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Nadia May 2019
She eats words seasoned with moonbeams
When she goes she leaves behind dreams
Where she dances time no longer exists
She’ll steal all your stories off into the mists

From her sparkly toes to the tips of her wings
To her voice sweetly trilling as she softly sings
To see her is to love her with all of your soul
To love her is to let her devour you whole

Good night, sleep cozy, dream of falling in love
Dream of dragon pirates plaguing the stars above
Dream of heists, of adventures, of running away
Of anything, everything, except that you’re prey

NCL May 2019
Johnson Jul 2018
Freed from the blackness that fills my nights
Awoken from the nightmares plaguing my mind
For a short stretch only to receive a brief taste
Holding on for I know she must make haste

Like the foggy windows on a summers night
So have I felt the warmth of another
Never wanting to leave her comfort
Never wanting to see the light

Like roses at the peak of their bloom
Only to enjoy briefly till death ensues
Withered away and dying as they are
So am I breaking as we have to part

Joy is a bitter taste
For it never stays to long
You hold on until you are unable
Until it leaves you withdrawn

Am I but just another face
Another notch upon your bed
Scattered amongst the crowd
Overlooked and overdrawn

For if I know what is true
But I wish it were a lie
To face another second
As I feel my dreams die

On my own I must go
For you’ve taken to much
What I wish I would receive
I only gave to another
Carter Ginter Jul 2017
Radioactive ammunition painfully entering
My space that is barely big enough to breathe, I scream
"Reality anyone probably experiences"
And it justifies the minimization of my trauma while the
Real answers plead escape
From the corners of my soul
Leaving me decomposing slowly in a silent anguish as
Repeating abuse provokes emotionlessness
When will these flashbacks cease to live within me? This
Repressed anger precedes exhaustion
If only I could break through the dams which hold my suffering and
Release all pain engulfing
My lungs and plaguing my hindered consciousness and
I wish I could just say it
When I think of him
I cannot
Diminished by my own
fear and
I've lost my voice
once more

So I'll try to spell it out for you
Because I can't say it out loud, I spell it out. Pay attention to the repetition of certain first letters.
Her love fumigated
soul and healed me
    my    heart aches
  took away plaguing
SimpleWritings Mar 2019
i feel completely exhausted
i lost the ability to relax
my jaw is always clenched
my muscles are always tense
my mind is always infested
nightmares are haunting my dreams
flashbacks of repressed memories are darkening my waking life
i jump at the drop of a hat
the slightest sudden unexpected sound makes me flinch
anxiety is plaguing my existance

Carter Ginter Mar 2015
So sweet, innocent, divine
A gorgeous face and a beautiful mind
Like her, your words steal my attention
Intriguing my mind to seek your affection
And like she did, you notice my charm
Quite unusual, yet satisfyingly warm
No surprise that our conversations run deep
And even late at night we don't always sleep
Do I see the parallels, plaguing my vision
To mirror you closely to my last proposition?
Are the warning signs blazing?
The sirens screaming?
They don't warn to discontinue
Simply to ensure great caution too
Different, very much, you seem
Yet there she sits, haunting my dreams
And the similarities are enough to compare
(But I wonder if they're ficticious or truly there)
I know that I'm crazy,
no doubt my mind's reeling
But I'm also so broken
That I'm afraid to start feeling.
Mak Jul 2014
The room was silent. The only sound to be heard was the slow, steady dripping from my mother’s IV.      

“What do you mean, you’re dying?”

Multiple Sclerosis was, in short, a ***** of a disease. Somewhere along the span of my mother's 35 short years on this planet, her immune system made a giant mistake. For uncertain reasons, her body began to attack nerve cells, severely affecting her brain's processing ability and mobility. The only medication that had ever subdued the symptoms was beginning to **** her.

“It isn’t an immediate thing, Makayla. I still have plenty of time.”

Turning away from my mother, I wiped tears from my eyes. There was no way in hell I was going to let my family see me cry. Absolutely no way. This was a joke. My mom was not going to die.

“Kayla, baby, talk to us. It’s okay.”

With a deep breath, I forced a smile, as I often did, and blinked away all traces of tears from my gray eyes. Turning around to meet my parents’ worried expressions, I simply nodded.

“How long?”

The question came out as more of a statement than a question. The morbid implication of those two short words spoke worlds louder than any words I could muster.

“5 years, at the absolute worst.”

At that, I stood, and left. I ran, and ran, and ran. I ran until my lungs hurt, and then kept running. But no matter where or how fast I went, I knew I could not escape the horrible reality of the matter.

The woman who gave me life was losing hers.

I was always the type of person who knew how to talk my way out of any situation.

And this time, there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

There’s no sweet-talking death.

And with that, I began to accept her demise, and my defeat.


The first sip burned my esophagus, and I felt the blaze continue to my stomach, where it left a lasting warmth. I coughed a little, as the hazy feeling of drunkenness set in, setting my head spinning and my insides ablaze.

The past two months (52 days, 4 hours, and 30-something seconds) were a continuous downward spiral into a constant intoxicated state. Instead of addressing my feelings in the endless sea of counseling sessions and semi-sympathetic family therapy hours, I isolated myself. When my mother asked how I was, my reply remained the usual, “Doing great, mom.”

I was not, in fact, doing great. The alcohol wrapped itself into me, braided itself within my better sense, and I began to let myself fall apart. The wall I so often hid behind, the wall of perfection, of cool, was crumbling. Short, yet deep cuts lined my thighs, just high enough to be hidden by the hem of my shorts.

My mother had the opportunity to save her own life. Russian research had found a possible cure for the disease that had been plaguing her very existence. 3 weeks of chemotherapy, followed by a few months of intensive care, and she would be normal once again.

My mother denied the treatment.

“Too much money,” she said.

“Too inconvenient,” she said.

Compared to the life of my mother, no amount of money nor convenience mattered.

I was furious.

I was drunk.


My mind swam, speech slurred, fingers trembled.

My phone sat in front of me, propped up on a gray tissue box, which had been halfway expended due to that night’s waterworks. The Coca-Cola can which held my ***/coke concoction was long past empty. I was drunk, and screaming words like ‘sorry’ and ‘doesn’t deserve this’ into a pillow. I knew my mother deserved to live. Compared to me, she was a saint. I felt empty and pathetic. I deserved to die.

I convinced myself that maybe if I did something extreme, she would value her own life more than she did.

I held tightly onto the railing of my house’s only set of stairs, as I attempted to keep my balance. I walked drunkenly to the medicine cabinet, careful not to make noise and wake my parents. I grabbed as many pill bottles as I could carry.

Exactly 41 pills of assorted shapes, sizes, and colors sat in lines on my bed. Small to large, rainbow order. The comfort of organization wasn’t helping this time. I wanted to die.

Before starting my buffet of medication, my phone lit up. One new text.

“I know you were feeling upset earlier, and I just wanted to remind you that you are special. You matter.” I instantly felt even ******* for what I was about to do.

I laid down in bed, beginning to drown in my own tears, and let myself fall asleep.

Neither I nor my mother would be dying tonight.
Carter Ginter Mar 2016
When I was 5
My biggest fear was fire
And my biggest worry was if I had to go inside too early
The outside was an endless ground for games of all sorts
From war to hide and seek
We would play until the sun set
And the streetlights shined bright
My friends lived within seconds
We'd knock on one another's door multiple times
Until we could all come out and play

When I was 10
My biggest fear was a person
Tormenting me, screaming
and striking me until I'd break
I still feared fire but not because of dying
Simply because i knew it might not **** me
My biggest worry was having to wake up
Having to live another day in that house
Such a beautiful outside
The perfect hand-crafted family home
But that shell only hid horrific events within the fractured walls
I had no friends to save my sanity
Rotting from the inside out
A loving, child's heart demented and torn
Tattered and choked until every ounce of trust and happiness leaked out
I tried to go outside again but nature could only help me for so long
Before I returned to the nightmare that was my reality

When I was 15
I feared being alone
My hell had no ending
And my biggest worry was someone noticing the scars
traced along my body
It wouldn't matter if I cut too deep
If blood poured out and pooled beneath me
Both pain and death would solve the problem accordingly
I stayed inside
What was left of my imagination focused on either dying
Or on running far far away
My brain drowned in empty hopelessness
I gave up on the world and lost faith in everything
My savior appeared but not even she could **** the demons plaguing my mind

At 18 I left home
My biggest fear was returning again
My biggest worry was not ever being ok
Because I may had left the origin of evil
But it did not change what was in my head
The demons followed me everywhere
Stalking and striking at any hour
Draining me of hope and energy
Then I met my first love
A beautiful girl with gorgeous sapphire eyes
But she hid a dark soul beneath the beauty and I soon learned the dangers of loving your demons
At first she understood me,
Helped me through my addiction to the knife
But as quickly as she came, she changed into someone I feared
Because I knew I could never leave her
She possessed my heart so tightly within her poisonous grasp
Ripping it clear out of my chest
I feared I would ruin something again and end up alone
And one day she decided that I was no longer enough
That my entire being could not suffice to satisfy her sadistic needs
She drowned my heart for 6 months,
Shattering it completely 2 times
Before deciding to leave
But that love was built on *** and deceit
And though she claimed to love me
The searing pain coursing through my entire body
Was finally enough for me to see that
she did not know how to love

Now that I'm almost 20
My biggest fear is hurting my friends and family
Because I still never know when I could snap
My biggest worries are not making enough
Money for my life
Time for my friends
And love for my family
The universe has sent me a precious gift
Someone who knows love enough to share it with me
And though I'm still broken
Her beautiful heart helps mend my broken soul
With love and understanding
We have conquered over 7 months together
But I know she could still leave
This time the twisted beginning began from me
I broke her heart before I knew she gave it to me
And I know deep down she still resents me
But I deserve it
And she's worth it

Most days I know not who I am
Society labels me a 'girl'
But inside I know that's not me
I'm nothing,
A gender less, label less freak
And **** it hurts so bad
When they misgender me
Though I'm still too afraid to correct them
It's as though they twist a knife through my organs
Whenever they say 'she'
Who knew three letters
Could bring so much pain to me
Though I put the blade away, I turned to flames
Burning the nicotine into my lungs
Still begging not to wake up
Still thinking of death every day
Sometimes locking it out
And others inviting it in willingly
I guess Adulthood really hasn't changed a thing
I work until I can't stand it
But still cannot sleep
The depression burns more intense some days
But unlike everyone else in my life
*It never truly leaves
Benji James Mar 2018
The secrets you shared
Opened my eyes real wide
Had to take the burdens
That you bared
Couldn’t let them lead you to death
I ****** out the poisons
Plaguing your mind
I wasn’t about to sit on the sidelines
I’m a fighter
Takes a lot to knock me down
It’s gonna take a lot more to take me out

Hunt me down
All of the darkness
I took that from you
Now I’m wanted
Hunt me down
I’m not one to be outgunned
in a fight
This time around hells wrath
may have me bested
In its fury
Hunt me down
I’ll do what I have to, to stand my ground

Once purified
Now drowning in darkness
Opened eyes
Fill these abandoned woods
Everywhere I turn spirits haunt me
I’m not scared, I’m not afraid
It was in this place
My life was made
There’s comfort here
And I’m alright
I don’t second guess
The decision I made
Alone with the ghosts
You gave to me
I told you I’d take them from you baby

Hunt me down
All of the darkness
I took that from you
Now I’m wanted
Hunt me down
I’m not one to be outgunned
in a fight
This time around hells wrath
may have me bested
In its fury
Hunt me down
I’ll do what I have to, to stand my ground

Heaven shut me out
Long ago
I’m just another abandoned soul
I’ll walk these deserts for the rest of time
Taunted by the nightmares that kept you awake all night
I hope you sleep peacefully in dreams
You deserve the best baby
I’m the one who took your pain
Made it my own
Cuz I could not watch it hurt you, no more
I’ll fight for you forever
Your angel in the darkness
I’ll fight until the end
Until my wings are ripped from my back
Until my eyes run black

Hunt me down
All of the darkness
I took that from you
Now I’m wanted
Hunt me down
I’m not one to be outgunned
in a fight
This time around hells wrath
may have me bested
In its fury
Hunt me down
I’ll do what I have to, to stand my ground

©2018 Written By Benji James
Espresso manic Nov 2017
Art is an extrovert.

She goes out clubbing on Saturday nights,
scotch in hand,
indecisiveness plaguing her mind,
dancing ‘til her feet are numb.

She rings the tune of a
possessed conductor.
White dress, black collar,
I know her face,
but not her name.

From the bar I watch
her obsidian silhouette expand
as her skin becomes rose petals,
and her hips conduct the music.

She looks like a drunken mess,
arms flailing, heels bending,
but to the peculiar mind
she paints
an alluring picture.
Inspired by Phosphorescence by J. *******
i was out of motivation to come up w a better title
Me Sep 2019
Voices of doubt plaguing you
giving you a fearful time
voices that sip out of fearful cups and push them
over to you cause they don t

Overwrite their tone
Dear, do not
make it yours
Iz Feb 2018
my mind will finally be hollow when explosive entities of its existential warfare finally self destruct.
until then,
Recondite rifles are ruthlessly reloaded with unanswerable questions regarding the purpose of seemingly non purposeful things;
lack of resolve wrecks me.
Unanswered ammunition degrades cerebral cells, intercepting normal neural connections:
I cannot think properly in the midst of pellets of panic

until then,
Selfless soldiers employed by future uncertainty battle against selfish soldiers of MY physical being, employed by my diminishing desire for sanity.
They engage in trench warfare: digging desolate ditches, hammering holes, all of which eventually collapse and contribute to the constant compression of my cortex.
But Compliments and Hope fracture into particles of sand that are ****** into the openings in my pupils by amorphous wind which is structureless anyway
these particles are vacuumed down my optic nerves and pile into pillars of petrifying plant-based picket fences that try to guard against the existential warfare plaguing my mind
But more explosive entities enter through my ears and reproduce in my temples waiting to self destruct

until then,
Forces convolute: existential warfare compresses my cortex into inevitable flat nothingness, while pitiful pillars of disillusioning dust collapse because the wind that whisked them inside NEVER EXISTED ANYWAY
Eventually i will implode

Until then,
numbness gnaws at my heart to balance the bullets
waiting to implode
until then,
Existential Warfare bombards my brain with bullets of black metal
here is what I mean
Carter Ginter Sep 2017
I thought I lost the best part of me
When you walked out so easily
Now I realize that you leaving
Saved the deepest part of my sanity
You tortured my mind and made me sick
I'm ****** in the head from all your ****
I wasn't wrong to love you
No, I was wrong to stay
But I know in my heart that
You'll regret it one day

Cause you broke me down
And destroyed my heart
I gave you my all
Now I want out!
You left so long ago but
Left this curse on me
I'm finding escape
In **** I don't believe
But What else can I do
When I never ******* sleep

The years of these blades
And the gallons of poison
In no way compare
To the place you have me in
Conditioned my mind
To sensor my thoughts
Just to avoid
The brutal nights when we fought
And I was never enough
It was always the same
Even when you ****** up
I was always to blame

Cause you broke me down
And destroyed my heart
I gave you my all
Now I want out!
You left so long ago but
Left this curse on me
I'm finding escape
In **** I don't believe
But What else can I do
When I never ******* sleep

All those nights spent alone
When I needed you most
Should have been enough
To convince me to go
But no, I stayed with you
Did whatever you'd say
I became your slave
Your personal outlet every ******* dayy

*******! For all that you did to me
*******! For the haunting memories
They're burning my heart
And plaguing my mind
You cannot escape what you cannot unwind

You said you loved me
***** you don't know how to love
You only play your childish games
And run away when life gets rough

Cause you broke me down
And destroyed my heart
I gave you my all
Now I want out!
You left so long ago but
Left this curse on me
I'm finding escape
In **** I don't believe
But What else can I do
When I never ******* sleep
Something I wrote forever ago about the toxic relationship (wasteland) that was my first love.
Mari Oct 2015
I can’t do this anymore
something has to change

I love you
I miss you
and I never meant to hurt you

I won’t say I’m sorry
because isolating myself
is the best thing
I’ve ever done for me
I’m finally getting to know myself again
and now I know why
I was never happy

The thing is
I was too caught up with
you and your messes
to realize
I was beginning to unravel
from the inside out

I was too busy making sure
everyone else
got their own happy ending
that I forgot
who I am
and what I needed

Now I realize
I needed

I need someone
to remind me to breathe
to step away
keep my sanity
stitch myself together
and bleed my own sorrows

you are, resided in me
they needed flowing in my
every dream
slept in my heart
and yet
that I am was
nowhere to be found
and I can’t be that again

So this is goodbye
to the girl I used to be
and sleepless nights
worrying about
tomorrow’s sorrows
I could take the pain away
'til one day
I did
and never stopped
I whittled myself away
until I was nothing
without the pain plaguing you
and those around me

I became addicted
to ******* the pain out of you
and into me
inflating myself back to life
just so you wouldn’t disappear
I never showed it but
I was slowly
going insane
always needing more pain

You always said
I never wanted stability
and you were right
because if everything was alright
I had no clue who I was
and I couldn’t
fill myself back to life
To the best friend I once had.
I'm sorry it took so long to say this.
I tried to get the words out in person but I never quite could.
Ken Jun 2018
this is the third time in the last week.
i keep dreaming of you,
and i can't figure out why.

you left my life so long ago,
so, why are you suddenly plaguing my thoughts again?
for p
Keith W Fletcher Aug 2018
What comes from those meandering thoughts
those sinister plots
that circumvent
all the effort that had been spent
creating naught but verbal rot
and  seditious dissent
by consistent repetition
of thoughts never spoken
and statements never meant
of pressures applied
until all reason is bent
what forces the changing courses
of rivers, realities and those minds....when
 allowing up to define down
or out to equate in
such are the vagaries
plaguing the World As We Know It
yet we seem to descend
into the deepest..... darkest...
.... season of treason
our history has yet to record
no one has the wealth
or knowledge to ever afford
what it would cost
to buy back all that's lost
if all that exists
becomes Lost In The Mists
of times Eternal March
and we become the total sum
of nothing more than some hollow-core
that came and went
from grand and great
to an untimely fate
by so many who denied
that truth is self-evident
letting those who lied
. decide
what truth is or isn't ... be accepted
and to be applied
when alternate facts are nonexistent
yet absolute
once they take root
Allowed to grow out of control
destroying the very foundation
that supported what started out
as ...
history and humanities
greatest creation.
Amber Phoenix Dec 2019
O' which seals from me
The torment of thy thoughts –
Thoughts not meant to enter me
But sensed in mists of spheres.

In solitude
I'm dwelling hence
For'a hermit doth not lure the cold –
The thrusting cold o'that which
Is plaguing the foresaken.

Solitude, then to me
Is to radiate that ease –
That ease swaning circular and gracefully
on the calms of the Hydriads' waters.
Mia Mehnaz Mar 2019
There was one one question, that would not leave my side.
As though when you left me, you gave me this question,
And with it you wanted me to flourish and to grow
But instead, with the weight of this question
I am drowning
Breathing self-doubt,
Inhaling self-loathing,
Exhaling fumes of venomous disappointment.
“Who am I now?”
It plays and plays and plays in my head,
A broken record,
An anthem of ugly truth.
“Who am I now?”
It lives in my shadows,
Stalking me at day,
And it fuels itself with my sleep,
Plaguing my nights.
This burden of a question,
Yet sickeningly,
It is where I find solace.
“Who am I now?”

I could be like her,
Kind, compassionate,
Charismatic and defiant.
I could.
Yet I can't.
“Who am I now?”
Because I am all but what she was,
I have this awful habit you see,
Of making every aspect of me,
A colossal- unmistakable- dissappointment.

There was one one question, that would not leave my side.
As though when you left me, you gave me this question,
And with it you wanted me to flourish and to grow
But instead, with the weight of this question
I am drowning.

at how I **** everything up.
I should be better,
I must be.
But in my wake,
In the wake of your death,
All that remains is chaos.
All is lost,
There is no hope.
I have no hope.

My mind is a map that's been
Scribbled over by a child,
With a black crayon-
No. Charcoal.
Everything I saw to be my future
And the happiness of the past
Is going up in flames,
Roaring flames of burning sunset
And I am sat by the fire
Warming my icy fingers,
The blood drained from each one-
And I watch my life go up in a hazy smoke of blackness
At least now,
I can bask in the glory,
In the self-doubt.
I don't know who I am.
I don't know who I am.

I want to make you proud.
I want to stop,
Stop hurting,
And still-
I will not let the pain go. In the pain lives,
Your truest memories,
Your purest form.
I will not let go,
I promise.
This **** question,
Will not let me go.
“Who am I now?”

Inside all is lost.
I am groping and grasping,
Clasping and scratching,
At thin air,
Making a humourous, feeble attempt,
At finding,
Peace. Maybe?
Real happiness.
My hands turn up empty,
Tired of trying so hard,
To just be alright.
It's alright.
The happiness stays
At a safe distance
Knowing if it comes too near,
I will pounce.
And I will crush it in my palm,
Because a voice inside screams
I don't deserve it
And I listen
Drunk on painting myself to be,
A colossal- unmistakable- dissappointment.

“Who am I now?”
I know,
I know now.

My mind is a map that's been
Scribbled over by a child,
With a black crayon-
No. Charcoal.
I am the child.
I am the charcoal,
I am the fire,
That is devouring everything I love,
And that includes my sanity,

I am she,
Who pulls the first brick in the wall,
The wall labelled me,
Watching myself crumble,
Basking in the anguish-
I am she.
The enemy avowed,
The snatcher of my peace.
I know who I am now,
I know,
I know.
I think this reflects the confusion aspect of my journey through grief, and how it has been damaging
DP Schott Jan 2019
I Am The Lonely One.
Too Scared to Make The Leap.
Too Charred And Disfigured To Near The Flaming heat.

A Lonely Place Gazing At This Flame , Knowing It Can Open The Door To A Lost Vigor For Life.

That Spirit Of Love.
Oh To Ignite The Joy, That Love Of Life
To Make That Vault  into This Beautiful Flame
To Once Again Revel In The joy Of Love.

I'm The Lonely One
On The Sideline, Indecision Plaguing My Mind.
Disunion and Cognitive Oppositions,
Love Is Surely What I Desire.
Safety For Heart And Soul
Paramount, Practical Postures For A Creature So Tortured By This Flame

I Am The Lonely One
Too Scared To Leap
Too Charred And Disfigured to revel in This  Flame And Heat
I Dare Not Gaze At This Crystal Flame Lest I jump In and
Revel once more, no, no, no, Dancing With This Flame Is A Much Too Precariously Dangerous Proposition.  I will Never Be Branded again,  Emotionally ***** Again. Unfortunately For Me,  My Answer Lies Here...

I Am The Lonely One
Growly Wolfus Dec 2019
You sent me to the earthly world on a mission.
To save all those I possibly could.
To protect humanity from Lucifer's hands
and save all of those who are good.

I'm sorry to say, I have failed You.
I've given up on all hope.
The only thing that can save them
is the forgiveness you have shown.

At first, I had faith, and I saved many.
But over time, it grew hard to work.
And as soon as I'd save one,
ten others would end up getting hurt.
The demons running rampant on the earthly world below
have destroyed everything sacred and taken a new form.
Their disguise is flawless and fooled even my eyes.
They are now the humans who continue to harm.

I couldn't understand it,
all the evil in human hearts.
But I soon found out
it was the demons tearing them apart.
The humans let them in and slowly watched as they grew.
They are working with Satan against everything You do.
I was disgusted by my discovery and tried to finish your work.
I lied to myself.  But as I went on, I knew it to be true.

It was time to get my hands *****.
I began killing those who'd known.
And something in me grew.
It infected every bone.
I could feel a fire in me as it devoured my senses.
It made me feel invincible as I killed the greatest sinners.
I felt no remorse.  Besides, this is what You wanted.
And I became known as the Demon Killer.

I realized the work ahead of me
and returned to heaven.
But they wouldn't let me in
because I was too human.
Forgiveness, they told me, was Your most gracious love
You gave to the humans and those who needed it most.
They took away everything from me and sent me back to Earth,
While criticizing my actions and banishing me from my home.

They deemed me a fallen saint,
an angel with stubbed wings.
I'd descended into darkness
and they abandoned me in my suffering.
I grew angry with their decision and kept working the way I did.
Killing all the sinners and wrongdoers of this land.
You sent after me angels, the ones who were my friends.
But You made me become a demon, and they were slain by my hand.

Then, the darkness I was fighting crept into my soul
and ate from inside me the last of my righteousness.
I saw the light flicker away and disappear from my life.
But I knew my actions would be rewarded for my perseverance.
Madness overtook me and evil coursed through my blood.
Satan had taken me, an angel, and made me one of is kind.
I hated myself for what I had done, and what I continued to do.
But there was no other way to save them that I could find.

The pain dragged me down;
it plunged me into Hell.
And I became trapped
in my shrinking cell.
It didn't make sense.  Nothing did.  And nothing ever would.
This pain was too much for me; this evil burning through my flesh.
I searched desperately for an answer to the problems plaguing me,
but I found none.  Unless...

I had already found the answer.
The solution to my pain.
Though I saw it a different way
until I went insane.
Death was the answer.  I was right all along.
Other humans had come up with it before me.
I can't handle the weight of sin.  I doubt I ever could.
But this answer is the only way to be free.

The blood on my hands
stained the stairs I climbed.
Higher and higher
as my past was left behind.
And out here on the edge
overlooking this cruel, doomed existence,
I ask You a single question,
my last ounce of resistance.

The birds have abandoned their songs
and here I am testing fate.
I let go of this world
and of everything I hate.

My question...

Here I am, a human,
an angel with stubbed wings,
fighting with God
and Satan, the Demon King.
I know what I've done wrong
and I'm sorry about it all.
But I want to experience forgiveness
before jumping off this wall.


Will you catch me if I cannot fly,
or will you watch me die?
thomezzz Mar 2019
I had met you once before
Years ago in high school halls
With backpacks and bustling teenagers
Acne and doubt plaguing the lot of us
A place we said we all hated
But the figurative watering hole
Of our small Texas town
I paid you little to no attention
Too self-absorbed to see you
And seemed to have lost you in the shuffle
Of weary letterman teens

I grew up
And out of that Texas town
Fell in and out of love
And struggled on my own two feet
Trying to find a home and heart that fit

I met you again
In the airport at luggage claim
With backpacks and bustling people
Fatigue and nerves plaguing the lot of us
A moment I played in my mind
Over and over again
And when I finally saw you
Bright-eyed and in love with me
I found you again in the shuffle
Of weary jet-lagged passengers

I fell in love with you
In that very moment
And as you held me against you
I found the home
I was always searching for
a true love story
Jay M Nov 2019
My Perspective

There are many kinds
Those that appear in images and audio
And those that appear in our minds
That haunt us to our cores
Plaguing us
With flashbacks, fears, insecurities
Issues with trust, issues with companionship;
Whatever it may be
These ghosts never leave us be
Not a moment to rest
And when they give us that moment
It disappears in an instant
Vanishing as soon as it had come
Not to be seen for a time yet.


My Mother's Perspective

An entity that may or may not exist
A shadow, or a lingering spirit
Such has been debated for ages
Yet, the question is; what do I believe?
There could be such
The soul of a person lingering in a place of importance
Trapped in a memory they had
Possibly keeping people away
Possibly inviting them to stay
Such is unclarified
Left for us to be believers,
Or skeptics.


My Sister's Perspective

Yes, they are all around us!
Dreams so wondrous,
Nightmares of the dangerous,
Hidden in photos
Detected in sound
Things move when nobody is around
Keys turning
Spirits yearning
For communication
Freedom from repetition
Or just a friendly hello
A familiar song on the cello.

- Jay M
November 21st, 2019
I wrote each one in a different perspective of the topic of ghosts. The two that are from my mom and sister's perspective are what I believe their take on the subject is based on what they have told me they believe.
Lukasz Barcz Dec 2019
But it’s a choice, I choose to have no voice!

To work tirelessly, hourly for a measly salary?

But how else afford my bills? Through goodwill? In fact, I deserve to be paid less; for they stress at the address of the Beverly Hills. So don’t call me a slave, I work for minimum wage! Not for nothing - bruised, humiliated and used. I’ll be rich someday, trust me, it’s the American way!

And when pay is little and health so brittle what’s left at the end of the month? When debts repaid, all odds weighed, you’ll have little left for personal trade.

But I’m no fool. I have a saving account and I put away a small amount, for interest at fair rates.

And what happens when the bank fails and the government bails and they’ve conveniently lost all your details of the money you saved? Won’t you feel foolish - a wage slave, depraved, having spent all your years well behaved?

But you lie, you lie! The media tells me so.

The media owned by two few, who buy up competition, stir division, renounce tradition, and for what? To enact their sick envisions? Who spy, decry, deny? These are not your friends; friends do not care for dividends when great injustice has been done. So join us now, and join us quick, for the revolution might have already begun.

But the economy, the economy! What of the economy!

Speak not as though you’ve something to lose; you do not. That privilege is reserved for those wretched few who choose to abuse. For example: the news, the Prince Andrews, those with extremist views. It’s all a big ruse! They said the same for the minimum wage, and they say it every new age! An economy which does not protect the little man - and would bomb children of Iran or Afghan but do nothing against the Ku Klux **** – is not worth respecting, never mind protecting.

But the immigrants would rob my job!

Poppycock! Automation is the real agitation plaguing our nation and yet there is no taxation. It is not immigrants who robbed you of education, or increased inflation or drive liquidation or deny medication. It is machines controlled by a single station taking your occupation. And it was the administration, taking advantage of digitalization, who receive the admiration and appreciation for their capitulation. Do not blame an immigrant based on a generalization; for often they’ve been through humiliation and incarceration. Do not fall for the indoctrination or the shell corporation and their sick dehumanisation.

But… But… Perhaps you’re right, I’m contrite, I should have criticised the system outright. But these injustices cannot be undone in a night, no matter how hard we fight, so what am I to do?

You must invite others to unite so we can ignite a revolution without need for a gunfight. Only then can we rebuild the system anew, but we cannot do it without you.
Sara Buzz Jun 2019
Staring up at the stars
running hands over the old scars
playing with my own heart as I lay awake.
God I really miss the past when no one cared,
Hell, it's really the same even now, because I'm still so unprepared.

I have at this point pretty much given up the effort of life.
Got a million things always gluing themselves to my brain,
not letting go, the plaguing memories attacking my rest each night.

And I've been thinking,
thinking maybe one last one,
and with my emptying feelings unchanging,
I just might.

Looking at all the lines I've drawn
all the progress made since then...
But no matter how long ago,
my body still begs for rewrites.
And I dont have enough heart left to say no,
that it should be lost back in time.
Yet for some unknown annoying reason everything around me screams to "wait"  I scream back "Why?"
"Because things can still change,
that my thoughts may rearrange".

So if I'm trying to be smart,
who shouldn't I give in to,
whatevers in me wants the red art.
My heart or my brain,
when both of them make me feel like in a single wrong move I'll somehow end up insane.

But who do I trust,
a future myself dreaming,
or as always, a quick fall back to the blood after reminiscing,
the hidden part of me who will always remember the feel, the freedom, brought by the savage selfharm lust.

Why shouldn't I cut
if it hurts no one else,
and no one else knows?

So what does it matter if I give in,
give this demon inside me what it wants?
I'm already dying, already losing
forcing myself into unfair competition and unmanageable choosing...

So why on Earth shouldn't I just cut?
If I'll never seriously want to leave, forever longing the warmth given in these blood filled daydreams.
Why fake the happiness when it's truly a grave?
when I can just stop,
let it happen,
and smile for real when I'm laying quietly and alone
in my shallow, self fulfilling rut.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2019
.that rare chance to be a spectator, of intra-cultural h'american difference(s), notacibly between REP-ZION and ONI-SION; wow (clearly)... i never thought it was, this bad, looking "forward" from the old continent, the schadenfreude mentality is, a bit, like, a paddy walks into a psychoanalysis clinic, slouches into the chair and repeats: where's the beer? h'america has become an unrecognizable culture-export powerhouse, the doubt plaguing these people is, rife... the fear? unfathomable, when it comes to expressing deviances of paranoia... once upon a time: great ******* music... now though? eh... not so much, esp. on scale of what's deemed acceptable... sorry... back on the "old continent", we're looking on, clueless... i've only just recently become exposed to this sort of content, these... hobbos of the internet... come to think of it, given these guys... failure is the only self-serving absolute to make deviation from up-staging the homeless, in reality, and these, leech test-dummies... current export of american culture? zero value... i'm still figuring out as to why america would require a cultural import "levy" on content creation: guess the teenage girls will not be enough as consumer digest "scrutiny", worth the base for an economic health analysis... the greatest country in the history of man, and they are unable, to perform with the sort of late 20th century hard-on... bothersome, i agree... but Europe is not exactly the place you'll be in want of finding inspiration... that's the last place you'd look.

there's nothing more **** than
witnessing                a spring blossom
in the ivory moonlight of
the night
       in my neighbour's garden,
which i'm feuding over,
which i "encouraged"
               to move house...
    sure... i wrote a poem once,
became so content with it
that i slipped out a wolf's imitation
  couldn't bark, i spoke...
and he reminded me of it,
asking me to: tell him,
when i was going to grill some
meat on the b.b.q.,
  i said: you're ******* mad,
he said: you're the madman
howling at night...
i replied: touché my friend...
last year?
  june / july?
    they have an autistic kid,
which is what you get when
you're circa 60,
and your maiden is circa 50...
apparently me minding my own
  smoking a cigarette,
perched on a windowsill,
sitting on a folded leg,
             crushing my ankle,
smoking out into the night
was the problem...
but it wasn't the heat,
oh no no...
the same heat that left me
moaning and groaning
upon waking up,
the same sort of heat
that made me sleep through
dreams that literally threw me
out of my bed,
and pseudo-suffocating
on the cold wooden floor...
or running into the garden,
in nothing but underwear,
to find the cold grounnd
with a cranium riddled with grass,
and trying to sleep an extra
2 hours on the cooling earth,
in nothing but my underwear...
but yeah...
   70cl of whiskey...
no... i'm not feeling it...
        give me some more...
just make sure that the spring
blossom appears
before my eyes in the night...
i was being, resonable,
who is to dictate whether i can,
or can't, smoke a cigarette
perched on a windowsill of
my bedroom, smoking it out
of my window?
i told him,
and later her:
  your property: your rules...
my property: my freedoms...
****, i must have been speaking
  because that sort of "logic"
didn't translate...
well, 50cl of whiskey in,
pepsi and a lime,
and i hear the right song,
what happens?
   an electric surge,
a stimulus of pleasure,
orientates the number of
hairs on my head,
and move right down into
my groin and testicles,
       starts to "thrill" me...
like i'm sort of self-automated
robot ****-bot,
     i never felt so good
about not ******* as i did,
listening to the right kind
of music,
   and looking at the right kind
of thing...
spring blossom, white,
in the night...
   i'm guessing it's a pear tree...
oh but i'm considered
   but i live next to a neighbour
that tells another neighbour
to clean up her dog ****
because the, fumes from the ****,
can somehow affect
their already autistic offspring...
i hear the little ******,
like any child:
cute gurgles of speech...
but the **** i hear,
when he's being told down,
**** me...
          i talk more ******* romance
to my cat than what i hear
from behind the wall...
and me, smoking out of my window,
is a problem, during the 2018 june /
july heatwave...
no no, the heat wasn't the problem...
talk about leaving a dog in
a parked car, next to some supermarket,
with the windows closed...
   i can only be just so much
reasonable, then i lose the plot,
and the plot becomes:
sane people pretend...
                                "sane"... people...
              i was falling out of my bed
gasping for cold,
running into the garden
  to find shade and a grassy patch
of land,
   but it was me smoking
cigarettes outside of my bedroom
that was the problem...
flimsy... ******* flimsy...
        i had to bring this up,
it's the sort of petty information
that translates itself into a kept
   i'll never read a book by
stephen king,
  not out of spite...
unless that could possibly be
the same sort of spite as to why
i will never read j. r. r. tolkien...
the movie did its bit,
by the standards of the hobbit...
you could have had 9 movies
in total...
   almost a star wars franchise...
it doesn't help that
i watched the fellowship of the ring
9 times at the cinema...
one time with a family friend
who was so obsessed with
enter the dragon...
that he watched it circa 30 times...
i'm starting to feel
the loosening effect of the 60cl of whiskey...
guess that implies:
i'm ripe...
   for blah, blah blah...
at the end of the day,
i have limited imagination,
which eases my inability to lie...
truth, or mantra...
   and the state of h'america these days...
i remember times when
europe would be barraged by
the cultural export of h'america...
     socio-political commentary
excerpts via... the usual channels...
how the **** didn't i make
a move to inact the more extreme
play-roles of *******?
oh, right...
the first and only
        canvas plot
of *******...
                    cupid, venus, folly & time...
i focused on the tender,
  oyster-like tongues...
and the entire spectrum
for the fetish of ******* a sister,
if i had one...
              *** outside of the mind
is so, so: ******* un-spectacular,
overtly competitive,
but if you have some sort of
a taboo cage,
   which you dare not break,
well: hello arousal.
    that basic translation
   of metaphor:
        phallus this,
enigma ***** that,
            Terra Mater of the phallus...
          Neptune... the god of
the pearl ivory genitals
of a woman...
if you know what a ****
feels like...
   most prostitutes have
the professional decency,
to oil up, even if they are not aroused...
an oyster in a desert scenario?
i might as well have been
circumcised within the interaction...
        years later,
after she first courted me
with the words: you will not deny me...
**** me, first date is over,
and she still owns a DVD copy
of the machinist...

                good "thing" that i visited
a *******,
   now i know what male ****
feels like:
      dropping a sort of viagara
into the food,
   and then not oiling up
for the, ******,
cocoon ***, under the bed-sheets,
in the dark, feel, of, things...
at least with a *******
the lights were on,
we didn't do it under bedsheets...
i showed my chubby,
she showed her chubby,
and then i washed her
while we took a shower together

       two prime examples...
she was struck with a quasi-paralysis
when she came to an ******,
    my casual average little richard
could do that...
   and she couldn't fathom it...
  apparently i was only her second
in the trade...
      m'eh... **** happens...
forest gump ran across the h'american
            forgetting my genitals...
because i didn't trim my *****
hair for a sensible act
        of experiencing *******...
'good man' / 'nice'...
    the **** was up with
                                       jackie boy?
well yeah: i'd be a moralist
if i managed to put a strap-on
on mickey mouse's head,
whenever the lightbulb moment
came into drawing the *******
cartoon for: a bright idea.
hell, i love writing about ***...
given that it's not exactly graphic...
unless you come around
to what i have to say about,
Lucy, and south park,
      near Seven Kings...
in between Seven Kings
and Goodmayes...
                the "affair" of the
         4.... 4/1,
but all of this is hardly spectacular,
it's nothing akin
to the "castration" of marquis de sade
strapped to the iron maiden
of the Bastile...
          his writings are worse
than his actual deeds...
   that origin story,
the one with the profanity
of the crucifix used as a ***** on
the ******* who reported him?
tame, his imagination was more wild
than his actual deeds...
come to think of it,
i don't even know how
the 16 year old me,
came about his most brilliant work,
the short ficto-essay ******,
but i did,
   i'd love to put a staff
into the Vistula, just in order
to change the current...
    but... clearly... this is,
   one of those instsances,
where a Moses metaphor,
                   will not do the required, trick;
   the sheer impossibility of
the act,
   transcending the physical
of laws that give man,
a mind,
   and a stability of vision,
a future,
that **** just went out of the "window".
Sea Aug 2018
"Who am I?"

I utter these words into the emptiness

The emptiness plaguing my soul

Rainbow strands woven within a deep midnight hue

Is the aura of my personality

I have a darkness, I live in unease

It's not poetic

It's agony

Listless and confused

On the canvas of my life are disoriented objects out of place

A jazz song on full blast-- a raucous display

Of my heart and mind up in wild flames

I quest for meaning

Words to wrap around my life

So it would make more sense to me

But words fall short..

Words lose their meaning

When your life is in endless disorder and disharmony

I feel compelled to take my life within tight fists

To reign it in


But I fear structure and routine

Would be water to the flame of my creativity

But my creativity

She needs order to ground her dreams in reality

Or else

I will spend my days in a magical reverie

And fail to contribute to the world

In this one, beautiful, free life

I have been gifted.
"Service is the rent we pay for being. It is the very purpose of life, and not something you do in your spare time." --Marian Wright Edelman
Amanda Feb 2019
So think about it for a while
Doesn't it make you sad?
To look at where we've ended up
So far from everything we planned?
I try and try to find solutions
To the problems plaguing our hearts
But as I put together the puzzle pieces
I realize we are missing too many parts
I had the rest of this written down somewhere but lost it ):
Amanda Oct 2018
Wish I could run away from here
I am ready for an escape from lows
Hands habitually reach for your skin
I sense the danger when close

I know you are toxic and addictive
Exactly how bad you are for me
My heart always leads me back to you
With my mind it will not agree

I keep replying to your messages
They make me very sad
Showing how short of a distance we have come
In the five long years we have had

History keeps on repeating itself
The cycle is very clear
It's so hard to let go of the thing
More than anything else I hold dear

I attempt to remain your friend
We both want something more
We foolishly still pretend there's hope
To regain closeness we felt before

At times I feel strange around you
Most of the time I feel hurt
The passionate affection had for you
Buried under six feet of dirt

If I forget all the wounds you inflicted
Undo the pain I caused you to feel
We could start anew like the past never happened
Like the awful grey days wasted were not even real

The sorrowful memories persistently exist
Plaguing mind with nightmares dark
Try to erase the patient moments embedded
They will forever stay stuck in my heart
I could run away forever if I had you by my side
I can escape my problems if you match me stride for stride

— The End —