#tw
How unfortunate
The bird flies yet sees no joy
Falls down, falling down
One hundred meters
Its wings remain by its sides
Goes down, going down
Seventy meters
The clouds and the ground too far
Glides down, gliding down
Just fifty meters
Grass isn’t any greener
Zings down, zinging down
Only twenty left
Eyes closed and body waiting
Comes down, coming down
Ten meters to go
Each blade of grass countable
Soars down, soaring down
Only ten seconds
Now only seven seconds
Crash down, crashing down
Five, four, three, two, one
The bird colors the ground red
Nothing but silence
3d ago
May 31, 2026 at 5:10 AM UTC
i remember spinning
spinning around,
not caring if my head hit the tile walls
not caring if the janitors would have to clean up blood
or even brain matter
i was spinning that fast
now here i am
remembering the sirens and the screaming
and the widening of eyes
as i struggled to cope
Apr 30
Apr 30, 2026 at 9:05 PM UTC
I said no.
Yet I have the consequences
you get off free
I have severe anxiety
you lost your reputation
I lost all trust in men
you felt amazing for what you did
almost 4 years later and I still have flashbacks
4 years and I still have panic attacks
the trust will never fully be there for any man
neither will the safe feeling you ruined
its so unfair
Im the one who said no
I didn't want it
yet I'm the one stuck
stuck with the consequences
stuck with this disgusting feeling that never goes away no matter how hard I scrub
Apr 13
Apr 13, 2026 at 10:10 PM UTC
There is a night in my life
that refuses to stay buried.
I did not invite it back.
I do not call its name.
Yet it returns
the way the ocean returns to a wound in the land---
patient, relentless,
dragging the same salt across the same broken edge.
I tell myself I am only remembering.
But remembering is too gentle a word
for the way my mind
paces the perimeter of that hour
like a prisoner
measuring the walls of a cell
that technically no longer exists.
There was pain there.
Not the tidy pain
people write into stories
so it can bloom into meaning later.
This was the kind that fills the lungs with iron,
the kind that makes the air feel
like something borrowed
that the world wants back.
Thoughts colliding.
Breath unraveling.
The heart arguing with itself
in a language made entirely of noise.
I remember the weight of it---
how every second dragged behind it
a long black train of seconds
that refused to end.
The mind becomes a courtroom
in moments like that.
One voice listing evidence
of every fracture,
every absence,
every reason the world had already lost you.
Another voice,
hoarse, quiet, stubborn---
refusing to leave the witness stand.
And between them
the terrible silence
where the verdict should have been.
But then---something impossible happened.
Not hope.
Hope is bright and loud and declarative.
What arrived was smaller than that.
A hush.
A strange, fragile clearing in the storm
as if the universe had paused mid-breath
and forgotten to exhale.
For a moment
the pain loosened its fingers.
The world did not feel good---only still.
Still enough
that I could hear something beneath the chaos.
Still enough
that the mind stepped out of its own burning house
and stood barefoot in the quiet street.
It lasted no longer
than a heartbeat deciding
whether to continue.
But in that instant
there was a peace so thin
and so pure
it felt like the edge of another world.
And then it was gone.
The storm returned.
The arguments resumed.
The weight reclaimed its throne.
But that moment,
that impossible, trembling quiet
never left me.
Now my memory keeps circling it
like a bird that cannot decide
whether the light below
is dawn
or fire.
Because the pain of that night
was vast.
A continent of it.
But that brief silence
was something else entirely.
A door
that opened only an inch
before the wind slammed it shut.
And I hate the truth that follows me:
that part of my soul
would walk through a thousand storms
just to stand again
in that single second of quiet.
So I return to the shoreline of that hour
again
and again
and again---
where the waves of memory
keep arguing with themselves.
Was that night
a place I escaped?
Or a place where,
for one trembling moment,
I almost understood
what peace felt like.
The tide never answers.
It only keeps arriving.
Apr 5
Apr 5, 2026 at 5:36 PM UTC
No matter how hard I try, the monsters won't go away. While strangers just see the smile, and my friends see the pain, I see the ghost of 2 monsters I can never name, 2 monsters that gave me life, 2 monsters that ruined mine, 2 monsters that took the sky away, 2 monsters that still haunt me to this day. My friends tell me that the monsters are distant memories, distant nightmares that can't hurt me, but the monsters and the whispers just keep spreading through my brain, and the dark thoughts that tell me I'm the monsters I came from that I deserve to disappear keep spreading like a **** I feel like I'm drowning, hyper aware of everything, every look, every change in expression, the second I walk into a room. Do they see the monsters too? Or do they see the smile even tho they are pushing me so far past my breaking point? I'm so sick of this disguise, sick of smiling no matter how much I wanna break down, why do I smile? Why do I care if crying is overdramatic? They just told me they didn't mean it when they told me to go **** myself, they didn't mean it when they called me fat or ugly, or when they told me that I'll never see the sky again but that they know where it is, or when they told me I am the monsters I see in the mirror, like that's not triggering. All I can see is the darkness it's spreading. I feel like I'm drowning. All I wanna do is take the mirror and smash it, know it won't fix it, but I'm done pretending I'm fine when I'm not. I feel like I'm drowning. The monsters that made me are gone, but they took the most precious thing that I had known. I can't help but blame myself. I was supposed to protect it, but failed. Am I becoming the monster inside the mirror, the monsters that made me, the monsters that I keep trying to escape? all of these things that make me dangerous. I wanna scream, I wanna disappear, I wanna take my final stand and jump off the cliff, which is so high. I just wanna see the moon and the sky. I wanna be happy. I'm so sick and tired of being tired; my whole body hurts, and the monsters don't get the message. I've tried everything. I try starving them and carving them out with blades so sharp they could cut the sky itself, but all that happens is I start bleeding out.
Mar 26
Mar 26, 2026 at 2:16 PM UTC
Why do I always make it about me,
I try to relate but they would disagree,
I don’t take my own advice why should they,
I try so hard to help yet I always pay,
I can’t get upset about anything because that’s attention seeking,
But what am I to do when my castle towers are creaking,
Should I hide it opposite to what I’ve been told,
Should I burn my curtains and rugs of white and gold,
All my carefully crafted furniture looking more like ghosts day by day,
I’m seconds away from smashing each one, throwing them away,
If there’s one true way to make this castle a home,
I must have lost it to an ancient tome,
It seems my walls of brick and stone,
Will be all I’ll ever know,
If only I could live in a house,
Bustling with people, not only a mouse,
Is there a way to get out of this alive,
Or should I step to the castles ledge and take a dive?
Mar 15
Mar 15, 2026 at 11:11 AM UTC
Hey.
I wish I were dead.
That's about all I can say.
I'm not so romantic to say I'd really rather run away into the woods--disappear on a bed of dry pine needles and sap and crawling crimling isopods,
catch meals with my bare hands,
bore tubers with my incisors,
dig in dark dirt,
make friends with the local coyote.
Mmm, nah.
I'd really like to
just be
dead.
The dead have the best stories.
The dead have the best sleep.
The dead have the best memories.
The dead have the best keep.
I want to eat
I want to drink
I want to stay where I am.
I want to make my dog happy
and I want to rhyme.
Drive your kitchen knife into the soft spot
below my jaw.
Find a literal ******* sword and plunge it deep into
my heart.
But don't stop it all at once.
Look at me,
see me,
know me,
have me,
while my blood stains your tennis shoes
and clogs your nostrils with
copper, iron.
I wish I were dead.
I want to die.
And I want to be there
to see what it's like.
Feb 27
Feb 27, 2026 at 9:31 PM UTC
When the bed makes you sore
Sleep causes you pain
Lying down makes you ache
Tears break your heart
Your thoughts **** your vibe
Your emotions drain your energy
Every act becomes a task
Walking becomes a conference call
Eating is like a funeral procession
Dressing gets tougher everyday
Showers feel like torture
Your mind acts and sounds like a riot
No peace , no silence
Am tired and fed up
No more energy left
Let it end …..
Feb 23
Feb 23, 2026 at 1:24 PM UTC
TW; childhood medical trauma/abuse
it was blue,
the upright table with straps
was that scratchy leather, blue
Blue sky window to my right
drugged up so I couldn't fight
red hot fire poker in my mouth,
beautifully capped teeth
but the branded red spot was still there
and it had stung my mouth for weeks
Feb 1
Feb 1, 2026 at 2:34 AM UTC
Isn't lighting a cigarette
better than
lighting my skin?
Dec 7, 2025
Dec 7, 2025 at 11:32 AM UTC
Why shouldn’t I
hurt myself?
What is one drop
to an ocean
already overflowing?
Dec 4, 2025
Dec 4, 2025 at 12:06 AM UTC
Unbearable mental pain—
try as I might,
it won’t let me be.
The only way out
is to burn it clean
from the inside.
Nov 19, 2025
Nov 19, 2025 at 4:25 AM UTC
she stands there looking worried yet disappointed
holding the small blade in between her slim fingers i look away trying not to cry and i consciously touch my wrist
‘Let me see’ she says
i shake my head quickly
‘I just want to help you’
but i know that
i’ve known that
i just know she won’t be able to help
she won’t understand my mind like i do
she’ll think im gone
she will think that im unwell
the storm just has to past
it will pass on it’s own
all will be okay after
but i tell myself that every time
and it never gets better
my head is a broken vase that doesn’t have it’s glue
i need to fix my vase before my family finds it and yells at me
later that night we talk about it more and i let her see
my peach paper covered in red ink
my poor stained peach paper
she gasps a bit then gets up grabbing a medkit
i start to let out what i’ve been feeling
thinking
i show her my vase
and she promises to help me fix it
i sob in relief and she cradles me to her chest
as if i was her baby again
- broken vase
Nov 17, 2025
Nov 17, 2025 at 10:50 AM UTC
the voice is back
it wont go away
not until I give in
they want me to grab my sharpened pencil
find a good spot
and scribble into the peach paper
scribble harsh enough
or they wont be satisfied
then once they are satisfied
they will stop
they'll go quiet
then I will be filled with regret
I will hide my tainted pencil
then take a shower
cleaning the harshly done scribbles
then hide my paper from anyone and everyone
my parents will wonder
'Why are you wearing a sweater? It's over 90 degrees!'
I'll act surprised and say that im really cold
they wont notice how my eyes dart to the place
where I scribbled my peach paper
they wont notice how I tug my sleeves down quickly when I reach for a salad bowl
they will never be able to notice my damaged peach paper
if they do
they will never understand
they will call me selfish
they will think i want attention
they will never understand the voice i hear
beckoning for me
to scribble my
poor
poor
peach paper
Nov 13, 2025
Nov 13, 2025 at 10:27 AM UTC
i wake and reach for you
but your not there
just a cold pillow
i forgot that you left
so i grab the pillow
starting to cry into it
your scent barely there
i cry until i fall asleep
i wake up again and finally
build the courage to get up
and finally shower
but as i wash
i start to cry again
reliving through our good moments
i remember it like it was yesterday
when we would shower after intimacy
when we would help each other wash
when we would laugh when we saw the lingering marks
when we would have intimacy again..
i finally finish crying
dry off
and build enough courage to wash away..
everything
i throw away photos
i wipe the videos and photos from my phone
i get rid of your hoodies
i start to wash my bedding except for that ****** pillow
i have to move on
or i'll never learn
how to heal
Nov 13, 2025
Nov 13, 2025 at 10:08 AM UTC
ive been planning
pills lined up
blades sharpened
rope ready
take a step
closer and closer
to the edge
fall and hit the pavement
pills pills pills
i hate taking pills
what an awful way to go
suffocating on drugs
maybe
draw a nice warm bath
wear my favourite clothes
cut deep and breathe out
red into the water
i hope i die
coma or car crash
i hope i die
so i dont have to do it myself
Oct 2, 2025
Oct 2, 2025 at 9:12 AM UTC
If silence could echo, it would’ve been you;
never much one to talk.
I’d be the last one for you to go to
but I would’ve listened as we sat or took a walk.
You pose as granite,
another lonely planet
Orbiting all that glows, but ****** in a void.
So sure that nobody knows, but slipping out your signs like Freud.
Circling the world as a satellite, but you don’t want to man it.
No one should ever lose their sight,
it’s so easy to lose a lonely planet.
I’ve been thinking of what you’d know
and the places you wanted to go
and all of the life that you’d grow,
we already lost Pluto.
It’s not like we planned it,
another lonely planet.
Spinning out of control, praying for gravity,
you discovered a black hole no one else could see.
With edges that reach such height,
and no one to sand it.
No one should ever lose their sight,
it’s so easy to lose a lonely planet.
No returning, fuel burning, I think we’ve lost a piston.
You’re missing seasons, you’ve got your reasons so please list them;
why you want to leave our solar system.
Maybe you’re pushed but there’s still a pull
you may lack the will to be sustainable.
I wish your oxygen levels would stay at full.
You don’t need to live in a lull.
Orbiting all that glows, but ****** in a void.
You were right; nobody knows, why you chose to stay forever a boy.
Circling the world as a satellite, but you don’t want to man it.
I can’t blame you for losing the fight
but we blame ourselves for losing a lonely planet.
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 3:46 PM UTC
Hold it against the skin
Let it burn
Scar the outside
to match the inside
Aug 16, 2025
Aug 16, 2025 at 4:07 AM UTC
War inside my head
Should I or should I not?
Hand inches towards it
My brain eggs on
I somehow stop myself this time
But will be I able to next time?
Aug 16, 2025
Aug 16, 2025 at 4:03 AM UTC
Let the pen flow
breaking the skin
Ink and blood mix
Stopping the pounding
of my head and heart
Oh, sweet sense of relief!
Jul 10, 2025
Jul 10, 2025 at 2:15 AM UTC
theres a hum beneath my skin
a pressure in my arm
where pain once breathed
and healed like snow
i try to stay clean
to hold the ache without letting it spill
but sorrow gathers like a wave
and crashes in the pit of my heart
i miss the comfort
of instant release—
i just wish my favorite color
wasn’t a wound
Jun 23, 2025
Jun 23, 2025 at 6:33 AM UTC
TW: DV
When I was younger I used to try to decipher why my father made me feel like such an outsider, he was his happiest with me as an outlier separated by a barbed wire divider. He'd always say that I'm just a good liar, I say "no, I'm not" I am my father's least favorite daughter.
It was never a question if his blood flowed through my veins, he knew I was his, but still his disdain for me remained. He struggled to even find the desire to pick out my name. my mother says "during that time he felt a lot of shame and it was easier for him to hand you all the blame" but what baby has the strength to carry a man's shame with their ten tiny fingers and small frame? I wasn't even born yet and I was already losing at his game.
I mourn for the life I could've lived one where I viewed the man who gave me life, as a gift. I mourn for the way I as a child had a perpetually clenched fist. I mourn for the way he forced us to take his teachings like he was a revered pastor, shouting from a pulpit...
I mourn for the little boy he once was and how he couldn't help but tap on things and fidget, and how at nine he didn't know how to tell the teacher in English "I need my lunch ticket."
He couldn't stand how I began to defy and resist, a fire inside me he spent my whole life trying to keep from being lit. He didn't understand how at fourteen I already knew he'd never be a loving enough father for me to want to submit, the way a daughter should want to in a family that's tight knit.
He'd call me stupid and a coward but I realize now it's because he saw the strength and power that cascaded out of me like a gardenia tree blooming with flowers. The dominion he claimed over my life, it wasn't mine- it was "ours"- was immeasurable, reminding me I wasn't free, over and over again for hours.
He treated me like a creature that felt no pain
one that wasn't able to think for herself and didn't have a brain
he viewed me as an enemy that he needed to slay
I used to pray that maybe i'd live long enough to one day make my escape
Fifteen years old with three days worth of clothes shoved into a bag in the middle of a night in August, I fled
From all the horrors of this house and my childhood bed
From all the nights and mornings I was left unfed
From all the times he'd overpower me rather than being my father instead
There was a time when I saw him again
I was having breakfast as vile words were spoken to my mother so "don't talk to her like that" was said
he told me I wasn't brave enough to stand up and before a second thought could pass through my head
I rose to my feet to cross swords with my father, i don't even remember what I was eating, but I think it was toasted bread
I fearlessly looked into the eyes of this man and remembered how many times I had bled
and how even though that blood was scarlet, this time I was seeing bright red
"i'll just call the officials." startled he said
and he trembled as he pulled out his phone, like he had seen someone come back from the dead.
Years have passed and tears have fallen
and floated along in the wind with all the seeds and all the pollen
and planted were those seeds and with my tears were they watered
and I see now that my favorite person will always be
my father's least favorite daughter
Jun 18, 2025
Jun 18, 2025 at 7:44 PM UTC
like a fire on a cold winters day
the warm blood seeps
from my leg
from my arm
reminding me
i am human
i am alive
the warmth is comfort
when all is cold
the blood is my own
Jun 9, 2025
Jun 9, 2025 at 5:50 PM UTC
Suicide looks prettier at night
it convinces you that
The street lights
Will die
With you
Whispers in your ear
All the things you beg
To not hear
It reminds you of the things
You can never forget
Drills it into your skull
Until it's all that's left
It ties you up
Keeps you alone
Cuts off your fingers
And smashes your phone
It leaves you to sit by yourself
in the dark
To watch the stars
Cry themselves to sleep
It puts on some makeup to cover its tears
And speaks with you
about your fears
You tell it everything
How could you not?
It's so pretty and calm
the night sets the scene:
a romantic night
A knife on the table
And pills in the drink
A noose acts as our light
As we chat about things
You share your deepest secrets
And it listens, never talks
Let's you talk until your voice is lost
at the end of the night
It leaves with a kiss
But your still tied up
And you start to miss
The company
Of suicide
Jun 3, 2025
Jun 3, 2025 at 5:05 PM UTC