#violate
My body jitters like a cage full of trapped sparrows. My bones vibrate with a thin metallic ringing, as if someone struck my skeleton like a bell and forgot to stop the echo. My heart is not just beating, it is everywhere, ricocheting through my wrists, my knees, my teeth, a frantic percussion stitched into marrow. I do not know what happened. One moment the world was steady glass, the next it warped like heat above asphalt. I zoned out and when I came back the room had grown strange, tilted slightly, like gravity had been tampered with.
It has been hours. The clock crawls, stubborn and slow, but my body refuses to settle. The air feels electric, prickling against my skin like invisible static. I lie in the dark with my eyes open, watching the ceiling ripple into unfamiliar shapes. Sleep stands somewhere distant and unreachable, a pale animal at the edge of a frozen lake, watching but never approaching.
It is three in the morning and the night feels enormous. My nerves spark like frayed wires. Frustration burns under my ribs, a hot coal that refuses to dim. Anger coils through my chest like a storm serpent searching for a place to strike. Confusion spreads through my mind like spilled ink, blotting everything into strange, indistinct shapes.
My thoughts race in circles, frantic comets trapped in orbit. I want to scream. I want to tear the silence open and let something out of me, something loud and violent and bright. My body feels like it might burst into a thousand startled birds.
But nothing happens.
The room stays quiet. The night stays still.
And I sit here trembling, a vessel filled with too much thunder.
Mar 7
Mar 7, 2026 at 3:32 AM UTC
Abuse is a vicious cycle
that defiles and murders love.
It is a game
that only breeds hatred.
It uses shame
as a weapon.
In this vicious cycle; hearts no longer beat,
they get replaced by fists.
In this vicious cycle;
the tattoos that were meant for affection
become nothing but scars on the wrists
of those who were once lovers.
It awakens a bloodlust and makes monsters
out of strong people.
No, not monsters. It makes recidivists
out of strong people.
The strong abusing the weak,
a norm that continues to contribute to the cycle of abuse
It is a cycle that forces us to make love
to our doubts.
It keeps on violating us until our self-doubts
have consumed us
and
we've evolved to hate ourselves.
Jul 24, 2020
Jul 24, 2020 at 11:24 AM UTC
My loneliness is killing me
And like Britney sang; I still believe
But I lose my mind when I’m with you
And think clearly without you
But I’m not waiting for a sign
Because I still have bruises from when you hit me... baby one more time
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 2:04 PM UTC
I told myself not to fall back into you're arms
that you were out to get me
even though you were the only person I had
I told myself that your words were lies
that you were just lying to me
I told myself not to get to comfortable
because it will all be gone soon
I told myself not to fall in love with you
because you are sick and insane
But I guess I loved it like the cigarettes I smoke
you were my drug
that kept me so high
for so long.
Aug 22, 2015
Aug 22, 2015 at 7:07 PM UTC