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punk rock hippy Jul 2014
I want to hit it hard, not romanticize about the blood ya feel me?
As you read that first line,
when you cross over to the second,
your nose will start to bleed just before my fist connects with your face.
I often dream about it, being feared.
The only reason that you're on the ground is because I put you there.
Quite frankly I'm fearful of myself.
My throat still holds the ache of the alcohol going down.
I swear to you I'm doing better.
I swear.

I can't swear in this house hold so I will talk so quickly creating run on sentences without punctuation or breath because I'm panicking over nothing in particular.

******.

Add some shakes to your vocabulary and you've got it right.
My medication puts stray dogs under my finger nails, that's ok because dogs are happiness.
That's supposed to mean I'm happy.

I made myself write this, its horrifyingly scattered just like my head.

That's not right.
That's wrong.
Something is terribly wrong so I must fix it.

That's what I do,
I fix.
I'll just look at this as art.
Some persons trash is another ones treasure.

I'm too scared to write anymore.


This is garbage.
Tatiana Nov 2014
I'm suffocating.
But I don't need your help,
I can handle my throat closing,
no don't call 911,
there's no reason to.

I'm choking.
But I don't need your help,
I can handle the mucus that blocks my throat,
I can spit it up just fine,
so just keep on walking.

I'm coughing.
But I don't need your help,
I can handle myself doubled over in pain,
with my chest hurting as I try to sit up straight,
so just ignore me hacking up a lung.

I'm breathing.
But I don't need your help,
I can handle hyperventilation without my inhaler,
I don't have to breathe properly to live,
so thanks for just leaving me on the floor.

I'm dying.
But I don't need your help,
it's not like I have no energy to get my inhaler,
you can totally just run out of the room panicking,
it's not like i'm scared too or anything.

I'm angry.
And for some reason,
you can't figure out why.
So leave me alone.
I'm fine now.
I can handle myself.
I don't need your help.
I'm changing the caption 4 years later because it was very angry and I don't carry that same level of anger anymore towards that person.
Except in reference to asthma
Then I'm quite angry
Asthma *****
Go to sleep,
my love,
and find your happy place.
Go to sleep,
my love,
i'm sure i'll be okay.

Rest your head,
and darling stop panicking;
I can feel your whole body shaking.
rest your head,
and understand,
that my heart is truly breaking.

Relax,
my darling,
let me handle all thats coming.
Relax,
My darling,
while my heart is numbing.

Close your eyes,
my dear,
and let the light carry you away.
Close your eyes,
my dear,
no need to be afraid.

Drift away,
sweetheart,
I promise you'll feel nothing.
Drift away,
sweetheart,
we both knew this was coming.

Goodybe,
my angel-
my beginning and my end.
Goodbye,
my angel,
until we meet again.

Sweet dreams,
just know,
I love you more than life.
Sweet dreams,
Just know,
T'was an honour to have been your wife.
I can feel the gravity
savage sadness grabbing me

like a stabbing agony
panicking heartbeat rapidly

like a drastic atrophy
my own tapestry of travesty

applicable calamity
catastrophe is my canopy

the faculty of tragedy
with no strategy for amnesty

the laxity of sanity
I can feel the gravity
Kara Jean Jul 2016
Head feeling crushed
Frustration is an acquaintance
The questions seem to accumulate
Like roaches living under debri
You'll never get rid of their presence
You'll also never have that epiphany
To be blunt I don't think he likes me
Stuck in the middle section
Smashed into my seat
There really is no relief, just stupidity
My breath is panicking
Someone please track down my sanity


I'm in need
Graff1980 Nov 2018
Early morning
gets me moving
rushing to get to
the gym
then work through
my afternoon
shift.

But a rattle in
rusted metal
is making me
stressed as can be.

Every noise
causes me
to catch my breath
and listen closely
while trying to avoid panicking.

My red rover road rage
dodge neon clinking
Is getting me thinking
about how much
will be enough to fix it.
Kat Dec 2018
I've been told
That antidepressants have side effects
That finding the right medication
Can be a process
And I always thought
It wasn't worth
The risk

But then I spent a month
Dealing with severe anxiety
And I decided
That side effects couldn't be worse
Than crying for hours
Having multiple panic attacks a week
Huddling on my bed
Too anxious to leave the house
Feeling like a shell of the person
I used to be
That I wouldn't mind
Messing with my brain chemistry
If my brain chemistry
Was already messed up

And people told me
Try meditation
Exercise more
Eat healthy
And yes, exercise helps me
But not when I'm too scared
To exercise
And meditation helps me
But not when I can't meditate
Without panicking
And eating healthy helps me
But not when I have no appetite
To eat

So I went on medication
And there were side effects
And it was a process
But I think
The drugs are helping
Cause now
I can ride a train
Sit through a lecture
Walk home from work at night
Without hyperventilating
I can get through the week
Without sobbing on the floor
Or tearing up
At a sad story or a song
I can think of the future
Without feeling
Quite so hopeless

I've been asked
Do you think you need medication?
If I thought I didn't need it
I wouldn't be taking it
And I know
I'm lucky
I know
I might start feeling worse again soon
I know
I might change my mind
And decide that being on medication
Isn't really what I want
But for now
I'm just happy
To be feeling a little more
Like myself
Again
Disclaimer: I'm not trying to suggest with this poem that everyone dealing with depression or anxiety should go on medication. I know that there are many people who don't want to or can't, and I totally respect that. I just wanted to share my story, since trying to figure out how to deal with my anxiety has been and continues to be a long and hard process.
Nicola Baguley Oct 2018
Defenceless, traumatised and unheard
The ones you never expected
The ones who put on a brave face
are the ones who are dying inside

Tears of misfortune crawl down their faces;
ripping apart their hopes and dreams,
drowning their thoughts
and washing away what once was a smile

Memories of yesterday haunt their sleep;
awakening them in the mid of night
Panicking, shaking, trembling in their beds
Questioning what life's about

Who am I?
What is my purpose?
Where do I belong?
Why am I here?

Giving in to the people,
Who say they are not worth it
Who say they are not pretty
Who say they should die

A life once full of dreams
A life once full of love
A life once with a future
A life once full of fun

A life no longer with us,
A life gone too soon

Who did this? You might ask
They know who they are
Make this time the last,
don't be the monster we fear you are.
Pagan Paul Oct 2018
.
Quiet! Shhh!
Can you hear it?
The animals are talking.
No, they are panicking.
Can you smell it?
The Forest is on fire.
My Forest is aflame!

I run, following nostrils singed with heat,
against the tide of the fleeing fauna.
Reaching the blaze I see....
eight of them.
My anger rises and erupts.
'STOP!' I bellow. They turn and draw swords.
My eyes narrow and a look of pure disdain unfolds.

I continue.
'I am Rook, Lord of the Forest Kingdom.
How dare you, enter my domain with no permission
and reek havoc on my Forest'.

A step is taken, toward me.
The eyes of a fighter glower, at me.
The point of a sword raises, threatening me.

I punish.
'For your transgressions and your destruction
you shall stand as stones, for eternity,
and as a warning to others'.

A scream pierces the air as a foot,
then another, compresses to rock.
The rest join the chorus, agony,
as each become statues,
twisted and contorted as
the Ancient Oaks they had destroyed.

My Oaks.
This is my Anger.
Would you care to see my Love?


© Pagan Paul (2018)
.
TJ Dec 2017
i give them my executables and
ask them to reverse engineer me
to look into my code for reasons
reasons that i'm not just broken
not just slow
not just bad

if these letters
on this line
mean
that i am programmed to worry
then it is not my fault
not my fault that
i have wasted years
years of my life in fear

it's just a bug
looping too many times
using too many clock cycles

my code may be broken, but
if it is broken
then i am not

maybe, just maybe
i am a good processor
given bad code.

not my fault.
no one could blame me.

it would mean
i do what i am told to
perfectly
quickly
efficiently.

but
what i am told to do is
buggy
unoptimized
inefficient

my programmers are lazy -
not me.

when i find
a function in my code
that never works
and they say
"that code is fine"
then why?
why does it never run?

something must be wrong with me after all
me, myself, the processor
i don't do what i am told

but no, no, no
i don't want that
i can't be broken, overheating, dusty
segfaulting
bluescreening
panicking

no!

the code must be wrong
it must be

so i look again and again and again
i lose myself in my code
i click and click and click
2x more and 2x more and 2x more
COMT and DRD4 and ANKK1
rs53576 and rs7794745 and rs1858830
lower risk and normal risk and higher risk
of the same thing
in me at once
conflicting
overwriting each other

there is no code to add risk objects
and no one knows
whether
they make a group or a ring or a field
or just
something
useless.

like dividing by zero.
you can...
but it's useless in the real world.
just like me.

i look for more code
for more functions
for more comments
more more more
give me more
take my rights
make me open source
as long as i can see me too.

602,000 lines are not enough
not when i run millions

stick your wires in my veins
take the code from my blood
decompile it
untangle it
i need to see it all

i need to know
that i am a good little processor
even if i am doomed to
forever
run BASIC and
a million GOTO statements
and **** **** spaghetti code
i am still good.
written 16 February 2016
UA Aug 2018
He comes for me when I'm sleeping,
He comes for me when I'm awake,
He won't stop freaking obsessing,
My heart cannot get a break,
Why won't he leave me be,
Can't he see my panicking,
He's everywhere I can see,
He won't ever let me free,
I feel my throat closing in,
He'll just revive me over again,
I can't leave him alone anyway,
He can't leave me be for my sake,
Harder to **** every single day,
Distraction is key but I won't get my way.






My mind's a murderer,
A real ******,
Imagine being locked up,
Somewhere inside limbo,
Not being allowed to freeze,
**** near hard to breathe,
For my sake, I need some peace,
My mind doesn't know how to cease.
acacia Dec 2018
i just want the tears to come out already because they haven’t,
and i’ve tried everything from talking to my father, cutting off my own foot,

even stabbing myself in the heart and they still won’t come out.
i am pulling the best i can and it hurts me so much that they will not budge.

i am panicking, i am panic. it is building up in my chest and rising up from my throat, this panic. it is bubbling in my stomach and my heart will not stop fluttering.

my hands shake; my eyes well, sting and burn, but, nothing. no tear will lay out its rope down my cheek, and not come out from the tower of my eyes.

these tears stay captive though i do not want them prisoner any longer; i do not want them in my towers any longer; i do not want them here. i do not know what to do.

daddy, why did you do this to me?
NoctOwl Nov 2018
There she is
Beautiful, as always
The one who left
The woman who abandoned me

Here I am
Panicking
Trembling
Grasping for air

And in that split moment
I ask myself
If Love were in my situation,
What would love do?
Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil; does not rejoice in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails.
Delia Darling Sep 2018
She's going to make it
Lost a lot of blood...
****!
High alcohol level
Ten minutes away
She's okay, she's okay
Losing her fast
She's gonna make it!
————————————
My head is reeling
Dear god, the world is on it's back
Please,
Stop panicking— it's only blood
No, I don't want an IV
It's okay, I'm okay
Don't give me an IV
Don't touch me, I said no!
agh!


Fears digress to slurred vocabulary
Over and over
"Am I broke? Am I broke now?"
Yah i don't like IVs...
Slime-God Nov 2018
I let another day slip by
do I really have a reason?
was it Too tough to try?
...
I haven’t had a good dream in years
but I’m well-passed mourning
and I’m Too tough for tears.
...
But yet I’m still here
I’m still here and breathing.
Don’t need dreams
and I don’t need meaning.
Don’t need anything,
despite this feeling
of change;

I do want meaning
and I do want purpose
but it doesn’t change the fact-
that I’m so ******* nervous,
for the future, I’m fearful
the past, I’m forgetful
presently I’m panicking
the situation’s stressful

I'm not asking to be successful...

I just want to be happy.
Graff1980 Dec 2018
Body shoved hard
against the metal.
Back cracked
against the lock,
all my books,
knocked, dropped,
and lost
by school mates
passing by.

Rage face curling
in a horrible form.
Like a shape shifter,
I watched her
change faster
then any monster
in movies
or on tv.

So, daily
I wished
to be invisible,
not a superhero
just a perfect dodger
so, no one could see me,
and I could
sit peacefully
reading and thinking
about everything
instead of living in
daily anxiety,
jumping
at the slightest touch
overly alert, and panicking
too much.
Megan Oct 2018
Early Sunday morning.
Brisk wind, no jacket.
Waiting for a taxi,
shivers in my bones.
Shameful looks from my mother -
she thinks I stopped out last night.

Monday afternoon.
The whole school knows.
Taunts, laughter, names
as I walk through the corridors -
isn't school supposed to be safe?
I see the boys
- I hate them, I hate them, I hate them -
feel ***** rise through my throat
and the blood in my brain thicken.
Hear words that cut like knives:
"****", "*****",
"I can't believe she had a foursome".
I cannot walk into the canteen,
it's full of piercing lion eyes
searching for their prey;
me.
I am called into the head of years office,
heavy footsteps echoing with sorrow
as I enter.
Concerned eyes break through my skin
creating bullet holes in my fragility.
The words I couldn't face
finally enter the wind.
"Was it consensual?"
No, no, no, no.
Cheeks wet with cascading tears.
The truth finally said,
spoken aloud like an oracle.
I wait for fifty minutes.
Fluorescent police uniforms march the halls.
And my mother.
She's crying, she knows,
she hugs me.
Tells me she's sorry.
In the small back office
surrounded by teachers and police and my mum,
words are exchanged.
I see moving lips but cannot hear the words.
My senses are drowned by the event leading up to this.
They gave me a name
in the bedroom that night.
"It", like an object.
Unhuman, unfeeling.

The same Monday evening.
Next thing I know I'm at home.
Brought back to consciousness
with an assertive knock at the front door.
More uniforms, more police.
Mum explains that they have to take my statement.
I panic, cry -
I've done a lot of that today.
I hide some things from them;
I'm too ashamed.
They have cameras on their vests,
tiny eyes watching me,
recording the moment I recall my trauma.
My body hurts,
but my brain and my heart are in agony.
They ask me to take my clothes off.
How can they ask me that?
Explanations are given to my mother,
her face conveys the emotions that I'm too numb to feel.
It's protocol,
they need evidence of any injuries, they say.
Choked sobs escape my mother's mouth
as I take my clothes off.
Shades of black and blue litter my body.
*******, thighs, stomach, *** -
my skin edited by violent hands.
My most intimate areas a part of a police file forever.
They take my ****** jeans, underwear, top all into evidence.
They leave.

Tuesday morning.
I am told not to go into school
by the head of year.
The boys are still allowed.
Motionless body lying in bed,
I stare at the wall for hours.
All of my energy put towards breathing.
Mum skipped work,
sitting outside my bedroom door
like a prison guard -
terrified I would hurt myself.
I can't speak.
How do you tell the woman who raised you
that you don't want to be alive anymore?

About a week later.
I still haven't been to school.
I've barely moved from my bed.
The physical marks have almost vanished,
but the sadness cripples me still.
I have to go to a police station today,
a forty minute trip.
My best friend comes.
I'm numb, I cannot feel the car moving.
I have been numb for over a week.
Isolation caves in on me -
I'm in an interview room with a policewoman and man.
They say three's a crowd,
but I still feel completely alone.
Just over six hours.
Recounting the event took over six hours.
The walls of the interview room painted grey,
or maybe that's just the only colour I can see now.
I didn't cry.
I haven't cried since the Monday that everything became real.
Fragments of the night flash through my mind,
it's becoming difficult to close my eyes.
I went into the interview room while it was light outside,
I leave and it's pitch black.
When I check the time on my phone before I hand it in as evidence,
it's almost 11pm.

Another week passes.
I'm still not allowed into school.
Most of my friends have given up on me.
They don't want to be associated with the girl who cried **** because she was embarrassed of her foursome.
But no-one knows what happened behind that door.
The horrors that occurred,
the venom in the insults they spat at me,
using my body as a human rag doll.
The police call, the detective assigned to my case.
My heart drops
as my mum tells me what he says.
"They're treating two of the boys as witnesses,
only one as a suspect."
I go to my bedroom as I feel my heart strings sever.
Try to sleep,
but I cannot close my eyes.
I see the room,
the darkness,
their eyes.
I smell sweat and shame.
I hear them calling me "it" -
a worthless victim.
I feel the poison on their fingertips.
Dead the second they touched me.

Months pass.
Less contact with the police.
I go back to school.
Adjust to life as 'that girl'.
Learn to sleep again.
Deal with the nightmares and flashbacks.
Stop panicking every time someone touches me.
Open up about the pain I feel every day.

It's February.
Ten months later.
I haven't heard from the police since December.
When I ring
they tell me my case has been dropped.
They say there's a lack of evidence.
What they really mean is that no-one in court will believe
my story against the three of there's.
I expected this.
The blood on my underwear
does not count.
The pictures of my body painted with bruises
do not count.
The six hour recording where I describe every soul breaking ******
does not count.
The countless therapy sessions trying to fix the flashbacks and panic attacks
do not count.
The nights I planned how to die
do not count.
I used to be a person.
Now I'm just another **** case,
unsolved,
at the bottom of the pile.
Bartholomew Sep 2018
Can anyone hear me?
No? Because I’m crying inside
Why does everyone fear me?
But in actuality I’m dying inside
My hearts holds a burden
Of trying to save everyone
I show strength but behind closed curtains
I bare weakness with no one to save me from

Does anyone hear me??
Can someone please answer me
My soul feels so weary
I’ve come to the state of panicking
I surround myself with people who don’t listen
but yet feel like I’m in isolation
Sometimes I feel like I’m in a prison
Though life is the one in violation

Is anyone there?
chaffy Mar 22
I woke up with the sun in my eyes.
Then fell back asleep, too comfortable in my dreams.
Something about spending the night with you.
Again I awoke, this time panicking for I realized I was late.
That ******* alarm had been sleeping too.
I neglected my routines and left my four cornered room, practically falling down the stairs.
Punctuality is a human invention, I thought, don't they know it's unhealthy to always be in a rush?

Time has been accelerating as of late, it must be.
It feels like just yesterday I was working alongside my colleagues, paving away for our futures, healing a prosperous community of lovers and friends, finding true happiness.
But that was over two weeks ago, and again I feel like it was all just a dream.
Sitting here consuming microwavable meals as I hammer incessantly away at my keys hoping to find myself, what a vicious cycle.

Calm down, one goal at a time.
No time is wasted as long as it's spent living.

Something about today, something about this hideous weather and my failure to get out of bed, the guilt, the anger, the fear, all of it.
Somehow I knew that it was going to end with me gripping the side of a toilet seat, spewing my insides out, trying not to pass out as the cacophonous ringing I once described dazes and confuses my thoughtless mind.

Memory by memory...

Poetry, what an idea.
Yenson Jan 1
If all is ***** dory
with golden, two or three silvers
and all the pinks

Why are the Weavers worried
Is there not the finest gold thread
from Italy
Silver of Green and the East
Stunning pinks
like elegant flamingos

So why are Weavers panicking
desperate throes
frantic useless moves
flinging all and nothing

Is it that hardness like steel
or the moves of rhythm and timing
or the smooth mahogany sheen
or the stout enduring waves
or the amazing ride

So maybe Gold is not enough
Silver and pink not quite there
Numbers means nothing
just so and so
They all just do not compare

And Weavers are panicking
Weavers are panicking
panicking about what may surpass

Weavers are panicking,
They fear superior quality

If all is at it is
Pray tell us...WHY are weavers panicking!
Eve Mar 27
Seemingly endless paragraphs harboring our minds
Us, ultimately neglecting our lost time
Most of which we spend worrying
Ceaselessly panicking
Over actions, words that are eventually meaningless
Memories from five years in the past
Making us all fret, persistently a mess
And yet time still resumes, relentless
Have we forgotten to rest?
I understand the world
best as a challenge
a fight to win
or lose
survivor. warrior.
beaten and bruised
I understand life
best as a puzzle
something to be
unpicked and
pondered until
the pieces merge
together into a
jigsaw, jagged and
incomplete. I'm panicking
now, can you feel it?
feel it burrowing into
you like a root?
I will plant myself there
and grow. from your
ash stained heart,
a tree of pink blossom
flowers, blown
away in summer
but pretty for a
brief spring
Glus Sep 2018
Every night and every morn I struggle to make this life bright
only to realize, even with unclosed eyes I could never see the light
I turn my head to catch the whisper I thought I could hear
only to realize, its been quite some time since I've lost my ears
I strained my neck to try and find my way with the help of smell
only to realize, the horrid stench of ****
panicking, I open my mouth to try and let out a shout
only to realize, that my voice has remained forever shut
truly scared of being alone
I could feel the chill running through my bones
insanity and dread take the wheel
fear has found my Achilles' heel
I struggle and roll and wriggle around
desperately trying to find my ground
flailing my arms around to find any comfort
                  this is the end, but where are my friends                               
  my brain gets flooded from the images of the things I'm going to miss
I have finally realized that I'm far behind
all alone in this godforsaken abyss
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