Would you write a Requiem?
Some bells in there would be nice

Would you plant dandelions?
I've always fancied them as flowers rather than weeds

Would it be six feet under or as dust in the wind?
Well, I don't really mind as much

Would this be poetry or prose?

Sorry I'm just me
weird thoughts again
Eric Draven Mar 8
First time posting feedbacks needed

I am awake, I'm always awake. This times different, I can't move.
In the dark There is someone in my room I call out and I can't speak.

Tears run hot down my face and I'm looking at the ceiling.

The intruder is on my bed it weighs down with a soft creak of the mattress it isn't speaking just breathing.

My breaths come out short and fast , my guest tells me to be quiet with a hush.

He is male.

My tears are coming faster and I see the reflection of a knife he begins to cut away what little clothing I sleep In.

I feel his breath on my skin.
I cant move I can't speak.
This isn't happening.
It's only a dream.

I try to close my eyes and I can't...

The knife moves along my skin and I am terrified, I try to speak. Nothing.

The knife is sharp. I feel no pulling as it glides.

He cuts a line across my torso its not too deep and I feel his fingers pulling at the wound.

his fingers enter with a pop.
wiggling stretching making room I feel the skin come away from my body.

The sound is deafening.

I'm going to be sick.

I feel his hands sliding between my skin and body his nails catch on whats holding my tissues together, his hands sliding over my ribs like the way you prepare chicken.

The pain is unbearable.

I feel his weight shift a little, adding more pressure on my chest.
Its getting difficult to breath.

I feel his knee move my thigh spreading my legs my hip grinds and pops at the new angle after hours stuck in the same position

I feel this man has other plans then using my body like a macabre puppet.

I fear he's about to do something and the second that thought  enters my head his newly acquired erection Enters my body with such force I'm almost able to cry out until his blood soaked hands extract from my body flaying open my chest and close around my throat.

Work in progress
Soulace Mar 3
I’m not going to lose anymore.
I’m not going to take it in the gut without throwing a punch back.
I’m not going to go down without attempting to get up.
I refuse to lose you without burning myself trying to win you back.
I refuse to look for refuge or safety like I used to because I found something I want to fight for.
I refuse to let you go without staring down the chamber of a .44, looking you in the eye before you pull the trigger.

So if you pull the trigger, at least let me know why.
If you’re going to kill me, kill me on my feet.
I don’t want you to be my enemy.
I don’t want you to be the anchor that pulls me down to the bottom again.
I don’t want you to be a missed chance, or a “could have been”
I don’t want you to become someone I resent, or a waste of time.

I know you’re looking at this.
I know you’re watching and reading these words.
You know what I want.
It’s been a few weeks, but the time we spent is valuable to me.
And dare I say it was valuable to you too.

I don’t waste my words.
I don’t say things if I don’t mean it.
I don’t lead people on.
I don’t tell you I care for you if I’m just going to spit behind your back.
I don’t say “I love you” if I didn’t put so much thought into what I was saying.

You’re right. We are different.
But I was never looking for the same. I have enough of the same.

I want you because you teach me.
You unlocked something I never thought I knew about myself.
You taught me how to be vulnerable.
You’re someone I didn’t know I could grow to love.
And you have so much more to teach me that you don’t even know.

I know your time is precious,
But want you to be mine.
I never promised you forever -
But I promised you one day at a time.

And If you want it, you still have it.

deery Mar 2
you will never know your toothbrush is a choking hazard
and that i still do things i said i stopped.
im sorry that you aren't let in my body
and that i won't let you crawl in me
and wear my skin
but you couldn't make it past my uvula
without me choking up self hatred.
so please to help yourself
let go
because im growing and shrinking
and my numbers will add up
and i will count down
until i hang from the peak of false confidence
with nothing left behind
but these notes
but these love letters to death himself.
something inside me has died dear friend and im ready to join it.
Benie Mar 2
You brought up the past by digging up my grave
And as the broken sleep tonight
I’ll remember vividly the excruciating pain of your touch
Like knives leaving a whisper, a secret no longer kept
And I fall further and further
Back to relapsing agony
Lyda M Sourne Feb 26
And she poured her pain out
in a red notebook.
Because that was the only way
she could bleed.
I want to die but I don't like pain
Lyda M Sourne Feb 26
If I were to die
Let my ashes burn
Until not a speck is left
Of my existence
Megan Feb 23
My therapist used to say that
I get the flashbacks because
I don't talk about it enough.

But how am I supposed to talk about it
when everyone tells me that my story has been made invalid
by the alcohol in my bloodstream,
and the fact that I laughed about it the next day?

We all have different ways to survive.

How was I supposed to process my emotions the morning after
when I had blood dripping down my legs,
standing in the 6am cold,
because shivering outside without a jacket
was far better than staying in a room with one of my rapists,
and the lingering smell of shame?

I am far too young to feel a pain like this.

A pain so heavy that my entire soul is flattened
by the weight I carry around.

A violation so evil
that I cannot help but leave my body -
it is no longer mine
but a vessel
that carries the blackness of my ache,
my thoughts that turn to ash when I try to say them out loud
and the demons that have possessed me.

Demons born from the three of you.

How can I continue
when I can still feel three pairs of unwanted hands,
      gripping,                                           ­         
bruising me                    
all at once?

How can I breathe
when I can still feel six eyes
on the most intimate parts of me,
every vulnerability and weakness?

How can I live
when I still have pieces of you
entangling yourselves around my bones,
suffocating my heart?

I thought that by burying it all deep into myself -
every 'it' that you called me,
every bruise left on my skin,
every single thrust that tore me apart -
encased by my ribcage,
wrapped in skin that you made into paper,
I would be able to carry on.

I created my very own Pandora's box.

But you escaped;
every millilitre of your venom
is combined and coursing through my veins,
poisoning each one of my nerve endings.

I no longer see the same version of myself,
like looking in a broken mirror,
each fragment showing a different flaw, a different shame.
I am not me.

I am full of darkness.
My mind is sick,
I am filled to the brim with hate and anger and inescapable sadness.
You made me into a monster
that leaves fingerprints of acid on everything I touch.

Is there anything worse
than seeing six vitriolic eyes
everywhere I go?

Is there anything worse
than your visits to me when I sleep,
waking up drenched in sweat because of the horror?

Is there anything worse
than feeling a constant lump of anxiety in my throat,
whenever I'm left alone? -
because please
please don't feed me to the wolves again!

Is there anything worse
than starving myself because
no-one will ever love me unless I'm thin because
I'm too riddled with trauma?

Is there anything worse
than blaming myself so much
that I started hurting myself again?

No-one ever tells you that trauma lasts forever,
but I'm learning that now.
Because it's been ten months and twenty-two days since
the three of you destroyed me...

And you've been destroying me every day since.
If you've read this to the end, THIS is the destruction caused by rape - stop injustice anywhere you can
Megan Feb 21
i have to show the world that what you three did to me only scratched my surface,
only took off the shiny layer of myself that i had previously perfected for the eyes of society’s critical audience.
but you didn’t.
you’ve broken my soul
and torn my heart
and punctured my lungs
and i’m finding it harder to live and breathe every single day.
people think that the pain caused by an experience like this lives and dies in the moment that it happens,
but those people are sincerely wrong.
it's been three hundred and twenty-seven days since it happened,
since each of you violated me
and took advantage of me
and abused my right to consent.
but i bet you didn’t know that those days equate to seven thousand, eight hundred and forty-eight hours that it’s been on my mind
and i bet you didn’t know that the nightmare is now burned into my skin
and flowing through my blood
and coded into my dna.
the constant feeling that my body is no longer mine will not leave.
the feeling that i’m missing a part of myself is going to stick with me.
the feeling that my heart strings are severed,
that my lungs have burst,
that my legs can no longer carry the weight of my newly found burden
and that my life has been tainted by your evil touch
will never disperse.
these feelings cannot be brushed under a rug,
but i’ve got to appear like they can to the outside world.
do you know what else hurts?
what also hurts is that this trauma,
the same trauma that is making me want to end my life,
constantly hoping that the last of my heart strings will break so that my heart can plummet to the depths of my destroyed soul to lay with my sanity,
is being used to mock me.
as if my life could be forced into further submission without the teasing and bullying of my peers.
thank you,
to the three boys that took my innocence,
turned my meaning of the word ‘no’ into ‘yes’
and made my body into a lighthouse as a guide for the devil.
he’s found me.
you’ve broke me.
you win.
Lyda M Sourne Feb 19
Hypothetically speaking

What if I never existed?
Mistakes would not be made.

Hypothetically speaking

What if memories of me would disappear?
Sweeter memories would be made

Hypothetically speaking

What if I never walked this road?
There'd be no need for a disappointment such as I

Hypothetically speaking

What if I was never born?
There'd be no need to live a lie

Hypothetically speaking

When I don't exist
let the stars and moon be the only ones
who remember

I was hypothetically here
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