knows
i am the darkness in this house.
I actually wrote this originally as a poem, but then I put a melody to it and I might make it a fully-fledged song later!
yāsha Jul 2023
i have tiny jars that are shelved
perfectly inside my brain
from category a to z,
sorted by themes,
and from one to a hundred
—a scale of how painful
life is in my repetitive experience.

i keep all my memories sealed
like a handful of fireflies shoved in a jar
that only live for three days;
i may forget every scenario with ease
but never the dying flicker—the feeling
that grow dim in each canister.

god, how fragile am i that it only takes
a trigger for each glass to combust tragically,
good thing i'm the only one
who knows how to pull it.
     i wonder which repressed emotions
     are going to choke me violently tonight.
When he comes home, I go into panic mode,
The walls in my brain closing in,
The bile in my throat rising,
My teeth sweating in anticipation of what is to come

When he comes home,
I hope to god that I pass beneath the radar,
Nothing more than a sigh on the breeze,
Nothing more than a ripple in a pond
Nothing for him to notice

When he comes home, I make myself as small as I can,
Hoping that he’ll ignore me like he has all these years,
But knowing that it’s a futile attempt,
Like trying to avoid the burning sun

When he comes home,
The nausea roils in my gut,
Reminding me that I am nothing,
That I will never be anything more than what he paints me to be

When he comes home,
I am reduced to “yes sir” and “no sir,”
To eyes that are glued to the ceiling or floors,
To fidgeting hands and twisting fingers
To nothing more than a decoration to stand in the corner

When he comes home,
I try to retreat to my room,
I try to give him the space that he seems to need,
I try to leave him be and let him sleep,
But nothing seems to work, and he yells all the same

When he comes home,
My home becomes nothing more than a battlefield,
One that I cannot escape,
One that there is no running from,
One from which the injuries are only seen in the trauma that is left behind

When he comes home,
My life becomes nothing more than a play,
A tragedy in which no one survives,
A performance that I am supposed to know,
But stage fright has taken over and the lines mean nothing to me now
And I am frozen, hoping for the curtains to fall to cover my fear

When he comes home,
I quietly
Stage left.
Trauma responses ****
Amanda Kay Burke May 2023
The rest of your life has just begun
Time folds itself
A finger on the trigger of a gun
Hand wraps around to help
Written 3-27-30
ilias Feb 2023
it had been a slow day
it was summer, the heat was unbearable
you were knocking on my door
I was afraid, I didn’t want to open,
I wanted to slit my wrists and bleed out in bed

„oh hello lovely“
why can‘t I for once just write about something normal, I hate the mind of mine. I feel disgusting.
Shannon Soeganda Jul 2022
Would love to meet you again
After all these years

But for now,
I need you to know—

that I have always loved you,
And I always will,

It’s just that,

I don’t trust my self enough
to see you the next day,

or any day after.
It’s excruciatingly painful to be fine one minute and gone the next.
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