"racketing" poems - Hello Poetry

I'm sitting here Staring at the floor The tears streaming down my face Sobs overtaking my lungs and racketing throughout my chest It already hurts enough Maybe it's the bruises on my ribs, Or my demented mind that's stuck on depression Or maybe the fact that I've been trying to pick up these pieces And fit then together It always falls apart I try so hard Taking these shards of glass Attempting to make a perfect reflection I've cut myself again Sometimes all I do is stare at my wrists Watching the blood flow over Spilling My life is ebbing away And with every weakening heartbeat All I can think about Is how I've lost Somehow I sit up I don't know why I try anymore, But I do I wipe the blood off of the pieces And puzzle it back together Finally, it holds a relfection When I get past the cracks spiderwebbing across the pane, The red edges pointed out at my skin, And when my eyes adjust to the darkness All I see is a broken figure staring back at me. That's nothing to hang on the wall.

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Aug 19, 2015

Aug 19, 2015 at 10:55 PM UTC

lycanthethrope

I've Already Lost

I'm sitting here Staring at the floor The tears streaming down my face Sobs overtaking my lungs and racketing throughout my chest It already hurts enough Maybe it's the bruises on my ribs, Or my demented mind that's stuck on depression Or maybe the fact that I've been trying to pick up these pieces And fit then together It always falls apart I try so hard Taking these shards of glass Attempting to make a perfect reflection I've cut myself again Sometimes all I do is stare at my wrists Watching the blood flow over Spilling My life is ebbing away And with every weakening heartbeat All I can think about Is how I've lost Somehow I sit up I don't know why I try anymore, But I do I wipe the blood off of the pieces And puzzle it back together Finally, it holds a relfection When I get past the cracks spiderwebbing across the pane, The red edges pointed out at my skin, And when my eyes adjust to the darkness All I see is a broken figure staring back at me. That's nothing to hang on the wall.

33

When I met you, everything insignificant Sang! Soap bubbles blew me melodies, Nail clippers Tapped to the tune, The leaky faucet Splashed a symphony! When I met you For the last time, I took a wrench to the neck Of the racketing faucet. Retrospectively, it was always a nuisance.

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Aug 13, 2014

Aug 13, 2014 at 12:09 PM UTC

attemptatbeingartsy

Hindsound is 20/20

When I met you, everything insignificant Sang! Soap bubbles blew me melodies, Nail clippers Tapped to the tune, The leaky faucet Splashed a symphony! When I met you For the last time, I took a wrench to the neck Of the racketing faucet. Retrospectively, it was always a nuisance.

14

Slowly, Shaky on my feet, like a child I was practically a child, When you found me. Shaped me, molded me as clay Your fingerprints, careful, intentional Slowly, They made my masterpiece, My words, my life, my soul Yours. But here I am alone, Knocky knees, pale cheeks, Chapped lips and aching ribs What am I to do with this control? Slowly, The world turns, still. My own is shattered. It lies on the glittering pavement Where I fall to my knees, With handfuls of my hair and racketing sobs, Screaming with the anger, the hurt, the ache Drawing all the attention I wished I'd drawn before A cry for help, an outreached, black-veined hand Though all in my mind, Because I walk past, on the pavement, And I walk home. Slowly, I breathe. I blink, my eyes dry. I've cried every tear I can cry For you, or really, For myself. What's left is a battered, brittle, brackish soul And a body in upset.

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Jan 17, 2018

Jan 17, 2018 at 12:37 AM UTC

Tipperish

Slowly

Slowly, Shaky on my feet, like a child I was practically a child, When you found me. Shaped me, molded me as clay Your fingerprints, careful, intentional Slowly, They made my masterpiece, My words, my life, my soul Yours. But here I am alone, Knocky knees, pale cheeks, Chapped lips and aching ribs What am I to do with this control? Slowly, The world turns, still. My own is shattered. It lies on the glittering pavement Where I fall to my knees, With handfuls of my hair and racketing sobs, Screaming with the anger, the hurt, the ache Drawing all the attention I wished I'd drawn before A cry for help, an outreached, black-veined hand Though all in my mind, Because I walk past, on the pavement, And I walk home. Slowly, I breathe. I blink, my eyes dry. I've cried every tear I can cry For you, or really, For myself. What's left is a battered, brittle, brackish soul And a body in upset.

34

an unavoidable point in time that is destined to happen again for the good, or for the bad it can be a positive outcome or it can end with an adolescent being embraced in the arms of death temptations to inflict injury upon him/herself cravings so unsustainable that you are forced to sit on your palms just to simply resist the urge to bring that dangerous piece of metal forth to your skin nauseous , swinging dizzy heads gunfire racketing inside my cell some people call a mind i'm sorry for what i have done

0

Feb 25, 2018

Feb 25, 2018 at 10:18 PM UTC

social_reject17

until the sun makes the hills its grave

an unavoidable point in time that is destined to happen again for the good, or for the bad it can be a positive outcome or it can end with an adolescent being embraced in the arms of death temptations to inflict injury upon him/herself cravings so unsustainable that you are forced to sit on your palms just to simply resist the urge to bring that dangerous piece of metal forth to your skin nauseous , swinging dizzy heads gunfire racketing inside my cell some people call a mind i'm sorry for what i have done

11

Pounding on that darned Rickie Evans's door this early morn at half past four. That nut was racketing and was asking for a lick. I told him he better get quiet real quick. Then I stomped back bear footed across the floor I figured id'e feed thee old **** as I slammed me old door. But I discovered that thee **** wouldn't be needin a feedin no more.

0

Aug 28, 2017

Aug 28, 2017 at 4:56 PM UTC

madeline-clow

Good Morning

Pounding on that darned Rickie Evans's door this early morn at half past four. That nut was racketing and was asking for a lick. I told him he better get quiet real quick. Then I stomped back bear footed across the floor I figured id'e feed thee old **** as I slammed me old door. But I discovered that thee **** wouldn't be needin a feedin no more.

1