"hotlines" poems
Suicide- 1-800-273-8256
Bullying- 1-800-420-1479
Self Harm- 1-800-DONT-CUT
Teen Help- 1-877-332-7333
Domestic Violence- 1-800-799-7233
Rape/Sexual Assault- 1-800-656-4673
Lifeline- 1-800-784-8433
Grief Support- 1-650-321-3438
Depression- 1-630-482-9696
Drug/Alcohol- 1-877-235-4525
Eating Disorders- 1-630-577-1330
Homeless/Runaway- 1-800-RUNAWAY
Mental Health- 1-800-442-4673
Sexuality- 1-800-246-7743
Jan 18, 2018
Jan 18, 2018 at 8:24 PM UTC
Sometimes
it's the only thing
between you and
death.
Distillers
have saved more lives
than all
the suicide hotlines
in the world.
Here's to you.
mce
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 6:01 PM UTC
Passing around a fatal flaw like a joint in a hot box,
Refreshing baths of Coca~Cola and regretful indulgence
We are wasting away in a paradise of my creation
Poems tinted grey through abstinent romanticism,
and an inexplicable undertone inherent to my prose.
As everything starts to return to a drumming constant.
It all sounds the same.
We've been sunbathing in porcelain skies and empty daydreams.
Drab and dreary and acid washed.
Interrupted like a beach by the sea,
By the little pieces of drug soaked warmth that act as comforting distractions.
A smile or a shoulder or a sunny day to drink from.
Summer and solitude, the likeness of warm bodies in a cold pool.
So.
Compose me an opera of Soda Cans and of choral song. Synthesise two bass lines and slow drip coffee and pollen and folk.
Make it for me so I can watch you as you work.
Let me listen and bask in its ludacris vanity, and clean shallow waters.
How I would relish the time spent muddying the current. Destroying the tide I desired out of boredom.
And black hot frustration.
Flowers painted in acid and acrid accounts of repetative revalations in the context of rude rosy cheeked romance.
Blonde haired ignorance and one dimensional delusions.
Blue eyed terrorists armed with air and arrogance.
Give me seatwarmers and handholding
Or corvettes and convertables.
Give me arrowheads and heart attacks
Humble my bones with a cardiac
!F.R.I.E.N.D.S.!
SITCOMS
ADJASENT PLOTLINES
mumble rap
AND ***** TALK HOTLINES
four letter words with little context or meaning and selfless expression that's often demeaning
Its September in January and it rains for a day
And despite all our efforts
The days waste away
Jan 24, 2020
Jan 24, 2020 at 12:26 PM UTC
It is time to remember in this sinking sadness,
Of the conjuring mind, and the fickle passing of winter.
In the presence of death, there is opportunity for living;
If I only grasp and pull through each turgid torrent of time.
Rome fell and so too, will this empire.
This ivory tower of profiteering,
And dodging answers on the screen.
Love will out, if you give it time and patience;
As continents collide and create new land
On which to dwell.
Friends pass through life, as I hold them like sand,
As memories modify, romanticise and alter.
I cannot keep tending to the past to make a future,
Nor can I make new friends over suicide hotlines.
With pills to take me from these trembling hands,
I burst into rhyme, and embark upon new lands.
All I ever knew shall untangle within photographs;
Into affection that no words can understand.
Please stay with me, reader, as I grow up;
As these new bones falter to a start.
I am waking up to find the youth that
I thought I’d lost in the fullness of my heart.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 8:49 PM UTC
Hi, I'm suicidal
I don't have anyone to talk to
Yes I've scrolled through my contacts twice
Not a number exists I can tell the darkness to
Hotlines are impersonal to the fact I'm on the
other side of the line with My future floating
In the tub So here I sit with water waiting under
My eyes I got nothing to lose
Just my life some people think I want the attention
Well I do I'm suicidal
I want someone to break the cold around me to notice
I'm getting slower that I'm fading Going crazy inside
Slowly numbing to all this life inside my heart
What now I'm confused in pain in away that's uncontrollable
Seems like every hour ticks so slow for me
Yes I'm suicidal
You might think I need to cry but I don't know how
I've done it so much I just woke up and forgot how
So this paper will be dry no tear stains will blemish
My last words these words
I'm suicidal and these are the last words in my living testimony
Of how I've tried to wait it out and I just gotta
Go from it all got nothing to lose except my life
Hi I'm DEAD
Apr 16, 2013
Apr 16, 2013 at 11:36 PM UTC
Depression is not,
a vase of flowers.
It is not meant to attract,
or allure.
My scars are not a sign of strength,
just because I didn't nick a vein,
doesn't mean I didn't want to.
Stop romanticizing such a crippling,
fear provoking thing,
because for all we knew, it wouldn't get better.
For all we knew, we were alone,
we didn't hear about the hotlines,
over the music we had blasting to block out the sadness.
Depression is not beautiful,
it is a chemical imbalance,
it is a one way trip to therapy.
It is a tragedy in itself.
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 11:51 PM UTC
Diary filled with,
Test strips
Carb counts
Calorie graphs
Old reports
Appointments
Hotlines
Expenses of a bills
This can be life, all about.
A contempt face,
With a sweetened blood
Scrolling a display to dial
Curiosity of hypo and hyper,
A big nightmare
Obesity in gene
Sedentary chills,
Sympathetic rush,
Diabetes, by default.
Defective B-cell
OHA on trial
Complications close by,
A vial of longevity, stand by
1/2/3/4/5, shots a day
Seems everything is ok
Elemental peace
Though, to be precise,
With a sugary comfort, future is diabetic.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 7:02 PM UTC
a rolling stone gathers no waves
to beat against mercilessly, smoothing
all the tough nights (spent on hotlines
because there were thousands of others
but none that called you by the right name)
don’t feel bad for escaping to your own
bat-infested cave. it is dark and your heart bitten
still better to bite than bring light
to heart-stalagmites
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 5:26 PM UTC
I call suicide hotlines in my dreams
and hope I'll still have the numbers
memorized when I wake.
I never say how bad I am
in those dreams because
911 is just three clicks away.
I don't tell them about the blood
dripping down my tattooed arms -
scars tell stories but not ones I want to tell.
I tell the operator that I'm "upset"
as I play pyramid solitaire
with a new notch in my suicide bed post.
When I awake I don't have
the courage to dial the numbers
and my cries echo in my foggy room.
Dec 16, 2017
Dec 16, 2017 at 10:16 PM UTC
I tried to figure out what to do.
(I'm bored you see)
So, I figured I'd write a line or two.
(Hell, I could write more than three)
So, here I am, click, clack, clickitty, clack
(That's keyboard presses)
Trying to type away my modern heart attack
(That's women in cute dresses)
I listen, I sing, I play
(iTunes offers impressive influence)
I wring my brain in the midst of day
(School no longer on offense)
So I write, seeking gains
(I hope you like it)
I write from experience, common pains
(Like cleaning dog ****
I wear horse heads
(I get so bored)
I bleed in clean beds
(Then I remain floored)
Only you
(What's happening?)
I take two
(I can't stop; it's maddening)
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 2:52 AM UTC
Chills running up and down my spine
it seems I feel this all the time
my sickness and my nerves so delicately intertwined
It's like all my receptors are drunken with wine
They say you'll learn to live with this over time
they say there are groups and support hotlines
But picture living, knowing that your most precious ***** the mind
could very well be the cause of you dying
Imagine living knowing you could be on borrowed time
Wanting to the live to the fullest,
but dying quicker than a mullet.
With no air rising from your gullet
"who will take care of my mom,
who will watch my nieces and nephews grow up?
Who will be there for my girlfriend and dad?
aren't you glad...
yes I am glad that I've lived and fought as long as I have
still, you can't help but consider what's at the end of life's path
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 3:01 AM UTC
the thoughts in my head scream I'm better off dead and my body sludge's through the day I am the prospect of a generation X teen pregnancy a dead beat father and an overly religious mother they've always told me that they only want the best for me but what is best for me deep down inside I don't know anything I just feel a hollowness and that I'm stuck walking around in some sort of limbo like my life is on pause and I'm left to prep for the next scene
but what is the next scene I don't know everything is a blur my routine never changes I do the same **** just on a different day of the year is this what the last years of being young are floating aimlessly around until you settle for a job and a woman to come home to everyday
I don't know is being young about drinking away your countenance so you don't feel bad and talking to multiple woman all at once all only in hopes of getting into their pants and then never speaking to them again is this really everything we dreamed about as kids we wanted to be cops and fire fighters doctors and nurses but in the end we only end up as drug addicts alcoholics *** slaved screen glued Catholics eating up gossip faster then GMOs and eating up the worlds resources making it harder to survive
I don't know deep down inside I wish I did I really do what's so magical about me or you there is nothing pretty in the lust and greed frenzy we share and there is nothing cute about the way we deny our despair
we self hate so we self medicate and take it out on someone else and they continue the cycle so in turn they feel unsure and take hollow tips to head from a hunting rifle of they try to hang in there only to end up hanging in a garage we post tag and like anything funny yet stay silent about serious issues to avoid looking like a dummy in the crowd we mock the dead without hesitation and we betray those we love due to selfish motivation is this what living is all about this can't be it we have suicide prevention hotlines but what if death is better then this **** we live in a world where the contents of your wallet make you important and a paper degree make you elite your degree makes you no better then me we live in a world where everyone is a wolf in sheeps clothing praying on each other
But I do know if the world would stop spinning I don't think i'd miss it
Mar 12, 2016
Mar 12, 2016 at 2:03 PM UTC
Depression Hot Line:
1-630-482-9696
Suicide Hot Line:
1-800-273-8255
Life Line:
1-800-273-8255
Sexuality Support:
1-800-246-7743
Eating Disorders Hot Line:
1-847-831-3438
**** and ****** Assault:
1-800-656-4673
Grief Support:
1-650-321-5272
Runaway:
1-800-843-5200, 1-800-843-5678, 1-800-621-400
Exhale: After Abotion Hot Line/ProVoice:
1-866-439-4253
Sep 2, 2017
Sep 2, 2017 at 1:21 AM UTC
You got your first job at a hotel
You said it was fine but didn’t realize
That you’d bitten off more than you could chew
Until 4 AM the next day
When you called your boyfriend and
Showed up at emergency
Swore your anxiety was better and yet
You couldn’t hit the push-to-talk button
Called the hospital with your phone instead
Because the 5 extra meters of distance
From the hospital door really made a difference
The nurse gave you a couple hotlines to call
Next thing you knew you were crying on a park bench
Talking to a mental health worker over the phone
At 6 in the morning
You always seem fine until you start talking
Holding tears in until your thoughts
Escape through your mouth
For you to hear them out loud
Because that’s when you realize these things
Are more than just words
You still ended up at the hospital
As directed by the confusing-but-supportive
Mental health worker
Just as you did over the phone
You insist you aren’t suicidal
Whenever necessary
You feared being admitted again
But you wouldn’t say this aloud
...
After dropping off your prescription slip
With a grocery store application form hidden in your jacket
You quit your first job
Your mom wasn’t angry
Like you were worried she would be
But you still haven’t told your dad
Because he seemed so proud
And the first thing of significance
That you told the mental health worker
Was that you feel like a disappointment
Sep 6, 2018
Sep 6, 2018 at 7:37 PM UTC