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Big Virge Aug 2014
I’m Sick of How Rude English People Can Be ... !?!
I'm Sick Now of Living ... In This ******* Country ... !!!
I’m Sick of Not Knowing ... Where The Hell I Should Be ... !?!
I’m Sick To My Stomach of Not Being Free ... !!!
  
I’m Sick of The Chains of This Society … !!!
I’m Sick of How Girls ... Try Playing With Me ... !!!
I’m Sick of My Ex Saying ... " Give back my key ! ” ...
  
I’m Sick Now of Seeing ... ***** On TV ... !!!
I’m Sick of How Girls Now ... Mess With My Chi ... !!!
  
I’m Sick of My Job ... !!!
I’m Sick of Colleagues ... Who Define The Word **** ... !!!
  
I’m Sick of Fat People Who Clearly Are SLOBS ... !!!
I'm Sick of Not Being ... Able To Just Sob ... !!!
I’m Sick of These People Who Just Want To Rob ... !!!  
  
I’m Sick of These People Who Think They Can Judge ... !!!
I’m Sick of Timelines ... To Recite This Good Stuff ... !!!
I’m Sick So ****** SICK … That I'm Feeling ROUGH ... !!!
  
I’m Sick of Girls Saying ... " He's just in a huff ! " ...

I’m Sick of MP's ... Telling Me I Can't Puff ... !!!
I’m Sick of ******* ... That's Spoke In Most Pubs ... !!!
  
I’m Sick of Fools Acting As Though They Are Tough ... !!!
I’m Sick of How Girls Say ... " They like their *** rough " ... !!!
  
I’m Sick of That Bull ... OPEN YOUR LEGS UP ! ...
I’m Sick of Why After … Girls Beg For A Hug ... !!!!!
  
I’m Sick of Black People ... !!!
I’m Sick of White People ... !!!
I’m SICK ... DON'T YOU SEE ... !?!
of ... ALL of You People …. !!!!!!
  
I’m Sick of Not Being ...
High Up Like ... Church Steeple ...
So I Can Look DOWN ...
On You IGNORANT People …. !!!!!
  
I’m Sick of These FRAUD RIDDEN Marketing Schemes ... !!!
I’m Sick of These ... BULLSHITTING Marketing Teams ... !!!  
  
I’m Sick of Agendas ...
They Have For Their Means ... !!!
  
I’m Sick of Them CLAIMING ...
  
... " Their motives are clean ! " ...
  
I’m Sick of Not Having Enough ***** Dreams … !!!
  
I’m Sick of Attracting The Wrong Type of Girl ... !!!
I’m Sick of Them Trying To ... Mess With My World ... !!!
  
They Make Me So Sick … I Wish I Could HURL ... !!!!!!!!!
  
Okay Now You Know ... I’m Sick of A LOT ... !!!
But This Is The Start of The Sickness I've Got ... !!!
  
The Sickness I've Got ... Runs Through Me Like SNOT … !!!
  
The Sickness I've Got Is A Sickness To Plot …
The Death of Mankind … !!!

But This Isn't T3 And Is NOT ... I ROBOT ... !!!
  
This Sickness Runs DEEP Cos' You People Are Sheep ... !?!
And Just Don't Believe In The Sickness You Keep … !!!
  
The Sickness You Have Is Making Me .... " Weep " … !!!
  
You People Are WEAK … !!!
Your Outlook Is BLEAK ... !!!
  
And Now You're All SHOCKED …
By These Words That You Read … !?!
  
The Sickness I Speak of Defines How You Treat ...
Different People You Meet ... On Your Everyday Street ....
  
This Sickness Is RIFE ...
Men Beat Up Their Wives ... !?!
Cos' They Just Cannot Beat ...  
The Sickness They ... "Hide" ... !!!
  
My Words Give Insight ...
Into Their FOOLISH PRIDE … !!!
  
OH You're Now Feeling SICK ... !!!
DON'T You See … That's The TRICK ... !!!  
  
I Build My Lyrics On Foundations Like Bricks ... !!!

See I've Written This Script To Give You A HIT ... !!!
Just Like Police Do Young Blacks .... In The NICK ... !!!!
  
I Just Want To Give …
ALL This Sickness A Kick Right Out of My Mind …
Like Winds Blowing Clouds To Leave CLEAR Skies Behind … !!!!!
  
So Now I've DEFINED ...
What I Think of You ****** And ALL Your ******* ... !!!!!
  
To Girls I've Offended … Come **** ON MY **** ... !!!
  
And Just For You Fellas I’m Sick of You TOO ... !!!
Cos' Most of You ****** Just Think With Your **** ... !!!!
  
I’m SICK YES of People .... !!!
Cos PEOPLE ... Make Me .....….
  
………… " SICK " ………….. !!!!!!!
Sometimes, you just gotta say what ya gotta say !
Jake Waddell Feb 2016
I'm sick

I'm sick of every filter
I'm sick of fake photographers
I'm sick of fake philosophers
and Instagram pornographers
I'm sick of the fake feminists
who don't understand the movement
I'm sick of fake politicians
who make no ******* improvements
I'm sick of all the favorites
I'm sick of all the likes
I'm sick of ******* tinder
causing cheating every night
I'm sick of ******* eyebrows
like who ******* cares
when did we become so obsessed
with ******* forehead hair
I'm sick of religion
I'm sorry but it's true
it's caused so much division
in our red white and blue
I'm sick of trump supporters
who never read the news
they want to close our borders
but don't understand the ruse
I'm sick of fake people
who pretend for us all
cover their old selves in diesel
didn't hesitate or stall
I'm sick of Caitlin Jenner
she/he whatever isn't noble
committed ******* manslaughter
yet still remains boastful
I'm sick of post it note relationships
that last for three weeks
it's not a ******* battleship
just make the proper tweaks
I'm sick of all these hookups
it's become a culture
all of these pickups
initiated by the vultures
I'm sick of everyone caring
about what celebrities wear
I'm sick of overbearing hate
that never ever spares
I'm sick of all the judgment
of how a person looks
I'm sick of everyone watching YouTube
trading it for books
I'm sick of all this money
that we will never see
I'm sick of never knowing
what I'm supposed to do
I'm sick of schooling never showing
how to live our lives through
I'm sick of all this debt
that I'll be paying until my death
Im sick of feeling like our society is *******
but most of all I'm really sick
that this list has applied to me too.
elizabeth Mar 2016
I’m sick of you not trusting me.
I’m sick of trying to be perfect.
I’m sick of your standards.
I’m sick of being compared.
I’m sick of being tired.
I’m sick of hating myself.
I’m sick of not feeling good enough.
I’m sick of myself.
I’m sick of being judged.
I’m sick of being a disappointment.
I’m sick of feeling guilty.
I’m sick of feeling ashamed.
I’m sick of the looks I get.
I’m sick of being blamed for everything.
I’m sick of feeling unloved.
I'm sick of living.
I’m just… sick.
I think we're all a little sick, in one way or another.
Sick man sick man why you so sick
try to walk a block feels like a mile
sick man be sick for very long while
every time I see him he never smile

Sick man sick man why you so sick
doctor can't tell him what be wrong
sick man been sick way too long
sick man sick just got to be strong

Sick man sick man why you so sick
wouldn't wanna walk in your shoes
sick man ain't got no power to choose
sick man sick man don't want sick man blues
valencia May 2019
September

from dust and broken glass, from silver and stone, an army arises from their shallow graves. and to this day, no one can remember that this is how it all began.

demons run when a good man goes to war.
that’s what they have always told me. there haven’t been any good men here for a while then, because I can still see demons lurking around corners like shadows.


there have always been things in my life I have learned not to question. you do not doubt the stars in the sky, the ground beneath your feet, or the strength of the northernland. we do not question the northernland.

i like to ask myself questions-
after the sky fell, who gathered it all up and put it back in the sky?
they won’t tell us in school.
when the sky fell, what did the stars taste like?
i think it would taste like fire and pain and sugar, like drinking lighting hot lemonade in the summer.
we don’t ask in school.

thursday



there has never been enough. money, food, water. in school, they teach us about the war. the war has no name, it is just the war. maybe it will someday. no one dares to name it. you do not name the devil.

we bow to the throne of the northernland, unaware that is was born of lies. the cameras are our leader now. they are all we have ever known.

on Sundays we go to church and pray. the crosses will never hang right and are always turning upside down and the priest is always looking pale. we all look pale, now. the cloud of dust from northernland blocks out the sun most days.


friday
I went to Lou's house today. she has a red front gate and ivy growing in her garden. we kicked a deflated kickball around for a bit, but she kept looking over her shoulder. she pretended to drop the ball behind her but couldn't bend down to grab it because her arm is broken, so I went over. tears were hiding beneath her eyes, but she did not say anything. then her dad came out and watched us play. i didn’t like his smile, it was too wide.




when i wanted to go home, he offered to walk me home. i said i could do it by myself. wouldn’t want you to get into trouble he said, somehow smiling wider. lou made herself laugh and smiled too, but it wasn’t a real smile. as we walked home, he didn’t turn his head away from me, even to cross the street. i looked deep into his pupils, which were so wide they covered the colored part. i swore i could see someone behind them, watching. i didn’t say anything. after i went into my house,
he stood out front for a long time, watching. then i heard. shout from the basement but the door was locked as always so i got scared about that instead and when i looked out front again he was gone.

saturday

today in school i fell and skinned my knuckles. the blood that came was strange, reddish-orange. teacher grabbed my hand and bandaged it right away before i could get a good look at it. she said you mustn’t tell your mother.


teacher doesn’t know that mother went to go live in the White Building, a place for people who hear voices and don’t like the government and have to be restrained so they don’t hurt people. i don’t say any of this, i just nod my head ok.

sometimes i worry, about alistair. he’s a gravedigger and everyday when he comes home he looks so empty. he won’t tell me why he’s so sad but once i heard him tell canary that the graves just get bigger everyday and then after a long time he said but there are always to many bodies

i tried to listen more but he found me behind the wall and when i asked him why there were so many bodies he said there’s a sickness, that’s all
then after that teacher made us all wear cottons masks that are itchy and make it hard to breathe.


sunday

on the telly today the man in the suit announcer we had another victory but i don’t understand how we can have victories without winning the war. the man in the suit tried to show a picture but all we saw was a blurry mess because alistair said sometimes things can’t be shown on the telly but i don’t know why. i doesn’t make sense why they would restrict anything anymore. we now what it looks like. a flat landscape paved with bodiesaccented with blood.
we aren’t supposed to know about that though.

in school, teacher tells us there have been no casualties of the war. but only when principal is watching. when he’s not she’s stuffs our coats beneath the crack and the door and tunes the telly to a different station- one that’s fuzzy that she has to hold a hanger to in order for us to see anything. and she’ll flip back and forth between leader of the northernland and say this is propagandam  and then turn the **** back to the man in the suit, and then say this is the truth

i don’t know why teacher tells us these things.

monday

listen- do you hear it? i can hear planes buzzing overhead. teacher says to ignore it. teacher says we aren’t supposed to hear.
alistair never lets me go in the basement. he keys the key round his neck, even when he’s sleeping. he says it’s dangerous down there. but i’ve always been too curious- that’s what principal says. he looks at me with those stern different colored eyes and says curiosity killed the cat every time ms. hoth brings me to his office for doodling. i still have no idea what a cat is. cardeully, he erases my drawings and put the paper neatly into his desk. we waste nothing here. go home is all he says. but i know what he means. walk home in silence and do not ask questions, do not look behind curtains and do not wander off.

today mari has her birthday party. her mum wasn’t there. i can tell lou noticed because her eyes were scanning the room all strange, but she didn’t say anything. i didn’t ask. mari looked all scared and the camera of the ceiling fan hadn’t moved from her in a long time. i wondered who was watching her.

later, mari pulled me beneath her bed. i tried to say something but she covered my mouth with her hand. they’ll take me for telling you
was all she said.
but i have to tell someone.

i knew the feeling.
after a long time she took her hand off of my mouth and said mums in the garden








while she opened her presents, the mandatory ones from the northernland that are no fun, i tried to look out the window to see her mum. the only thing i could see in the garden was a pile of freshly turned earth. lou caught me looking and grabbed my wrist. she said you mustn’t look.


tuesday
when i come home there is a woman sitting at the kitchen table, and with her there are four ravens. she is royal, i can feel it in the way she sits and breathes and just exists. she looks at her hands and then at me. but this lady is not a guardian angel, like the kind canary says is always looking out for us. i am not an angel. she says. she is not from the northernland, but not from here either. i know is all i say, because i am not alarmed that she is here and that there are cameras and that she does not belong. i know she is not real. and she says i am a godess. i do not doubt her. she sits up, and puts the ravens about her in her hair and on her shoulders and the like. this is an omen. i nod, because why else would a goddess be at my kitchen table? and then she is gone because she was never really there, and i wash my face and make sure i am no longer seeing people that are not there, because i don’t want to go live in the White Building like mum.


wednesday

they are always watching us at recess- we mustn’t stand or walk anymore. we have never been allowed to run. there are cameras everywhere now, too. they see everything like a great waking monster that never sleeps. i thought i would feel safe with the cameras, but the back of my neck feels prickly like there’s somebody standing behind me and when i spin around and look the mushroom is empty except for me.

the only place there aren’t cameras is under alistair bed. i go and hide there sometimes, just to forget the feeling of being watched. that’s where i read the stories that alistair’s written. in them, he talks about a sky as blue as the ocean.
i have never been to the ocean. i remember the sky used to be blue, but never really. now it is a sickly grey.
canary caught me looking at the sky once and pushed my head down. she said don’t let them catch you looking or they’ll put cameras in your eyes.
i believe her.

wednesday

today we went to mandatory meeting, where they passed out rations. there is always less and less then there was last time. while we were there they made us watch a video where the leader of the northernland talked about how well we were doing in the war and how this would almost be over soon. he also reminded us that if we were past curfew there would be serious punishments.
for rations we got a red powder called kool-aid that you mix with water to make juice. we also got a loaf of white bread, a browned banana, circular crackers and a warm jacket. alistair took the jacket and left for work.

canary always looks worried. ever since mom went bonkers i haven’t seen her not wearing her worry lines. i can’t believe she’s only six years older than me. to alistair that doesn’t seem like a long time. to me, six years is an eternity. as long as a war.

canary watched alistair go at the window for a long time, long after he disappeared into the fog. then, all of a sudden, she turned around and said i’ll help you with your homework. i didn’t tell her that i knew how to multiply fractions. mom always used to say that if you were busy you weren’t worried. canary made me a cup of red juice and her hands shook so much she dropped the glass.
pity, that was our last one. it seemed to shatter in slow motion, and i could see every piece break slower and slower.

the day seemed to go by slowly, the cold sleeping into my bones and making me sleepy. i wa so thirsty, so thirsty. i wasn’t allowed anymore water till friday though. if you drink to much of it at once you get sick. i begged canary to let me drink from the stream in the garden but she wouldn’t. it’s black and thick, and smells like nail polish.

the last time i punted my nails was for dads funeral. i remember canary used her last bottle of nail polish to paint my fingers black, so as not to have anybody see the dirt under my fingernails. it didn’t matter, in the end. we were the only ones who attended.

canary is flying together the pieces of the glass with tacky glue. i can’t bear to tell her that all the glue in the world would never be enough. the shards are too small. she’s fills it back up with red juice and fora moment all is well, but then the glass can’t take it anymore and collapses with force into her hands. kool-aid runs down her fingers like blood. intermixed is real blood, from the cuts the glass left. she looked at it for a long time, letting the blood run down her fingers like that.

then she said what a waste

november

alistair is sick. principal gave us ibuprofen but all it does it make him feel empty. he begs us not to give him more but it’s the only things that will take his fever down. he thrashes in bed and screams ****** ****** and i worry he is going to be like mom, always seeing things and hearing things. maybe he can go live with mom in the White Building. mom would like that, if she could remember alistair.

i have been sleeping at school, because canary doesn’t want me to get sick. the dorms are cold and empty and heavily sanitized. i miss canary and i miss alistair but canary won’t let me come home. i don’t know what she would do if i was sick. so i stay. and every night, i say to myself i hate the northernland i hate the northernland i hate
but i say it in my head,  because i am worried they will come for me.
sometimes i worry about canary getting sick. she says promise i wont, sunshine but i know she never worries about herself. teacher gave me flowers to send to alistair. the card says “get well soon” it has been a long time since i have seen real flowers. most are fake, like the ones teacher sent alistair. i don’t mind. it’s the sentiment that is important.





sunday

today at church preacher said and let us pray for our sick
they have stopped re adjusting the crosses. the remain upside down and no one looks. except me. i was looking, while we were supposed to be praying, but canary pushed my head down and said  pretend you can’t see them.
that’s  when i knew she sees things too.

saturday
i remember when i came home from school and found mum. there was paper all over the house, because she’s been doing her drawings. it was on the walls and floor and crinkled up under the boxes, all pictures of the northernland and the pastor and everything. and she said there is no god. there is no god. there is no god. alistair covered her mouth but it was too late, the northernland men were already here. she drew here pictures more violently scribbling and slashing with my art pencils. she drew alistair and canary and father, but not me or her. there was lump in my throat. she picked a new piece of paper and drew god, above us all, but she kept saying there are no gods there are no gods there are no gods, and she slashed and scribbled at the paper, and the northernland men were knocking, watching us through the cameras, and mum pulled me down next to her. i could see blood beneath my skin she held me so tight, and she had. a thousand stars in her eyes that were all spinning, saliva dripped down her chin and  she did not look my my mum anymore. she looked lost. she said the gods have abandoned us.


after the northernland men took her to live in the White Building, her drawings were left on the floor. alistair gathered them all up and threw them in the basement and locked the door. then he put the key around his neck. at least, i think that’s what’s in the basement. i have never told alistair, but i took the last drawing she did, of me and her and a boy. i stuck it with glue to the very back of my dresser drawer, so no one will ever find it. in the picture, my lips looks like there are sewn together with greenish yarn. this has always scared me. mums mouth is open and she is screaming, but there is no tounge inside her mouth. the boy looks normal, and he is holding my hand. this boy is not alistair. this has always scared me. this has always scared me. this has always scared me. it’s only a picture.



monday

i keep finding myself in that moment-
when canary broke the glass and cut her hands, spilling red juice and blood like lines on her hands. she sat there for a long time, just looking. maybe it’s stuck with me because she was just looking, when we’re never supposed to look.

the clocks tick slower and slower everyday.


tuesday

teacher wasn’t at school today. instead we have a woman with blinding hair and an accent from the northernland. nobody asked where teacher went.
we don’t want to know. the hanger and the telly were gone, too.

when i got home i was feeling really sick with tears. i told alistair they’ve taken teacher. his eyes widened and he ****** his head toward the camera. canary dig her fingernails into my arm. of course they haven’t was all he said. that’s silly.

then he looked off into nothing for a long time. i just looked straight into the camera.


wednesday

at recess the northernland woman was acting real strange. she sat with us on the pavement and when the camera tune we it’s invasive x-ray eyes away she whispered your teacher has been taken by the northernland.

nobody said anything. nobody says anything, anymore. i think if we even spoke to many of us would cry. and then the cameras would look at us. so we just stared into space.
in our hearts, we already knew. but i still wanted to scream.


thursday

today was idyllic. sun came through the smoke and lit the sidewalk up orange. the woman from the northernland asked us what we would want if we could have any powers. almost everyone said healing. i said flying. maybe it’s because i’m selfish, all i want to do is fly away. but maybe it’s because i’m honest. i’m getting tired of not hearing the truth.

just to see if i could do it i ran all the way home. my feet seemed to leave the ground, its was as if i was actually flying every time i took a step. but then i landed and took off again.
i hadn’t run in a long time.
my chest seemed to hurt with a good  pain, if pain can be good.
i wanted to tell alistair but canary wouldn’t let me see him. i just need to you to get warm was all she said. over and over. but i’m boiling he said. it was quiet for a long time. it’s going to be alright. she said it again. twice. three times.

you know that feeling when you feel sick to your stomach, not because of disease but of fear. and mixed up in that sickness are tears and realization and you feel weak and helpless.  that’s how i felt when they took mum. that’s how i feel now.

i don’t know why, but a sudden hatred for the northernland boils up in my stomach. i think i am going to be sick. i turn around and run, run as fast as i can until i am at a strange gravel alleyway hidden behind some trees. i rest there for a long time, looking into the darkness after the cliff face. i know where i am. i am in the abyss, a place forbidden so long ago by alistair i had never thought to come here. i don’t break rules, i just ask questions. but i am here. at the abyss. where nobody should ever be.

friday
death is a sense. just like touch or smell, death is a feeling. i could feel it in my heart. in my bones and in my veins. it crowded about our house like fog in the summer. and all i wanted in the world was for it to go away.

teacher today told us about the northernland, how it was kind and safe and loved it’s people. the lie seemed to cuddle in her throat. nobody has ever gotten kindness from the northernland. the northernland started the war and has starved and survieled us to no avail. i know there was a time before, but i do not understand how that could have been. but i still haven’t  made peace with the cameras.


the abyss is where people go to go crazy. your screams bounce off the walls of the hole, but you cannot see them because it does not have edges. you cannot see the bottom or the sides of anything, just darkness. then the northernland men in the gas masks come in their yellow trolley and take you away. the abyss is where the devil lives, in a bottomless hole to the middle of the world.







saturday

i met a boy who lives in the abyss. he is made of sunshine and glitter, and plastic and paint and peace and everything that is beautiful.

but he is not really there. instead, he is almost see through. sometimes he is there and sometimes he is not. i know he isn’t real, just an imaginary friend. i am not like mum, who saw imaginary people and thought they were becoming real.

i did not say much to enyo, instead i said the only thing i was thinking. saying it made me feel sick.

i think alistair is going to die.













as i said it, it echoed off the walls of the cliff.
suddenly it was all too much. i was all too much. my heart started beating fast and my mouth felt dry and i stood up. i didn’t mean to cry but i did, big wet tears the dried my skin. i don’t want him to die. i said over and over.
my words echoed against the cliffs, i didn’t  sound like me.
HE CANT DIE
i shouted. HE CANT DIE HE CANT DIE HE CANT DIE HE CANT DIE HE CANT DIE HE  CANT


i woke up a long time later next to enyo. i looked into the void that filled the space between the cliffs and the beyond. i wonder of that’s where heaven is i said. i pointed into the nothingness that felt all consuming. enyo said nothing. he looked as empty as i felt.
a long silence later i said he’s not going to die is he? enyo looked me in the eyes for the first time and i realized his were a beautiful black, layer upon layer of black and brown. he said what do you fear more, the echo or the answer

but enyo was not there at all. he is only imaginary.




sunday

preacher came again to the house and said that alistair is better. that his fever had broken. i didn’t know fevers could break. i asked him about what being sick feels like, and he took me outside to the garden and we sat on the piles of rubble that used to be the neighbors. he said that your brain gets confused, and everything seems fuzzy and mixed up. i can’t help but think that must be awful for alistair, he was always orderly.

monday
today mari has her birthday party. her mum wasn’t there. i can tell lou noticed because her eyes were scanning the room all strange, but she didn’t say anything. i didn’t ask. mari looked all scared and the camera of the ceiling fan hadn’t moved from her in a long time. i wondered who was watching her. i know who was watching her.


tuesday

i go down to the cliffs, but enyo isn’t there. schools closed for sanitization, so i have nothing to do.  i swing my legs off the edge for a long time. i don’t dare say anything, i hate how it echoes back. i look deep into the bottom but i can see nothing.  it is only darkness. something at the bottom feels like is calling to me, tugging at me to come. i turn my back.
was this before or after the preacher came? i am trying to remeber in order, tell you this story radially like teacher says.

i go home and canary’s there waiting at the window. she says here i’ll help you with your homework. no, no, no NO NO NO NO NO NO. that did not happen after, that happened before.

i can hear the ticking of the clock in my ears, slowing down.
maybe i’m going crazy.


wednesday
i’m sitting on a bench, but i cannot remember where. enyo is beside me and he is talking. in my chest i feel something strange, like it is moving and jumping. i feel queasy but it also feels nice.
i look over and he’s bleeding, golden blood from his eyes and mouth running down his chest. i want to scream but it stops in my throat. enyo puts a finger to my lips and the scream goes away.

he isn’t bleeding anymore. we’re holding hands. are we holding hands? teacher tells us not too, it will make us sick. but enyo is different. enyo doesn’t go to school. i feel as if my hands are sweating but it doesn’t matter, he doesn’t say anything.





i wake up cold. it felt so real, it all felt so real. my arms feel heavy.
i’m alone on a bench by the abyss. smoke fills the air and makes it hard to breathe.

friday
mari wansnt at school today. i know the northernland took her, broken bones and all. i remebemer becaus lou told me while alistair was sick. but that was days ago. i am sorry, it’s just so hard to tell the story in the proper order. my head hurts.

tuesday
i’m sorry if i cross out bits, it’s just that as i understand more i change the words. doctor says to stop doing this, but i want you to know the truth. the clocks are going slower and slower lately. alistair can’t work anymore, the preacher said so. i was going to tell him about enyo, how he is real now, not imaginary, but i didn’t know how. there aren’t words to describe him. looking at him makes crows beat their wings beneath my ribs, but i don’t know why. I sit with alistair after class but i can’t think of much to say. he doesn’t seem like my brother anymore, just a body lying on the floor.



thursday
doctor says i am defamilirazing myself, telling the story like it did not happen to me. telling it in all the wrong bits. i will try and tell it in the right order, but my head hurts. my head hurts so much. doctor won’t tell me why i need to explain, what the tape recorders are for or the make i have to wear the mask or why i’m here, what happened to my family. he won’t tell me why every time i say it like it was in the past and not happening right now he checks me for a fever. all he tells me is to start at the begging.

friday
the blonde woman from the northernland has a ring in her nose, but i do not know why. when i ask her she doesn’t seem to understand. she doesn’t talk anymore, either. just points at things on the board. i dreamt that she had her tounge cut off, but that was just a dream. the northernland would never do that to someone.

saturday
alistair is dead.
preacher says the disease took him, but i do not know which. the real sickness or the brain washing of the northernland. i think it was both, because the sickness made his brain weak so the mind-poisoners could break in. it’s okay, he wasn’t my brother anymore. doctor says that i never loved him.

sunday
church has ended and we are walking home, just arrived when our door opens. i wonder who would w at to come to this house, where the walls smell like death. the northernland woman is at our door, standing in the place the cameras cannot see her. she is smart. canary opens it and the northernland woman opens her mouth. there is no tounge or teeth, and the sides of her throat are black. i scream, so loud and shrill that i cannot believe that i am making this noise. my heart is in the center of the earth, fear running through my brain and i am screaming. canary covers my mouth. it doesn’t matter, the cameras were already looking.

canary pushed me to the floor and dragged me under the bed. i could feel the cameras following us the entire way. when she sat up, her pupils looked strange, the ways moms did when she ways seeing the people in the walls. anger seemed to hide in her voice, she was trying not to be loud but to me it felt like she was screaming, she had never thrown words that hit me like knives before. she told me never to scream or else the men behind the spying eyes of the camera would come for me. what would i do without you she yelled, but it wasn’t yelling it was crying. she help me close to her chest and i could feel her breathing and her heart beating, sparratic and short. she cried into my hair, until it was soaking wet with tears. this was when i knew canary was lost.

tuesday
enyo is in the void, just there. he is very pale today, and he doesn’t say anything for a long time. we have gotten to holding hands now. i have never held hands with anyone, and my fingers feel strange and clumsy. tecaher used to say that touching was against the rules, but i am so sick of rules that i am now glad to break them.
all at once, it occurs to me that there could be cameras here. there are cameras everywhere. i don’t know why this has never occurred to me before. suddenly i dont care, i want them to see. i stand up and scream as loud as i can.


thursday
after i screamed, no one came for me. even when i go back, i don’t feel safe anymore. i ruined the only place i felt safe.


saturday
enyo is gone. i go everyday and yell for him, but he left when i screamed. he is still missing. i’m worried for him, but at least i know the northernland has not taken him. a sick feeling in my stomach asks me if enyo was ever real. i know he was. but it is still there, pulling at my head. of course he was. i felt his skin, rough and broken. imagination can’t conjure up real people.
but then i think of mom. how her fever got so high she started to see people that weren’t there. my head hurts so much, like someone is trying to break out of jail in my skull. i am angry, for the first time in my life. enyo was my only friend, the only one who could see through the blanket of the northernland skies. i scream for him ENYO ENYO ENYO ENYO ENYO ENYO, but i am not mad, i am crying and crying so much and loud that someone puts their hand over my mouth, but there is no one there. i am suffocating. i turn around and i can’t breathe, my vision is tunneling into the abyss.
i am sick.



someone is holding my body, but their skin is cold. i open my eyes but i can only see shapes. i am on the gravel and the sun is orange, just like always. i am alone. but can feel someone’s tears, touching my cheeks. i sit up as fast as i can, and i am seeing stars but i just need to look. we are never supposed to look but i am going to see.


the northernland is punishing me.
enyo is making me sick.


enyo is there beside me, crying. i have never seen him cry and something rises inside me, and all i want to do is put my arms around him, so i do. slowly he gets warmer and feels more solid. let the cameras watch, let them see.


sunday
im running, running by the tips of my feet and pushing me off the ground, i’m flying. i have to get home.  i think of the first time i ran, letvthe cameras watch, talked to enyo. all the times i’ve broken the rules. i has always hated the northernland, but i had witnessed something better. i had talked to enyo, heard stories of what it was like before. a hatred so strong curcdled beneath my ribs and made me want to punch someone. i ran and ran and ran and ran, shouting HE CANT DIE
i shouted. HE CANT DIE HE CANT DIE HE CANT DIE HE CANT DIE HE CANT DIE HE  CANT.     he is going to die.






monday
i saw a raven in the wire pole today. it was big against the grey sky and he watched me as i walked into the house. i hadn’t seen a raven in a long time, so i turn to enyo to tell him he looks like a raven. he smiles, but he is. if there. enyo was never there.

wednesday
alistair has gone back to work, though i think he shouldn’t have. he tells me the symptoms of the disease when he gets home. headache,seeing things, bleeding from your insides. i play with the ring on my finger, trying not to ask if that’s what happened to mom. i open my mouth but a rock lives there, and i cannot move it without crying.


sunday
doctor tells me to get off the floor, that i can stand now. i stand up and he puts me on the table. he is old and pale, with shiny grayish eyes. tell me what happened to alistair he says. i do not understand. what happened to alistair?

friday
mari wansnt at school today. i know the northernland took her, broken bones and all. i remebemer becaus lou told me while alistair was sick. i go home alone, and cold. i feel like there is a little green man in my lungs running a garden hose. i think back to the time when i ran, the first time i broke the rules. nobody came for me.
i can’t run anymore, my arms feel heavy and when i cough thick red bloods comes out of my mouth. it must be the smoke. I go home, and canary is at the window. she is crying in reckless abandon, shamshing on the door with her fists. two men from the northernland are holding her back, and one hits over the head with a black stick. alistair is being carried out on a stretcher.
look what the northernland has done to my family. all for the sake of this stupid war. i can’t remember who we’re fighting and yet my sister and my brother have died for the cause.
enyo says they are not dead. but enyo is not there, he was never there.

wednesday
i screamed again. i know canary told me not to, that cameras would look into my eyes and into my head. but i saw the northernland man coming up the street in his yellow trolley, straight for lou’s house. when the door opens she is wheeled out on a stretcher. so i screamed, because lou is dead and the war with no name had killed her. the devil had killed her.

canary grabbed me as the camera looked at me, as every camera in the house was trained on me. there was a disturbance in her eyes i had never seen before, like she was not all there. she grabs my arms and is much stinger than she should be. she opens the basement door and i scream again, because now i know what’s in the basement.








more northernland men than i have ever seen are in the basement, and when the door opens they look up. somebody take sme from canary and i scream and writhe and kick, but they pull at my body until my skin tears.





when i wake up, i am holding very still, and i cannot move if i want too. doctor says this is called  paralysis. there is a very bright light and a searing pain, it’s hurts so much my body is burning. cascades of blood come down into my mouth, and someone is sticking my lips with pins. this hurts more than anything that  has ever happened to me. it hurts in a deep ache, not just on the surface, and my entire body wants to shudder. my lungs are filling up with blood, because it hurts to much to breathe.





saturday
when i wake up i am in my bed, in my house. more relief than i have ever felt washed over me, because it was just a nightmare.

i used to have nightmares where there was a man in my room, saying numbers out of order. but then preacher says that if i talk to god before bed and make sure my blood is pure of doubt for the northernland, then i will not have nightmares. this is why i have had this nightmare, because i was disbelief the northernland. i do not care, because it was only a dream. i will never hail the northernland.


my lips hurt, and i wonder if in the night i bit my lips because of the dream. that happens sometimes. i dress and get ready for school, and catch myself in the mirror before i go. i turn fully toward it to make sure i am not hallucinating. in the great horror of it all, i try to scream, but it stays in my throat. i cannot scream, or make any sound at all.

my lips are sewn shut with green thread.


friday
everyone at school is quiet. anna covers her mouth and big wet tears fall on the ground. mrs. hoth takes her to the office, and the cameras follow them all the way there. we say our pledge and do our arithmetic, but i cannot say anything. i hate the northernland.
i hate it, i hate it. and i realize this is why they have silenced me.
the northernland woman is gone, and a man in a yellow coat teaches us arthimatic.
the clock on the wall is barley ticking now.
lou sits at the desk in front of me, her hair greasy and skin pale blue. she turns round, just like the old days, but isstead of telling me what the answer is or who’s the cutest or any of the normal things, all she says is run. her mouth makes an o and she closes her eyes and rests her head on the desk.

when i blink, she is not there. i am alone in the classroom.


sunday
i go to church by myself, because i havent seen canary since she sewed my mouth shut. she is not my sister anymore, and i pretend i don’t care what happens to her in that basement.

when i get there preacher is not there, there is nobody there except the northernland woman. she comes and sits next to me and runs her fingers across the stitches. we pray together, even though we can’t say anything and there is no sermon. when we walk outside there is an officers car, and she is handcuffed an put in the back. the man who has taken her gives me a sticker, with a little white cloud on it. it says trust in the northernland. i do not trust the northernland. i do not trust anyone.
i run away as fast as i can and throw the sticker into the ground, but it still seems to follow me inside my head. trust in the northernland. trust in the northernland. trust in the northernland. trust in the northernland. trust in the northernland. trust in the northernland. trust in the northernland.



monday
enyo is at the abyss, waiting. he says i am killing you. and i understand, it all makes sense now. but he is all i have now. if the only thing worth living for is killing me, that is what doctor would call dramatic irony. i do not feel dramatic, i feel used. the northernland has used me and used my family.


saturday
doctor says that when telling a story i need to define who is the antagonist and the protagonist. the antagonist is someone who antagonizes people. doctor says this means evil. this is hard for me to understand, because everyone is evil. this is not a story, and it does not have characters. the peoples i have met in my life are all complex and strange, evil and good and unpredictable. doctor says ok and that we will try again tomarrow.

thursday
mari wansnt at school today. i know the northernland took her, broken bones and all.
mari wansnt at school today. i know the northernland took her, broken bones and all.
mari wansnt at school today. i know the northernland took her, broken bones and all.

friday

enyo is at the abyss, waiting. he says i am killing you. and i understand, it all makes sense now. but he is all i have now. if the only thing worth living for is killing me, that is what doctor would call dramatic irony. i do not feel dramatic, i feel used. the northernland has used me and used my family. doctor says to be thankful of the northernland, that they did not use me. i turn away from enyo because even though i love him, i am loyal to the northernland.
i am thankful to the northernland.
i am thankful to the northernland.
all hail, all hail.






love alistair
fire element
exposing government secrets
cult
enyo gets more real as he is dying.
preacher dies.
alistair goes crazy, then dies.
something in basement.
Very low IQ but the only one smart enough to see
enyo is a ghost
canary goes crazy and sews our mouth shut.
fall in love with enyo.
not told radially
told in sgememgs like cross cross
deep symboling
Roxanne Pepin Jun 2010
Sick of flies,
Sick of lies,
Sick of making alibis.

Sick of bones,
Sick of drones,
Sick of being alone.

Sick of truth,
Sick of this roof,
Sick of youth.

Sick of smiles,
Sick of exiles,
Sick of beguiles.

Sick of frowns,
Sick of small towns,
Sick of breakdowns.

*Sick of you,
© Roxanne Pepin 2010
Marquis Hardy Jun 2016
I'm sick of not being able to write.
I'm sick of meaningless violence in the world.
I'm sick of people needing someone to blame.
I'm sick of meaningless debates.
I'm sick of pettiness in the human race.
I'm sick of people not supporting each other.
I'm sick of people wishing others to be held back.
I'm sick of my friends dying.
I'm sick of money.
I'm sick of the presidential election.
I'm sick of these pretend Poli-sci majors.
I'm sick of humans disagreeing with each other just because they can.
I'm sick of my TV show's being cancelled.
I'm sick of negativity being the way of the world.
I'm sick of the people I love being unwilling to take a chance.
I'm sick of To Keep You Alive being unpublished.
I'm sick of being stuck on Keep Me Alive.
I'm sick of death.
I have been seriously lacking in the literary department lately so instead I decided to write about the things I am tired of.
Luna Casablanca Jun 2014
You're sick of my actions,
I'm sick of your lies.
Sick of the fighting,
sick of everyone being
so uptight.
Sick of the disagreements
though they occur,
sick of the talking,
don't have to say a word.
Sick of the unfair,
sick of the unkind.
Sick of the immature,
sick of the impossible.
Sick of the narrow-minded,
sick of my mind
being indulged by
paranoia.

Perhaps something doesn't go well.
So what?
We are a world, we have each other
to help keep it spinning.

But we're sick of working.
So think twice before calling in sick.
Your'e needed.
Because we're sick of the quitting.
Big Virge Apr 26
Ya Know I’m Sick of Them Talking … !!!
Yeah Talking Bout’ WARRING … !!!
When Wars They Be Courting ...  
Are Weak Like … “ Steve Hawking “ … !!!!!
  
Wheelchairs ... Where They’ll End …
if They Don’t Buck The Trend of Talk That’s IGNORANT … !!!
  
IN FACT I See GRAVES … !!!
Cos I’m SICK of These Slaves … !!!!!
  
SLAVES To Their FEARS … !!!
See I’m SICK of My Ears …  
Hearing Things They Suggest …
That’ll Bring … “ Virges’ Death “ … !!!!!!!
  
I’m READY For That … !!!
  
So Come With Ya Gats’ Ya’ Brothers And Bats …  
But Listen Up Jack MAKE SURE Your Attack …  
Leaves Me FLAT ON MY BACK UNABLE To Breathe … !!!
  
Are You FRAUDS HEARING ME … ?!?
  
Because If Ya Don’t It Won’t Just Be Quotes ….  
That I’ll Use To … CHOKE THROATS … !!!!!!
  
My Question For Them Is Bound To Bring STRESS … !!!
If I Choose To DISTRESS Cos' of Your IGNORANCE … !!!!!
  
Let Me Ask You This Dread …
... "ARE YOU Ready For Death ?" ...  
  
Or Will You Start Crying ...  
Like A ***** When You’re Lying ...  
On The Floor TRYING To Stop My Limbs FLYING … !!!!!
  
See I’m SICK of Them Thinking ...  
That Virge Won’t Get VIOLENT … !!!!!
As If I Have Hearing That Only Hears ... Silence …….......... !?!
  
Ya See ...  
People Who Know Me ... KNOW I’m About PEACE … !!!
But TRULY I’m SICK NOW of Fools ... TAUNTING Me … !!!
  
Calling Me THIS And Calling Me … THAT … !!!
As If Virge DON’T KNOW Any GUN TOTING Man … ?!?
  
These Men Are In Zones Where Violence Roams …  
And They Take The Stance That LOOSE Talk Faces GATS’ … !!!!!
  
I’m SICK of THEM **** … !!!!!!!!
Chicken Heads SQUAWKING …
Just Like ... DEAD MAN Walking …  
  
From Women To Men …
Yeah I’m Now SICK OF THEM … !!!!!
  
I’m Sick Now of Friends ...
Whose Friendship Transcends …  
Into Zones Where NONSENSE ...
DEFINES Their Pretence …  
of Having RESPECT ...
For TRUTH I Inject ...
Into Those With DEFECTS … !!!
  
Whose Lifestyle Profiled Is One of DENIAL … !!!!!
I’m SICK of Grown Child Who QUICKLY Get Riled …  
Because They CAN’T DEAL With ANYTHING REAL ... !!!!
  
These Peoples’ GREEN MILES ...
Are NOT Prison Styles … !!!
They Just KEEP Running Wild ...
All The While Talking BILE … !!!!!  
  
This Is WHY ... I Now Write … !!!
To PREVENT ME From Fights of The Physical Kind … !!!!!
This Here’s THERAPEUTIC ...
These Dummies Should USE IT … !!!
  
But They Just ABUSE It By Making CRAP MUSIC …  
And Being Confusing Because What They’re Choosing …
Is Proof That Their Movements Are FOOLISH And STUPID ... !!!!!
  
And HYPOCRITICAL ... These INDIVIDUALS …
TALKING Bout’ Peace When It’s Fights That They Seek … ?!?
  
But Their Streets’ Prove Their Guile ...
To Be ****** Like ... PILES … !!!!!
MAN I’m SICK of These Boys ...
Running … Haemorrhoid Noise … !!!!!
Talking Out Their *** And Showing NO CLASS … !!!
  
They Deal In PURE FARCE And Then Wonder Why … ?!?
I Choose To PASS Their ... Foolish Crews By………………  
  
Cos’ I’m SICK OF THEM NOW ... Stupid FAT COWS ...  
And Guys Who Aren’t Wise ... Their Wise Is PURE LIES ... !!!
  
So It Is ... NO SURPRISE … !!!!!
That I’m YES … “ Sick of THEM “ … !!!!!
  
SICK of Their Friends ...  
SICK of The Nonsense ...
That Fills Their Rear Ends … !!!
And SICK OF The Threats ...
That They CLAIM They’ll Defend … !!!!!
  
They Seem NOT TO CARE About Things That They AIR …  
That CLEARLY Aren’t … “ RIGHTEOUS “ … !!!!!
I Think That THESE VIPERS Should Really BEWARE … !!!!!
  
Cos’ It’s CLEAR TO ME Now ...
That They’re Causing Frowns ...  
In Towns ALL AROUND ...
And STRESSING And PRESSING ...  
The Buttons of Heads ...
Who Deal In … RESPECT … !!!!!
  
NOT Dealing In STRESS ...
And Causing ... PROBLEMS ... !!!
Thus A Suitable End For This Simple Poem …  
  
Are These Words RIGHT HERE … !!!!!
  
When It Comes To Heads Talking …
Like Chicken Heads SQUAWKING … !!!!!
  
Nothing But NONSENSE ...
I Really And Truly ...  
  
Am Now …
  
… “ SICK of THEM !!! “ …
People sometimes, can really drive you to being, like the poem says ....
veenus Sep 2015
I'm sick of the memories,
I'm sick of the pain,
I'm sick of knowing
That to you I'm a game.

I'm sick of our laughs,
I'm sick of your smile,
I'm sick 'cause I've cared
For such a long while.

I'm sick 'cause my heart holds on,
I'm sick 'cause it wants to let go,
I'm sick 'cause I can't,
That, we both know.

I'm sick of wishing
You cared about me,
I'm so sick,
The butterflies fled my tummy.

I'm sick of all that,
I'm sick of this too:
I'm sick of the fact
That I'm not over you
Hinata Oct 2015
I'm sick of waiting,
I'm sick of this.
                   Free me from my suffering!
                   Save me from my abyss!
I'm sick of lying about myself,
I'm sick of pretending to be ok.
                    I'm not like everyone else.
                    I'm not ok!
I'm sick of hearing people talk about me,
I'm sick of people not caring.
                   I'm not what you think!
                   Why don't you care?!
I'm sick of remaining silent,
I'm sick of the thoughts that break me inside.
                   I'm not defiant!
                   I'm not going to stand aside!
I'm sick of being trapped,
I'm sick of it all.
                   I'm freeing myself from this
                   trap!
                   Im not going to fall!!!
I'm sick of being me
                   Don't judge me!
I'm sick of everyone
                  You're not the only one!!
I'm sick of life
                   All I want to do is die!
I'm sick of it
                   Let's end all this *******!
storm siren Aug 2016
I feel sick,
And I'm so sick
Of this.

Of never being
Up to par,
Of always being
The initiating party.

Of working myself
To points of break downs
And insanity,
And being judged
For any and all
Acts of self care.

I'm so sick
Of not being in control
Of my own life.

And I'm so sick,
I'm so sick of this.

I'm sick of waking up every morning,
And feeling like vomiting,
Because I'm filled with anxiety
For the up and coming day.

I'm so sick
Of dreading the start of my day,
And counting down the hours
Until I can come home,
And talk to you.

And I'm so sick
Of not talking to you.

I'm so sick
Of putting in so much effort,
I cannot meet anyone
More than half way.
It is bad
For my progress.

And now I have two minutes
Until I have to go
To that hell hole,
And get judged by people
For things I cannot control.

I am so sick and tired,
Of being sick and tired.

And I am so sick
Of feeling forgotten.
And I am so sick
Of only being valued
For what I'm useful for.

I am not my money,
I am not my chores,
I am not I am not I am not
Always going to be here.
I'm sick of waiting.

I only wait for one person.
And even they
Need to step it up.
Gotta go. Hate everything. Woohoo.
gabriel ackerman Apr 2015
I'm so sick of these people
I'm so sick of it all
I'm So sick of the lying
I'm So sick of trying
I'm so sick of the ignorance
I'm so sick of the hurt
I'm so sick of being used
I'm so sick of the arrogance
I'm so sick of the caring
I'm so sick of myself
I'm so sick of it all
But mostly of all
I'm so sick of the ones who made me fall.
I'm sick of it all
I am not sick
I tell myself as I rip my own heart out of my chest in hopes that I can fix it

I am not sick
I call to an empty room that I am sure is full of dead relatives

I am not sick
I mumble while clutching my own two arms in bed
Leaving pitiful marks against my skin

I am not sick
I tell my mother even though she died last week
At the ripe old age of 43

I am not sick
The voices tell me as I cut off my own hands
Whispering amongst themselves as they decide whether or not to let me in on their plans

I am not sick
I assure the doctors as they frantically try to piece my arms back together

I am not sick
I tell the psychiatrist as she lays me on her couch for our very first session

I am not sick
I call to a white room full of nurses and needles, fearful of my future

I am not sick
I cry before rubber is placed into my mouth to keep me from biting my own tongue clean off during the torture

I am not sick
I remind myself at lonely meals
The people talking of things that don't exist

I am not sick
I scream at the volunteers who strapped me in the therapy chair

I am not sick
I whisper to an empty room
In nothing but a strange jacket that leaves my arms sore after it's removed

I am not sick
I mumble before I go to bed on the cold floor

I am not sick
At least, not anymore
inez Jul 2013
I am so sick of having to go to mass to please my family who will not accept me otherwise.

I am so sick of having to walk down the street covering myself because men can't de-sexualise normal human body parts.

I am so sick of the arguments of sexism, racism and overall discrimination.

-if someone accepts you, great.
-if they don't, grow a thicker skin and rise above.

I am so sick of being afraid of things like trying new food and roller coasters that make me feel as though I'm missing out.

I am so sick of being so extremely misanthropic that when someone says they can relate to my sadness I get angry that another human believes they can empathise with me.

I am so sick of being told what to do with my life.

I am so sick of not knowing what to do with my life.

I am so sick of acting like I know what to do with my life.

I am so sick of my life.

I am so sick of myself.

I am so sick of looking at my features and scrutinising them.

I am so sick of being alive.

I am so sick.
I am sick of being pushed around and left behind.
I am sick of feeling like I don't matter.

I am sick of feeling like I am a bother when I voice my matters.

I am sick of feeling like I have to hide my problems when I am about to burst at the seams.

I am sick of being told it will happen, when I know no one will actually reach out and help me.

I am sick of being told everything will be okay, when I really see no change in anything no matter how hard I try.

I am sick of pretending to be someone I'm not.

I am sick of being something I don't want to be.

I am sick of being sick with something I can't get rid of.

I am sick of...dying.

I'm dying, and I have yet to tell anyone.

I am sick, of being scared.

I'm so very, very scared.
Kenny Kimberly Mar 2011
I am sick.
An illness of body, an illness of mind
Of illusion and time.

I am sick of the body,
Weakened and frail
Exhausted from the tolls of my days

I am sick of the mind
Slowed and stressed
Destroyed from the tolls of my days.

I am sick.
An illness of thought, an illness of inaction.
Of regrets and what-ifs.

I am sick of thought,
Because it brings me little good
And only makes me regret

And I am sick of regret
Because it makes me think
Which leads to what-ifs


Truly, without doubt, I am sick.
Truly, without doubt, I have an illness
But there are things more severe.

I am sick of mind, of body
I am sick of thought, of inaction
I am sick.
I am sick.
Steven Forrester Jan 2011
I'm sick
I'm sick of the world
I'm sick of my curls
I'm sick of small toys
I'm sick of a voice
I'm so sick
And I know not what to do
I'm so sick
Of the hell I've been through
But most of all
I'll say it proud and stand tall
Because my words are true
I'm so sick of not being with you
I'm sick of not hearing you talk
I'm sick of not holding you as I walk
I'm sick of not smelling your hair
Because mon etoile
I love you more than air
(c) Steven Forrester
shakela storr Jul 2011
Poem- I am so sick
I am so sick of being used, allowing my body to be sexually abused
By a man who says  he loves me and cant live without me  and says  I wanna have a future with u , baby  just trust me!!!
I am so sick of crying every nite cause I wanna be his wife
Picturing in my head what a great life we would have together and……he’s scared?
Scared of commitment, growing up, being a real man, instead he wants to sell me dreams and all I wanna do is scream!!!!
I am so sick of feeling lonely every-night  getting calls at 3 in the morning cause he was out had 2 much 2 drink now he wants to **** it off,     right….
I am so sick of him not knowing who he wants, one min he is with me, then back with his ex he messes with both of  our minds…… whats next?
I am so sick of this man cause he has me so confused, and abused and I feel used.
Im sick of the way I allow him to control my mind, use up all my free time, and block out any guy that wants to holla at me from time time to time.
I allowed this man to control my life, I  hung around for atleast four years on promises that I was gonna be in his life.
All we ever were was friends not boyfriend, girlfriend…. JUST FRIENDS,
I allowed a friend to stop me from being happy, 
allowed a friend  to sleep with me wenva he wanted ,
allowed a friend to break my heart and make me cry
allowed a friend to sell me dreams,
allowed a friend to make me scream.
I allowed a friend to much opportunities to mess up my life, but  that **** aint gonna happen no more cause I told that friend to ******* and get a life.
I am not sick any more cause I realized I need to love myself before I love any man,
im not sick cause I believe in myself  and I know I can,
I can  do all things through Christ who strenghthens me,
im not sick because ….
I don’t need a man in order to succeed ,
  I can do this all on my own, and  until the lord decides to send a good man in my life.
I am happy and free and happy is all I ever wanted to be.

By. Shakela Storr
This poem is something i was going through recently in my life, i almost went crazy because this guy had such control over my life and were not even in a relationship. I hope u can feel what i was going through as you read it
Nao Apr 2019
It's raining.
I think of you.
I'm sick.
really sick.
I'm sick of people,
of beings,
of myself.
I'm sick of the bull**,
sick of the lies,
sick of being there,
sick of being alive.
Please fix me.
Complete me.
Love me.
Because I'm sick,
of myself and others.
I'm sick of everyone,
but you.
Namir May 2014
sick to my stomach
I sit here and wait
sick to my stomach
How long will it take?

Sick to my stomach
Not in illness or the flu
But sick to my stomach
drowning over you.

Sick to my stomach
I miss you with me
Sick to my stomach
From joy taken from me

Sick to my stomach
I force myself to eat
Sick to my stomach
and stricken with grief

Sick to my stomach,
Ugh I feel nauseous.
I hate posting these where she can see them because it makes er upset. But its my only true vent right now. I just don't want to talk to people about it for once.
Johnathon N Jan 2013
I thought I knew you, thought you tried, thought you loved me,
But who was I?
Who was I that was to be found, to be loved by someone like you,
Who was I?
I was broken,
I was used,
Turns out I still am, by the likes of you.

But who are you?
Who are you to tell me this, tell me that,
Tell me I can or cannot,
You hold me close, then just throw me afar,
I’m sick,
Just sick,
Sick of *******, sick of lies, sick of your ******* perfect guise.

I hate you so, I really do,
I swore to myself that I was through,
I swore, even though I knew, that I would just come back,
Come back to you,
You said you loved me,
Said it was true,
I said I did too,
I knew it was you,
Knew you were the one,
But you just got up and left,
Said you were done.

I fell apart,
I couldn’t take the fact that you tore my heart,
So I tore myself,
I tore myself wide open,
I made myself hurt,
Like you hurt me, but more physical,
I was in a denial,
I couldn’t handle what had happened,
I cut, I cried, but worst of all, I died,
I died,
Not in the literal sense of course,
But none the less, I died.

Then you came back,
Oh did you come back,
With your apologies, and your sweet loving embrace,
I couldn’t help it, my heart did start to race,
I felt that love, that passion, that fire,
My need for you was terribly dire,
I accepted your apology,
I didn’t think twice,
Then you did it again, but not so nice.

I couldn’t believe it happened again,
But now, thinking back on it now and then,
I realized you were to blame, not me,
You were to blame, for all the shame,
I did nothing wrong,
You were the one with the mental disorder,
Leaving scars and such all over,
You never physically hit me, but all the same,
You hit me where it hurts, all the emotional pain,
You said so many things, and you besmirched my name,
I knew that things would never be the same.

The cuts healed over, and so did all the other wounds,
My self-inflicted ones of course, not the ones from you,
I don’t know why you did this,
I still don’t to this day,
You came into my life, and left just like that,
You loved me then hated me at the drop of a hat,
I couldn’t stand it, apparently neither could you,
You just left me broken,
You left me without you.
skyler Mar 2017
i am sick of it
i am sick of waking up
only to feel utter emptiness
completely numb to the world
i am sick of talking to “friends”
who couldn't care less
and don't give a **** about me
i am sick of looking at my loved ones
only to see the disappointment i have caused
staring back at me
i am sick of being a failure
when i am trying my best
and somehow doing worst
i am sick of the nights
when i cry my eyes out
feeling worse than ever before
i am sick of living
i am sick of people
i am sick of breathing
i         am        sick

s.s
Your love is like a slash to the core
That will bleed until the day I'm no more
But if I'm sick of you it's cause I'm sick of love

Like being vulnerable to every word you say
Broken when things don't go your way
It's not that I'm sick of you I'm just sick of love

And when you can't find the strength to speak
I'll break the quarantine on your cheek
And I'll love you until you're just sick of love

Love is patient love is kind
Not kind of patient before you lose your mind
Well I'm losing my mind, but I'm not yet sick of love

Some say love is a raw disease
But if it's contagious spread it please
Cause you ain't living healthy if you ain't sick with love

And when you can't find the strength to speak
I'll break the quarantine on your cheek
And I'll love you until you're too sick of love

And when you can't find the will to weep
I'll hold you tight till you fall asleep
And I'll love you until you're too sick of love
I'll love you until you're love sick my love
ZT Nov 2017
I don't wanna be with sick people
They make me sick
They carry those diseases
Who knows where they acquired

I don't wanna be with sick people
they make me sick
They're chained by hope
Believing they can hold on to life

I don't wanna be with sick people
they make me sick
They suffer and Suffer
Just to live a little bit longer

I don't wanna be with sick people
They make me sick
They're alive then not
Living and then suddenly leaving

The Truth is
Even if you are sick
I want to be with you
Call me selfish, even if you suffer
I want you to live a little bit longer
Don't look at me with those eyes that lost hope
Don't whisper goodbyes into my ears

I can take care of you
You can make me sick too
Just live
and don't leave
Sometimes I think to myself, what if my most important person becomes sick? like terminally ill and is suffering from that. Should I just pull the plug or hold on to hope and continue to see his pain? Logically, the answer should be to pull the plug, coz it will end his suffering and cutting extra losses on your account. But If were going to consider the feelings.. I think I would be selfish and hold on to that hope of survival. how about you guys? what would you do?
Joshua Michael Sep 2018
Sick of feeling sick of it
Sick of the adictions im aflicted with
Sick of counting flocks of sheep
Sick of tryna fall asleep
Sick of being sick of voices
Sick of bieng the designated driver
the designated driver to all of it
its your fault my mind is now illand i have to drive it now
Monica Dec 2015
I'm sick of being the bad guy
The pain
Destruction
And torture

I'm sick of being the bad guy
In all the roles I play
Life is just a movie
And I'm always to take the blame

I'm sick of being the bad guy
Always at the end of the gun
Words being my enemy

The words are as sharp as knives
Feel like the bite of a bullet

I'm sick of being the bad guy
Who isn't ever good enough

I'm sick of being the bad guy
Feeling pathetic
With every word I say

I'm sick of being the bad guy

I'm sick of being the bad guy

I'm so SICK of being the bad guy

Is it time to change roles yet
When can I save someone
Instead of destroy them

I want to bring hope
Not despair

People say
I'm not the bad guy
But the mirror says otherwise

I see every fault
Which pulls out the demons
The monsters

I'm sick of being the bad guy
Always being the one to **** up!
Always being the mistake
Always being the bad guy

I'm sick of it!
I can't take it!
I want to be the good guy!

If I'm the bad guy any longer
I might just crack
Cave under pressure

When will I be good enough
Strong enough
Powerful enough
To be the good guy

**BECAUSE I'M SICK OF BEING THE BAD GUY!!
Christina Fox Jan 2014
Sick of food.
Sick of waiting.
Sick of boredom.
Sick of school.
Sick of people.
Sick of pain.
Sick of missing.
Sick of crying.
Sick of wishing, hoping, dreaming, dying.
Glayz Welch Jul 2013
I'm sick of all the looks I get
Like they know I'm a treatment kid
Like they think I'm a *******
I'm sick of being underestimated
Being told I can't do it
I'm sick of being here
Not able to get out...trapped
I'm sick of being told what to do or what to wear
Truth is, I really don't care
I'm sick of being judged when, don't you know?, I'm my biggest critic
I'm sick of all those pretty girls who think they're "so cool"
Truth is, STONERS RULE
I'm sick of having a ****** up life
Can't get rid of it, isn't that nice?
I'm sick of being nice
What's the point, you make me wanna cry
I'm sick of feeling, seeing, or hearing

I'm turning 15 soon
It's a sight I thought I never wanted to see
But look I'm here
I may have emotions
I may sometimes wanna die
The list could go on and on
But it's a waste of precious time
I value my life, I may even love it
I may be stuck here
I may even have dark days
But I will NEVER risk my life again
I've made it through mine and other's horrible ways
I wrote this when I was in residential treatment.

— The End —