"rhymically" poems
They stabbed her
Gnawed at her body
Feeding off her every
insecurity.
They punched her
Repeatedly, rhymically
Beating the life and soul
away.
They thought it was funny
They thought it was clever
They thought it was cool
They knew it wasn't correct.
They thought that
taunting with someone's life was a joke
That it was hilarious
to tip somebody over the edge
That it was satisfying
to bring someone down
That it was clever; the way they forced their victim
to
drown.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 5:26 PM UTC
These days
I spend
a lot of time
not exactly wanting
to die
but just
to be dead, maybe,
to rest.
There's a difference,
or at least
there used to be.
I am regret.
I am self-defeat.
I think about
thinking
more than I
used to.
I guess Depression will do that to you.
My body hurts.
Aches, actually.
It's constant.
In my head,
dull static
But louder.
Thumping rhymically.
Like, really ******* loud
all the
******* time.
Things are heavy.
My arms
weigh far too much.
My lungs
are concrete.
They pump
stale air.
My spine is sawdust.
My spit is mud.
Didn't my eyes
used to be
more blue?
Depression is an ******* who will do this to you.
My words
used to be sharp
and loud.
Electric and
strange, they
tumbled out
of me,
like machine
gun fire,
a swarm
of bees.
Now I have to
pry them
loose, carefully
like teeth.
Depression is mechanical and it's systematically destroying me.
Nov 10, 2013
Nov 10, 2013 at 2:39 AM UTC