#anhedonia
Lost in distant memories
Reliving the times in-between
Sun-bleached melancholy & broken dreams
Reverie in undertones
Disembodied echoes
Empty high school halls
—repetitive drumming—
Teenage games & rituals
Bleachers in sunset’s haze
—sun-bleached horizon line
Golden locks flow like amber waves
—peroxide-bleached highlights
Fading light begins to break
Floodlight soccer games
Victory—it slips away
Storylines left undone
Of teenage Americans
Raised in suburbia
All they know is anhedonia
Feb 8
Feb 8, 2026 at 4:47 PM UTC
I'll see you down the road
Wherever that may be
In this life or the next
May you find a better me
You said we'd be together
Forever in eternity
In a place of joy and love
Not this world of enmity
But I strayed into the darkness
The barren wilderness of my mind
A place where love cannot be found
To all the good things I was blind
Love faded inside me
I could not feel or give
That love that came so easy
When you really helped me live
Joy became a stranger
Love almost a foe
Misery was my bedfellow
I began to die, not grow
I saw you from a distance
With a smile upon your face
In my mind was envy
That you could live with grace
For you life seemed so easy
You took it in your stride
Appreciating what you had
While I could not abide
Trapped alone in darkness
I could not find a way
To the light that I so needed
To help me live each day
You were there before me
Hiding in plain sight
But I didn't think to ask you
To be my guiding light
But if I ever do break free
From depression's dark embrace
I hope that we can meet again
In a better time and place
Nov 19, 2025
Nov 19, 2025 at 11:28 PM UTC
I think Archie’s screams are to blame.
King Krule’s no longer keeping me afloat
Boy Harsher doesn’t hit the same
I’m fine to lose appetite and still grow fat
I’ve learned to lose drive, crash dive and dream to thrive
But Alex G no longer makes me wish to play,
When Blonde Redhead's on it doesn't feel like my birthday
I’ve grown used to stay in bed, bail on a friend
- the latter severely shames and I'm all to blame
A life without music, a new baseline of a diagnostic
If anyone's wondering - yes I'm still sick.
Oct 22, 2025
Oct 22, 2025 at 4:35 PM UTC
The flowers of Anhedonia grows upon me,
Its roots engulf my whole being.
Serendipity long lost, Only the remains of this wintercearig feeling inside this small yet feeble vessel.
I don't know what to do or what to say; maybe to fill up that satisfaction I crave.
Mind slowly turning insane,
I keep things to myself, and that's all that I can say.
All the florets blossom in the longing shade;
of darkness that might never fade,
Anhedonia.
Jan 26, 2021
Jan 26, 2021 at 8:21 PM UTC
Am I a MACHINE?
For I feel;
automatic
broken down
dull
There’s no
Repairs to be done
I am a Machine -
Full of bolts
And scrap
Driving me haywire
Until;
I don’t work anymore
Sep 8, 2020
Sep 8, 2020 at 9:07 AM UTC
In
Your
Absence,
Everything
Pleasurable,
Loses its taste..
Apr 11, 2020
Apr 11, 2020 at 5:47 AM UTC
The hurricane winds are a bore
When they’ve been pushing you around
For two-thirds of a century
There’s nothing surprising about what torsion can do:
I know, I know,
It’s real but it’s all in your head, both at once,
Your collarbone is at 227 degrees toward Polaris
And meanwhile your left hip is rotating in a
Hyperskewed dimension only plottable with
Imaginary numbers, which is a problem
For peristaltic functions dependent on
Newtonian mechanics – sigh, shiver, burp,
Keep your awareness don’t fall over
BORING.
You’ve been on orange alert since Ike.
Let’s run down the repertoire of available distractions.
Jokiness? Sometimes worked in small
Person-to-person settings (you see the current problem)
But amazingly hard to pull off in text;
Mentally mugging the innocent online?
Leaves a bad taste.
Obliterating lust? Seems to have annihilated itself
Except in pain-in-the-ass dreams, the actually-asleep kind.
Guitar, or similar toys? Only fun as long as you keep finding
Novelty – which turns into, you know, work.
Drowning your mind in other people’s stuff?
This is the scary part.
Sometimes, still, for a little while; but never for long;
Not the freshest, not the most age-old time-tested brilliance;
Metaphors fall apart – the plot devices cannot hold -
You blink twice and the wind’s whipped the page out of your grip
And twisted your neck down up inside your ******* again.
So blowblowblowblowblow, babybrainballoons,
And Crack Your Cheeks,
Coz the only shred of hope is that if we all keep
Caterwauling our pissant poetic brains out at maximum vocal volume
Preamped and reverbed by global satellite systems to some
Unpredictable transhuman force it might eventually
OutShout the drone of Earth’s idiotic entropy
Kuz krist I’m bored of standing up in the wind
Mar 27, 2020
Mar 27, 2020 at 2:02 PM UTC
Trying to jumpstart myself
To empty the emptiness inside me
Trying to jumpstart myself
My mind dismissing all that I hear and see
Trying to jumpstart myself
Feigning smiles and laughs and cheer
Trying to jumpstart myself
Though I'd much rather just not be here
Dec 1, 2019
Dec 1, 2019 at 8:48 PM UTC
So you tell yourself,
don't write about your sadness;
bottle it in
like the forgotten pills
in a medicine kit.
Bury yourself
underneath a bunch of blankets
and hope that the land mines inside you
stay hidden,
just as your scars stay hidden
beneath those bands.
Instead,
write the prettiest, emptiest,
make-believe poems —
nothing about the eclipse
constantly obscuring the sun.
Nothing about the random break downs
that no longer wait
for midnights and 3 ams.
Nothing about the aimless walks
and the piles of books
you can't read
because reading is exhausting
and everything is exhausting.
You tell yourself,
don't write about it, otherwise,
you'll be forced to trade places
with all kinds of sadness
you've secretly been hosting
all this time,
and they'll cut their way out
through the fresh stitches on your chest.
And you'll have to bleed
all over again,
and not just on your wrists,
but on your eyes
and on your legs
and your thighs,
down,
down,
dripping to these words.
So again, you tell yourself,
don't write about your sadness, darling —
don't write about it.
But then,
how do you stop writing about sadness
when you never run out of it
to write about?
Sep 13, 2019
Sep 13, 2019 at 12:30 AM UTC
There’s no more;
Pleasure
Joy
Reason
Liberty -
Sing me summertime blues,
Color me different hues -
Take my joy away -
Set the rain clouds at bay
Drain my time from me -
Allow rain to fall in melancholy,
Sink it all in drugs
Let my heartstrings flutter about -
Lost and forgotten
Fluttering free and misguided
Alone in the dark
Like little lightning bugs.
Sep 9, 2019
Sep 9, 2019 at 12:39 PM UTC
I used to be that girl who believed in staying close to the things and to the people who make you feel human — make you alive. But these days the book clutters look just like a patch of misplaced stars while the dusk crawled in my head, and the poems look better when they're crumpled or written in red inks and on my wrist, and all the songs just come and go. Today, I let all four of my cacti die. Today, my eyes took the form of the nimbus clouds, and my body reeked of petrichor; maybe it has returned to dust. Today, I felt too empty to even mind the emptiness. And today, I would've written a eulogy to that girl who used to believe that we should all stay close to the things and to the people that make you feel human and alive.
The thing is, sometimes we're not alive anymore.
Jul 30, 2019
Jul 30, 2019 at 7:09 AM UTC
there's a reason for all the midnight cigarette breaks in the fire escape while hoping my mom won't smell the smoke. there's a reason for every uneven haircut; products of sleeplessness or stagnation or something i no longer understand. there's a reason for the paperbags of dysphoria and cheap bourbons lying untouched beneath my bed, and for the days when my bed felt like home and home meant emptiness and emptiness was preferable to my favorite song or to the scent of the beach. there's a reason for letting go of all the obvious lifelines and deliberately sinking into this disarray of black holes. but you breathe marigolds and sunlight dipped in bottled petrichors
and tonight, i no longer know how to translate my storms into a weather you can understand.
Jul 26, 2019
Jul 26, 2019 at 8:06 AM UTC
I used to gaze at the clouds all day long
I used to love to dance in the rain
I used to love the sunshine on my skin
now I never go outside
I just watch as passion seeps from my life
I used to walk on eggshells for you
I never let them crack or make a sound
I used to stand on a pedestal with you
despite my fear of heights
but what did you ever sacrifice for me?
I'm not the same as I once was
the smiles that I wore
have all gone out of season and expired
but out of all the things that I have loved and lost
you are the one goodbye I don't regret
Keep your pedestal
I'm building myself a shrine
A person like me
Was meant to be worshipped
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 3:53 PM UTC
Anhedonia takes me under her wings,
With the softness of a feather she strikes against my forehead and takes out all the joy.
She smiles at me with crooked teeth and tells me it's alright to die.
Anhedonia forces her hands into my chest and rips my heart out so I can't feel the rhythm of my passion anymore
Then she puts me on her lap and starts to rock me back and forth, like I'm a little child. She tells me it's okay to feel the emptiness. She leans in and kisses me on the lips, ******* out the last bit of energy in my vessels and soul. She picks me up and gently lays my body down. She pushes her thin fingers on my eyelids to shut them as if she wants me to sleep. Yet she whispers nightmares in my head. Anhedonia took control of me, and I can't find a way out.
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 7:16 AM UTC
***** clouds are underneath
grass and pebbles floating deep
A scenery so majestic
crushed by comets to tiny bits
Mountain water tasted sweet
yet the thirst cannot be quenched
For their hunger for the care
cannot be easy to compel
Anhedonia.
Cannot feel.
Songs of puzzled mystery,
Anhedonia
If only pleasure was a name,
it be called by many names
By those who lost their fiery flame, often tangled in messy dreams
they lacked the warmth to give care then hope suddenly fade
The birds will pray for them to fight
The wolves will howl for their defeat
Anhedonia, cannot feel.
Sep 1, 2018
Sep 1, 2018 at 6:12 AM UTC
The room's misted, I can hear
voices I think; shrouded cries
and muffled screams. But the smog
consumes us all.
I hear my name in the distance,
disembodied and murky like they
try to reach me through their sick seances.
They all melt into one loud trill.
There's only moments left
but as I walk this invented distance,
I feel a pull; magnetic almost,
away from the oppressive subterranean smoke.
There! A light that shines, and
the ringing ever clearer now,
so loud and harsh like a sick child's
scream; perennial and pained.
The veil of mist billows out as
I step on the ledge; and the blackest
of skies invites me, along with the
winks of dying stars. The incessant
noises and chaos and distraction
evanesce, as the asphalt below
beckons; blinking lights and enticing winds
either predict or force my hand.
With one lapse in thought;
my foot slips and all there is
to think is calm. I let the stream
of air take me and consume me.
Dec 14, 2016
Dec 14, 2016 at 2:49 PM UTC
O, the dreams I have.
The whispers and promises
that skies give to us;
but all it can deliver
Is cold boring rain
Sep 23, 2016
Sep 23, 2016 at 1:41 AM UTC
I find solace in my solitude.
I tend to idealise my isolation.
Reaching the apex of my creative altitude.
I guess it's time for my medication...
The only truth I can ever know
is that of the thoughts within my mind.
And yet, it is my only true foe,
one I can never leave behind...
They say beauty comes from within.
If so, then where do anger, remorse and resentment reside?
Because I'm struggling to hear over the din;
it seems as though my beauty has no place to hide.
Is there enough space for all this emotion?
If I have a choice, I choose only one:
to get rid of all this commotion,
I have done what has had to be done.
Nov 12, 2015
Nov 12, 2015 at 1:34 PM UTC
We're all boxed into this room of tricks -
Held up and down by cyber bricks -
Where the walls are decorated with moving posters:
Each of them more animated than
you and me...
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 8:00 AM UTC
tears come down my face.
not a usual thing for a person like me,
born pained, and living numb.
all i want is to run from all that i am,
and all i ask is that will you come with me?
but my fear is that, you will say no. like
everyone else. no one ever stayed,
and
i got a feeling that I, myself,
want to leave this body of mine.
what you said is that we are the same,
dying inside, smiling outside.
no one will ever know the difference between us,
but i do, i really do.
i would give all my veins
and bleed for you,
but you wouldn't take a scratch for me.
the dream of mine to go away with you
will remian mine, and never shared with you.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 12:24 AM UTC