Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Lydia Apr 2017
"Tonight is the last pill,"
I said to myself for the nineteenth night in a row
Please comment :)
Chaise Jun 2015
I sit in this hospital
For someone else that isn't me
Instead, for someone finally trying to be
The person that's underneath all of those bottles

We thought you'd scream and fight
Instead it was almost like we had reached
Your destination of the beach

As we pulled in you freaked
A little about the record
And what they would think of you
You, black pants and no shoes

Really, though -
Who could not respect
A young man standing tough
In the waiting room of an emergency room
Finally accepting help
Victoria Garcia May 2015
It's been 1 month
and it pains me to breathe
and I'm trying to act like I'm okay
but I can't help but feel
all of my emotions at once
I don't know how I'll make it
without you by my side
I took a chance with you
what was I expecting
while bargaining with the devil?

It's been 2 months
it's like learning to walk all over again I'm still shaky
but I can stand on my own
I have a fear of falling and getting hurt but I do it anyway
because the world doesn't stop
for anyone
and I need to get a move on.

3 months have passed
and I have to pretend
that I don't notice that you're happier than you were with me.
You finally cut your hair
like I begged you to
and stopped biting your nails
I've taken up the occasional cigarette
to rid the taste of you on my lips.
It's nice to have something
inbetween my teeth than your tongue and feeling the stress leave faster
than you did.  

It's been 4 months
and I wake up
shaking and screaming your name until the echo soothes me
My dreams are haunted by you
and I can't escape you in my reality. I've dyed my hair
and changed mindset.
I'm not the naive ***** I was before.  
I don't let people walk over me
and tear me to shreds.

Half a year has gone by
and I'm still searching for something
to fill this void
I miss you terribly
and there's not enough drugs
in the world to give me the high
you gave me when we kissed
I saw someone who looked like you the other day and my heart froze
My initial reaction was to hide
I couldn't stand the thought
of you seeing me
and the look of disappointment
in your eyes
I didn't want to
hear how great your life has been
without me.

Luckily it wasn't you.
Unfortunately it wasn't you.
Claire Mullins Nov 2014
The spaces between these six walls are cold and tight but your blue skin spits--
Marbles of sweat appear on the surface of your eyes, bags of amethyst, circles of mauve.

White hot amber muscle covets your pupils, no bigger than that pin they've spent eternity looking for in some haystack and I wonder if they will ever see me again.

Long quivering exhales draw attention to your shallow rising chest.
I can hear you choking on something, something as you lay among our mother’s silverware and a coiled leather snake, constricting, suffocating your pale forearm.

My eyelids slam shut, whose eyelashes like fingers clutching each other for dear life—desperately trying to spare me from what they believe I might see.

Usually your eyelids squint after being forced upward by your cheeks--forced upward by your cunning grin but they do not squint now.
Last month we hadn't spoken in a month but you held your hand out and asked me if I wanted the world as if it wasn't written all over my face.

I feed off of your charisma like I've never eaten before like I've never felt the sadness that accompanies forgiving you knowing it will only be for a month. I’m replacing your anguish with sugar pills—I consume by putting pills in your mouth, and I’m begging you to hold them down even if it takes both hands.

You can’t speak, but I can hear you—struggling to swallow all of the glass placed quietly between the walls of your throat—a new piece left everyday, by every day you said not today.
This is my first poem and I'm really nervous.
A failure to measure in self efficacy
the lion drags its mane
to sweep the floor so hopelessly
in an effort to hide its shame.
The quagmire consumes the wicked
but devours the righteous all the same
down in a hollow, sick, twisted
giving in to the weight of pain.
The gravity of this grief
plants us firmly in the grip of apathy
pray the despair be brief
delirious, at the hands of atrophy.
At the bottom of the well
is a gate unto immutable madness
endure this path through hell
and emerge from the infinite sadness.

Alone in what was won
Resist the call of a stepfather to son:
to my kingdom, come.

— The End —