#phycological
I'm going to cut your supply
I'm going to starve that destructive fire from oxygen
The one which burns within you
That desire to hurt
I'm going to sweep your breadcrumbs from my doorstep
Take back your sullen energy
You who delight in sowing destruction
Look into the mirror of your empty eyes and see what's inside your toxic well
Your jealous empty heart contains nothing but deceit and destruction
Your blatant lack of empathy has unveiled your deepest secret
You have showed the world exactly who you are ... and finally we believe you
No more alibis for you
And once a serpent's head has been cut off
It will rage out of control ... but only for so long
Before it is no more
Like one who has been struck with madness
Like an addict without a drug
I am no longer your supply
I will save my empathy for those who deserve it
And I forgive myself for unknowingly enabling you by buying into your games
But most of all ... I'll be good to myself
Aug 10, 2021
Aug 10, 2021 at 4:04 PM UTC
When trauma feels like home
It can be a lonely place
Isolation from family, from everything but the truth
It's a total disgrace.
We know inside, it's not healthy
there is no comfort
it's not bringing peace.
Oh but familiarity
seems like clarity
I fear this delusion
will continue
until Im certainly deceased.
Dec 19, 2023
Dec 19, 2023 at 5:46 PM UTC
my strength is not physical my strength is rare you could walk by any day and never see it my strength shows when requirements are met the cost of my strength is the ever devouring stress my strength shows in struggles to aid those that i can strength of mind to solve the issue at hand strength of sight to show a different perspective in life see what others see expand your mind and your soul to understand each other in a new way one much closer than technology can get us by simply understanding this is not easy this strength can cause you to feel old wounds once though closed but when you can come as close to truly understanding someone as possible sometimes its worth it
Oct 7, 2015
Oct 7, 2015 at 12:25 AM UTC
She wakes up at 3:17 every morning.
The hallway lights flicker on, the cockroaches crawl back to their spots.
Floors creak, glass shatters, and the scares are unleashed when she starts to trot.
In the distance, she listens for something there, or maybe not.
Creating a flickering mess, she’ll leave everything to rot
Continuing to explore, she stumbles on a heater, noting it's red-hot.
Why? She doesn’t know. How? She doesn’t know. Where? She doesn’t know.
Beneath the floors, a creeping plot.
There is a dragging sound, perhaps a rusted knot.
Dangerous beings hiding below, their faces all distraught.
She breathes heavily and groans as the shadows take her spot.
Something takes her, screams, fighting a battle she already fought.
Why? She doesn’t know. How? She doesn’t know. Where? She doesn’t know.
Maybe it was the medicines, the traumas, or the sudden drop
From the roof down to the floors, no way she could have been caught.
If only it were the help that she sought.
She searched for a meaning, but always forgot.
A lifetime in silence and twisted thought, it looks like time has stopped.
No joy, no light, and certainly no second shot.
It was she who gave herself to that final spot.
Why? She didn’t know. How? She didn’t know. Where? She didn’t know.
She woke up at 3:17 every morning.
Apr 28, 2025
Apr 28, 2025 at 8:17 PM UTC