Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Dark Fjord Nov 2016
tongue, a tool, that glows
me, your hands
reach the young to
give up your jams.
the rub of your road
Brian Hoffman Mar 26
The words can’t escape me
I’m bending and I’m breaking
I’m holding onto a thin line
Grasping onto the little sanity I have left
Death is always near
There are often times I wish I wasn’t here
Dreams and reality seem to fade
I don’t know what’s real anymore it feels like I’m never awake
Can this all be a dream for goodness sake
Depression swoops in and out of my life and drains me
Anxiety knows exactly how to take me
Deep into this pit of doubt and despair
Wishing sometimes I had an angel to just take me there
See the light on the end of the tunnel that I hold onto so near
This isn’t a poem about suicide so no worries there now, dear
It’s more about how the days used to blossom and now about how I’m feeling numb inside with no one left to care
I mean truly what’s the point in life?
Sick of hearing everything works out right
My bipolar mind can’t make it out tonight
Dowsing myself in pills and whiskey
Hoping for a moment these feelings of guilt slip me
It’s hard when no one truly understands, just hoping one day someone will truly comprehend
I started smoking again to help with the anxiety that haunts my thoughts
But sadly nicotine might be what ends up killing me and I’ll be the one to haunt
Breath a breathe deeply into my lungs corroding my insides
I rather feel the pain from smoking than feeling nothing, but numb inside
**** my bipolar state of mind
Mood swings raging from highs to lows
I can’t chase these demons they sure know how to drown me until I have little room for growth
I’m not asking for pity, but just for someone to hold me for a second or two
I apologize my skies are grey not blue
Tell me it’s okay
That I’ll be okay
I keep reminding myself that I’m not my illness and yet it still taunts me
But how can one truly be themselves when their days are often clouded?
Where is my mind? I’m mentally, emotionally and physically drained
Often jaded
Happiness turns to sadness, sadness turns to anger
I feel bitter
Tired of watching as my life splinters
Here I am left alone hoping the ends near
I miss living my own life. Take me back to the days where happiness and better times didn’t tend to fade away. Tired of feeling drained.
Jordan Bowdren Oct 2018
When the sun flees from the war zone the moon shall illuminate our scars, and help us remind each other that indeed we do glow.

In a field on a sloped hill I thought about my end.
Decades from now this field will bend to bulldozers.
How we suppress the fields freedom for more doors with shallow locks.
More windows with tints so heavy we can barely see the sun.
Publicly dowsing for a purpose.
Amidst my fear, in the middle of my crises. I saw something past the stars.                            And I thought of you
I could see something within the gaps, a bright glow in the nebulas where these stars are born
I bought a telescope and every night after I’d see it.
Millions upon millions of miles away from me. Nothing like I’d ever see
I would cry seeing something this incredible.
Seeing something emblematic of perfection, seeing something so hidden yet so present.
Instead of the hill stands a slide so I rest on the *****
surrounded by families seeking homes their houses full though
I need no microscope to see it now. I know of it’s exact location even as the seasons pass us
I brought that photo of you this time.
You’re gone now but I didn’t cry when I saw your eyes again
Not this time.

— The End —