I plumped myself down in a corner
Sat there for what it seemed like forever
My expressions an inscrutable mixture

Tormented in a blazing invisible fire
My whimpers and groans leaped
higher and higher

My misery and distress outpoured
and my pain screamed and roared

Scared to utter a word or speak
I only managed a shriek and a squeak

On this October bluey night
I  simply wished to disappear from sight

A monster lives inside the dark bottomless pit that I have in my chest.
It feeds off of my emotions, it feeds on everything that keeps me sane.
At nights, I feel it’s hands tightly gripping around my throat.
I don’t see its face but I feel it’s evil smirk as it watches me gasp and struggle for air.
Tears run down my eyes and I scream for help. But my cries are lost like echoes bouncing in between the valleys of two mountains.
It crushes me right to my bone; until I give up and wait for it to end my misery.
But just when I close my eyes to embrace death like a dear old friend, I feel the air rushing into my shrunken lungs
And I know that it won’t let me go easy. I know, it enjoys watching me suffer.
And I’m now stuck in this loop of suffering that seems to have no end.
So I wake up every morning and cover my scars with masks that are deemed “normal” and are acceptable to the world.
I smile and laugh while the monster crushes my lungs to death every day.
I know that only one of us can survive this fight.
It’ll end with the death of the monster or with the death of me one day.
Hi. I am sorry if you find the piece disturbing. If you are fighting anxiety, self-doubt, or if you can't seem to figure out your thoughts, please seek help.

Your mental well-being should be your only priority.

My dog-soul forgets to feed
and starves black,
paces circles for a bed
and with dead weight,
settles

thought and action,
usually smitten with intricacies,
are quietly smothered to nothing

a flat purgatory
scored with white noise, overcast
rendered in a pauper’s palette
on a canvas with no edge

ticks remain untocked
until at some distance
a mechanism is rewound
and a leash jangled
for an ear to lazily lift again

It's ok to worry about yourself,
It's ok to ask for help,
It's ok to need a hand,
It's ok to talk,
It's ok to not be ok!

By; Nida Mahmoed

it presses
hard against
chest
squeezing
heart
and
the breath
from lungs
sending
brain spinning
clawing
at the ropes
on the suspension bridge
walked everyday
swaying above
fall

@journeyofdays

Why is it that most of us men baulk
At the idea of having to talk
About issues we find troubling
Even when we know we’re not coping?
Why to men does it make much more sense
To say nothing, suffer in silence?
To shut out all those who might just care?
To refuse all the supports out there?
Why do we find it so hard to speak?
Do we feel reaching out makes us weak?
Do we think men must always be strong?
Maybe that’s where we are going wrong!
What a pity, what an awful shame
That our feelings we fear so to name,
That we can’t discuss our darkest fears,
That we are afraid of our own tears.
Oh when will the penny ever drop,
That this way of thinking has to stop?
For it shows great strength, courage indeed,
To ask for help in your hour of need.