#inflicted
it's happening again
i don't believe it ever stopped
i can feel it under my skin
pushing and pulling until it's caught
on the edge of my fingertips
a song that i just cannot forgive
oh it's happening again
i have to pretend
i can see past the end
of pages you put to rest when
suddenly in my chest
this violent confidence
happening again
this baseless intrusion
a comical clue of
everything i ever diluted
in place of feeling
i could not dream it
a child leaving
the world she still believes in
it's happening again
a dream already dreamt
a woman not healing
from the wounds she made for herself
Oct 23, 2025
Oct 23, 2025 at 2:54 PM UTC
well aren't you the gallowgas ?
you cram the funeral into fun
hiding in a private room suckling at your sad self
whilst secretly hoping to be found lonely
depressions' muppet
***** like confession
and hungry like the wound
Dec 16, 2024
Dec 16, 2024 at 10:13 PM UTC
In the hour
between sheep and wolf
I wait
with your words
burned
in my skin
and my soul
longing
for more
Aug 15, 2019
Aug 15, 2019 at 12:18 PM UTC
My hand trembles
at the sight I see before me.
My face damaged
from the expectations of society.
My body bruised and scarred
from every ounce of derision inflicted upon me.
Not only is it a corruption of appearance,
but a corruption of the soul.
Apr 11, 2019
Apr 11, 2019 at 7:58 PM UTC
Isn't it funny how his blood smells like his blade.
It must be the metal, quantum level the same.
Every possibility in time lead to this line.
A faceless man writing this rhyme.
In a world so messed up he thinks it's his fault.
Turning to drugs, he lost all his hope.
And now sits alone worrying how to cope.
Can't stop smoking dope.
He never visioned he'd be happy,
And it shows.
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 1:46 PM UTC
Welcome to the execution of my mind
Let's open it up and see what we find
Hand me a light it's so very dark inside
The agony seems to be amplified
In here it's so very far from bliss
The demons are starting to hiss
Watch out the blackness is starting to seep out
The sorrow is starting to pour and spout
We must hurry now or we will become infected
Buy what has been inflicted
Killing this poisonous mind we must
To save all of us
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 8:21 AM UTC
"She is a crybaby.
Downpouring in her flesh and glory.
Self inflicted in her catastrophes."
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 5:35 AM UTC
I don't believe you.
I don't subscribe to your thoughts
and the words that trickle out
of your head, to fall ******
on the pavement and disappear
down the gutter when
the rain comes.
I hope the rain comes soon.
A raging, rampant monsoon
to flood me dry and clean away
the raw, red finger-prints your diction
imprinted, a blood-red necklace ringing my throat.
I don't care for your intonation.
You, heedless of the power
of speeches simple sounds that decimate
veins and rupture explosive, ebony vessels,
setting me adrift on Moses' sea.
But, despite all, I reply in kind.
And
careless words leave me;
cutting you open.
Jul 6, 2015
Jul 6, 2015 at 8:05 AM UTC
There's a new kid in school.
A year later
I meet him,
He hasn't any friends,
The students avoid him.
"Why do they avoid you?" I ask.
"I'm different." That said,
he pulls up his sleeves,
tiny scars across his arms.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 5:12 AM UTC
My scars remind me of many things…
Some I want to remember and others I want to forget.
I am pure to the truth but I swell in regret.
Shame, pain, triumph, strength… scars represent.
There are no badges to wear;
I have no pride to hide.
I am not a product of the stories;
I refuse to be a prisoner of my descents.
The past is often forgotten...
Memories distort beyond recognition.
Scars will fade, darken, stretch and shrink.
But the deep ones stay; I still can’t forget.
Emotions dissipate... or so I thought.
But now I believe they simply hide
beneath layers of damaged skin...
keeping those scars painfully alive.
It isn’t protection; it isn’t healing.
No badge I’ll wear; no pride I’ll find.
Yes, these scars are mine…
But I am not my scars! And my scars are not yours.
To some, I am marked for life;
I cannot control their stereotypes.
I **** them and their forced opinions!
They thrive on my scars; they try to create new wounds.
Sometimes, I let you see my scars… but I am far from naïve.
I know I am giving you a temptation and a tool.
Don’t try to own me… you are a fool to think you know me.
The why, when, and how is my personal mystery.
I won’t let you look beyond the fragments;
Deep below the layered scars hides my truth.
I will not allow you entry; I am still afraid.
Self-inflicted wounds are far more acceptable.
I do not wish for more scars…
to add to my repertoire.
I do not wish for more adversaries…
to shove me back into the ground.
My past is mine and mine alone; it remains a part of me.
But despite the spite I feel…
My past is not my present; my past is not my future.
And it certainly is NOT any of your business.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 9:29 AM UTC
When living with addiction, you focus your time and effort on your next fix. I wish that this was fiction, but its a sickness that your stricken with.
This habits self inflicted, behind your smile your suffering. You hate your life and feel numb inside, from the shame you bare as punishment.
Why do you entertain the thought of suicide, for the position you put your self in. When your depression stems from low self worth, yet your still injecting hopelessness.
Stop looking for a permanent solution, to a temporary problem. Is your life so bad that the only feeling you know is pain, or is it guilt from the thrill you get, as you search, for the perfect vain.
You say you've finally had enough, your fed up and its time for change. But its a vicious cycle with mental strain, because tomorrow came and remained the same.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 2:46 AM UTC