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I S A A C Jun 1
I was always frightened
hiding from what happened to happen
constantly stressed no come down for the wicked
apprehensive to tenderness
running from abandonment
no rest for the wicked

I was always dodging
insults, punches, and negativity
didn't believe that love would kiss me on the cheek
these hounds, hounds of love are after me
I can’t come out of my warped fantasy
I run and jump; the sea catches me
too afraid to confront what is happening
self discovery,
is a strange path
a winded one

its hard to grasp
and will escape your fingers
at any possible chance it has

why is it that
the true version of yourself
tries so hard to get away

skewed by society
warped by our own reality

perhaps our real selves,
aren't real at all

how do i tell
who is the real me
with questions from me, to me x
nadine shane Nov 2019
the nights devoid of holiness
always seemed
to find itself tangled
with the crestfallen visage
always plastered on mine.

a close acquaintance of mine
would be the moon--

glimmering and illuminating
the regrets and mistakes
emblazoned deeply
onto every fibre of my being.

my dreaded moment has come--
the clock made itself known;
reverberating
through the fragile threshold
i dared to call my home.

once more,
it made me a fool
for believing
i could be liberated
from this labyrinth.
make it stop.
Ackerrman Oct 2019
Pupils gaze into the sun, I am stunned,
Unearth the power of Raa in your eyes,
Revel! As we lay for long hours, sunned
To death in the warm embrace of your fires.

As we wrap our lives around each other's
Souls as stinging nettles cradle soft skin,
Our life embers trickle, rumbles, smothers-
Nothing. Just- blood. Scars, filth under cover.
And you tickle the hair under my chin...

Time swells and the kind universe cradles-
I can't- stomach this ******* orange juice anymore!
I choke on the bits, I told you before,
How many times- and where is that *****?
What do you mean- “Lucy has gone before”
Good Lord, where has that ***** gone now. That *****-
Cotton wrapped ‘round faithful fairy fables—
Grandad? Is that you? What did you send me for?

This dream bred a silk no spider could weave,
Heavenly nirvana, none could conceive...

You. Child like, notions of freedom. So naive,
Your ****** up little attitude is hard to conceive.

Lucy? Lucy, is that you? -You ***** tease!
I am confused, did you drug me again?-
I shall follow wherever you may lead...
-You’re no better than when you’re on your knees-
Don’t leave me, like a little frightened Fen...
Just ask and I should spend my life on my knees.

My light is yours to – blank –

Tie the rope to the tree and ******* hang.

Lucy must be with Grandad, that’s why I
Can't find them- can't find my love- my bee.

How long until this moment passes by
Lucy, do me the Honour. Marry me.

Lucy?

Lucy.
So I watched the penultimate of Bojack Horseman season 4, and wow, I am pretty sure I have PTSD. Anyway, the episode inspired me. Here is a poem about dementia.
Kayla Gallant Sep 2019
Filthy lies

Spread across

Blank canvases

Young minds

Spoiled

Like milk

Left out in the sun
warped young minds becoming who the world told them to be, So much wasted potential.
Juniper Jan 2019
My body doesn’t feel like my own
It feels as foreign as the forest
Empty and quiet
Unsure of the way back home

My conscious feels distorted
Warped beyond my belief
Balancing on my frontal lobe
Threatening to fall

My limbs feel like tattered branches
Clinging desperately to the trunk
Only the bark is so thin and frail
That it can barely support even itself

I am not myself anymore
i don’t feel like myself lately
Jade Oct 2018
Heart skips
like a warped record,
trembles over scarred vinyl
until "I love you"
tastes incomplete:

(I)                love                 you

I                  (love)               you

I                   love                (you).

My Swan Song mewls off key,
cascades across the
marred terrain of my soul
in a thick lacquer of tears.
Notes flatline
in unison with my
waning pulse
(waning, like the face
of the moon on the night
of my eighteenth birthday).

My breath
resigns to static,
dances in slow decrescendos--
sputters its way
towards nothingness,
slipping rapidly from
my consciousness until
I no longer hold
any recollection of the music
(or the poetry).
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!

jadefbartlett.wixsite.com/tickledpurple

(P.S. Use a computer to ensure an optimal reading experience)
Avaleen Aug 2017
Let’s waste our youth on these mindless games
On these pixelated screens
Warped from reality
All. Of. Us.
Let’s pretend our world doesn’t exist
And when it burns to the ground
We’ll be left standing in the ashes wondering what went wrong
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