Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
All along my trigger was you and I can't stand it                                          
To this subconcious fear I light up and take a hit
Tumbling forever I never thought this would quit                                        
Because I thought I could distinguish love from
*******.
Isobel G Feb 2011
Slipping,
I am slipping,
Beyond the safety,
Of the surface,
Sinking,
Into the weightlessness,
Of transparent blue-green,
That consumes me,
And I drown,
With you,
In my subconcious
©Nicola-Isobel H.      27.02.2011
Lianna Walters May 2015
Where I was, was bad,
But where I am is worse.
I feel like they’re taking away who I am,
Filling my bloodstream with anti-depressants,
Forcing me to become someone I’m not
Someone I don’t want to be.
The fact remains that my sadness defined me
Struggling against the medication
Desperately attempting to hold onto the part of me that’s me
Wanting so badly for my days to mean something
Instead of the same bland depressing schedule I face everyday
The pills do nothing but supress my suicidal thoughts to my subconcious
So I'm forced to fake a smile, one unlike any other.
This one is to keep them from increasing my dosage,
And I'm scared.
I've never felt so alone
This is what I get
For asking for help
Samir Apr 2011
My eyes
are burning right now
but the tears are empty inside

fragile as glass
they hit my cheek and they shatter
into a million diamonds,

WHY?
must you always be the thorn that's
painfully, stuck in, my side?

and WHY?
must you always betray me
and promise me that you are shy

or I should say innocent
is there ever an end to the

argument of the hemorrhage
the hemorrhage of
"I'm sorry I lied"

I NEVER WANNA HEAR YOU AGAIN!
HEAR YOU SAY "SORRY I LIED!"

and now that I know who
you've changed me to
inside

these shards of glass forever lost,
haunt my wounds in my skin,
and the deeper they sink
the more they confirm
its your pride.

to add insult to injury
they make me able to feel

however its only temporary
some would even call it
some-times

while my "face" is  left bleeding at the thought of how
carefully designed
the thought itself is
to remind me how

this is metacommunication,
but i know you dont believe me,
it really wasn't up to me,
and you'll never leave me

I swear it wasn't me!
I swear it wasn't me!
I swear it wasn't me!
I swear it was
all
up
to
my
MIND!

MIND!

MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIND!

but i tried
and my heart will break and subside,
pouring and/or spilling like acid
I swear

it's just like
the red sea
except a crimson river
filled with sin
parted way way back,
since biblical times.

and you my dear
will forever be
men-a-cing
menacing
a thorn in my side

forever a scar in the memory of
forever a scar in the memory of my mind
repeated over again so as to make sure that
I will never find

that the real reason why
I can never decide
is because you never wanted me to

you only wanted happiness however,

and as you walked away you said, "I'm sorry to you"
you said, "I'm sorry i lied...
we could spend forever pointing fingers
ending up with nothing every single time
you said two wrongs will never make a right"

but there's no such thing as right and wrong
there's only how you feel inside

you said, "I'm sorry i lied... I'm sorry you  cried
its just that
I forgot to mention this one little aspect
where i only care about me..

myself...


and I.

I!!!!!!

I!!!!!!

ME!, MYSELF!, AND I!!!!!!!!!
1/3/2011 Samir Shahrestan

*Was originally written as a song- From A Silent Cryptic Basement
Haven Collie Aug 2010
amber lips are
getting too red.
the cat's eyes are
getting too cloudy.
the scratches
in the wood paneling
are getting too deep
& the church bell
that you can hear
from the mountains
is getting too loud.
the stack of pillows on
my desk chair is
about to fall over,
& the neighbors
are getting too high.
the molding
is getting too cracked.
the paint is
getting too faded
& my screams
are getting too quiet.
Daniel Apr 2015
Dreaming out my subconcious
because I miss the idea of us.

You were up high in my apartment tree,
swinging side to side in a wooden seat.
I called out your name
but you didn't hear me--
Kept smiling at what you couldn't see.

At another slumber sleep,
I drove my car to your Murrieta home.
Had a hundred friends in the back seat
which meant I wasn't alone.
I knew I had the means of a GPS
which meant I didn't have to guess.
Had my memory when I knew you best.
*******
I swear I knew my way there.
So why was I lost in some deja vu despair?
Could no longer find my way
to your home in the middle of the day.

At another slumber feat,
we walked hand in hand on the fashion island.
You pushed me away in a tone
replying to some big question with a No.
And as you walked away from me
in front of the crowd to see,
I ran around the island
weeping like a street drunkard.
Sirens appeared to me--
offering sympathy at my dismay
but I kept sulking in a haze.

I dream out my subconcious
because I miss the idea of us.
Bang Bang
curlygirl Nov 2016
its no coincidence
that he only
holds me
when
he's
asleep.
Her body was as good as mine
She wanted mine and I wanted hers
I couldn't ask for  more
Hypnotized by lost and overcome with desire
The spark between our bodies was practically fire
Intensity picks up, our bodies together
Like lighter fluid, ready to be lit
With the slightest touch
Like two sticks rubbing together
The flame so strong yet my hands never got burned
The work I've done, your body earned
The smell of lust and sin in the air
The feel smooth and silky hair
Not a single care in the world
But to explore each others bodies until we grow old
They call me the deaf reaper,
The not-so-slim teacher,
You want a lesson?
Here ya go, let me beat ya,
I'm the best, I'm the worst dressed,
Ill fight you over your address,
I got arguments, I've got lies,
I ain't hearing your *******,
I'm making my own, and I Direct,
I do not listen.
I scream, to others but not to myself,
I'm half as great to me, twice as awesome to you,
I pity no fool,
I look at ignorance with a mixture of disgust,
And admirance.
I wanted to be a leader,
not a professor,
But profess this, my dearest,
queer hater, oh not gay,
Just weird and unneeded.,
Who will follow, A modern day ******,
Living for greatness, for evil for death,
no matter what else has been heeded.
Who can scream with the anger and the authority,
Oh, that is me, the deaf reaper.
Grim, grim!
Oh, but what a grin,
Smiling oh so devilishly,
Too deviously,
that even in his now once brightly lit din,
now on the road to recovery, through the death,
of his dearest emotions, friends,
family and hearing,
Only now can he see the vision,
But the vision was sent a year too late,
How cruel then, is fate?
Now, left with one penniless gift,
Lovely, quite irate.
Poetry, boys and girls,
Like what you feed to the dogs,
regurgitated meat,
infused with vitamins and
milk straight from the teats,
of an unwanted *****,
come here, a little closer,
if you dare meet fear,
Ill eat you, oh i'll eat you,
and lick up all your tears,
until only one fluid is leaking,
and your lips then smear,
for me all for me,
For I am not myself,
Only the images and lies,
Of beings far incompare,
what does it mean,
what does it mean,
oh Ill tell you little bean,
bean bounce bounce for jean,
look at her eyes, lustily,
She is a hand, the hand on the face,
watch it as it shivers, just out of place,
still in control, if only she could see,
Her hearing clouding her vision,
Of the demons in me.
No, no, for ever devoid,
take away the rest,
of these worthless toys,
You call feelings, given to me,
To ruin my intellect,
And degrade my being.
I will not let the good win out,
Oh I hate the light.
I will change the definition of good,
I will give death real meaning,
My own.
Listen, listen closely,
Listen to my tone.
It is the whispers, the whispers,
of the subconcious untold,
That part of you, deep inside,
that when seeing the hero win,
Says "well it woulda been cool to see,
the villain preside."
So give me the world, mind control,
and more. Oh look into these,
deep blue eyes, these,
fragile snowflakes,
these *****, *****, charms.
Feel my pain and agony,
As I disregard them,
Legion, consuming evertly,
Yum, Yum, I say with a sway,
But it is not food that I eat,
Nay, Nay, for the Deaf Reaper,
It is on another soul, another mind,
Another worthless human body,
That I PREY.
If you read it all the way through, please leave a comment. I want to hear what you have to say.
Nomkhumbulwa Feb 2019
One minute fine,
The next minute not,
It may be freezing cold,
But my brain is boiling hot.

The tingling sensation,
And then the trembling starts,
I cannot feel my legs,
Yet how I feel my heart!

The environment is spinning,
The air is getting thin,
No matter how fast I breathe,
I cant get enough oxygen in.

Things enter my mind,
I try to force them out,
But the harder I try,
The more they come back and shout.

I feel im going to faint,
Im feeling so sick,
I cannot run away,
All my legs let me do is sit.

My legs get weak and heavy,
My brain doesnt know whats going on,
Everything becomes something to fear,
The floor, my clothes, hair... and so on.

My mouth is dry like paper,
My body is sweating yet cold,
Where did all of this come from?
Is this what its like to get old?

My body feels frozen,
But my brain is running around,
Playing tricks on me,
Where there is no danger to be found.

Breathing exercises dont work
Though they make sense normally,
In the moment of panic -
You lose all sense of reality.

The images enter your mind,
You try to force them out,
But the harder you try,
The more they refuse to get out.

Everything becomes a danger,
I will say one more time,
Every object becomes a weapon,
And slices through your mind.

The nausea causes more panic,
The panic responds with more nausea,
What a horrific cycle,
How to stop it I have no idea.

****** functions fail,
The digestive system especially,
But now your afraid of the toilet (!)
Though you need it in a hurry.

The trembling is so intense,
The fear so intense,
You struggle to make a call,
Your mind and body losing control.

Diazepam becomes your best friend,
You'd worship it if you could,
Its often there to save the day,
..Although at other times you just wish it would...

The adrenal glands are to blame,
Im not the Adrenalin rush kind,
My adrenal glands are evil,
How can they be so cruel and unkind?!

I dont like my adrenal glands,
Im an ***** donar - but if I die please be warned,
DO NOT TAKE THE ADRENAL GLANDS,
...then again, with the right brain, they could be your friends?

Its the "brain- adrenal gland" combination,
Which is of the ******* kind,
Perhaps if brain sent out the right signals,
My adrenal glands might understand.

There is a time and place for adrenalin,
I have sampled many myself,
But this is just not one of them...
Yet - subconcious brain fears itself...

That is it.....the brain "fears itself"...
Well, I tried to put words to the panic...
Not sure if i did it justice.  I could have written more.  So much more.  Anyway...didnt really know / plan on writing it at all! :/
JM Romig Apr 2014
Drifting
somewhere between sleeping
and waking life

Dipping
in and out of the fuzzy lake
of my subconcious mind

Straining
to keep myself on the surface -
losing grip, (here i go again)

Waves a blue and white
painted like the sky in that Van Gogh
Starry Night.

Paintied in thick blue tears
and yellow splocthes of infinity.

Snoring
snaps me back
to barely awake.

Tripping
up the stairs
I make my way to my bed,
Wrap my arms about my Love
and let myself fall into
Van Gogh's heavy tears
napowrimo 9
Dag J May 2013
timeless motion in the direction of
optimism grabs me by surprise as I

   dream of long gone futures
        raging forward into the past
             always venturing into the rather
                  wild parts of my subconcious

after eternity we will be

                                         leaving for the stars in
                                   interesting fashion with really
                               no time to waste on our seemingly
                                               endless journey
it need not be a straight one ...

© MMXIII by Day J
Meka Boyle Jan 2011
on a crowded street, my surroundings begin to fade
as everythings blur together, its reality which i evade
gazing past people, off into space
i imagine for a moment that i'm out of this place
only to be brought back with the blink of an eye
to the streets where the blurred silhouettes of people pass me by
with a crowd that big, theres no room for indivduality
i feel like a minuscule pebble lost at sea
going with the flow i grasp at the air
even though i know there is nothing there
i'm lost but i dont want to be found
shouting out but i dont make a sound
diagnosing emotions without definitions
longing for change yet clinging to repetition
in search for solitude, being alone is not my goal
giving up my freedom as a subconcious toll
the darkness of reality mixes with the light of lies
creating a mist that acts as my disguise
Steven Forrester May 2016
In a world of pesimism

I am the messenger of optimism

I'll break his clouded vision

This is my only mission

To show him that there still is good in existence

I'll fight his in-mind resistance

I must bring love back to his heart

Before his subconcious falls completely apart

There once was only one

To see that this mission is done

Now I am added to this mix

Of voices, actions, and tricks

To help part six with his goal

To see that Steven doesn't turn cold

I leave you all with this solemn promise

I will pick up the peices, my name is Thomas
(c) Steven Forrester- From Diary of an Ominous Mind
I hate dreams.
I hate them for what they make me see,
Worse still is that even as you know their not real,
You believe and it seems,
If only for a second, that what could be or should be,
Or what simply isn't,
Is.

I hate seeing her face,
So sad under those shades;
Take me home,
She seems to say,
But nobody really talks in dreams.
But nobody really talks.

I died in a dream once.
And I kept on sleeping.
What does it mean, what does it mean?
To me death is one long dreamless sleep,
But I fear the opposite, that it is one sleepless dream.

I see his face now and then.
The face in real life I barely remember.
Under the water.
Calling up.
Save me.
But dreams can't change your world.
Tragically they can only make you believe.

My moms there waiting for me.
Though her alone I am too scared to see.
Even my subconcious knows not to tease me,
Knows the scars and the pain,
And how it would bleed me and end me
And I curse them from keeping me,
I hate dreams.
Christien Ramos Aug 2020
i dreamt of you last night.
why does it feel surreal?

why does it feel so real?
Isobel G Mar 2011
It feels like dreaming,
When he sheds the lies,
And bleeds the colours,
Of truth,
A dream imprinted,
Permanently etched,
In my subconcious,
That settles on the surface,
Above any and every other moment,
The perfection,
Of honest imperfection,
So sincere and delicate,
Is all I ever needed
©Nicola-Isobel H.       07.03.2011
Ariel Taverner Nov 2016
It's raining
And I Want You

The rain makes me overly sentimental, adding its ten drops worth to my ocean...
Nostalgia swells up; a monolithic wave of sadness and fractured memories
The borders imposed on my heart rebounds the lapping tongues of melancholy and send them back towards the centre towards
Me
Me; the centre of my own world
The Centre of my ocean

Frail ratty rafts of values drift brokenly across my ocean
The cracks in my character screech like strained metal; shouting at me that I'm sinking them
I'm sinking the morals and values that merge to form
Me
Me; the centre of my own world
The Centre of my ocean

The aquatic depths house the monsters of my mind
The Subconscious apparitions so large that a stirring of their serrated spines change the flow of my polluted basement of an ocean
The flow of my subconcious stinks stagnantly
It results in the drifting away of me from
Me
Me; the centre of my world
The Centre of my ocean

It's drizzling
And I want you
Sandile JUNIOUR Jun 2015
as i was indoors with nobody
around locked myself inside my
room everything was still not even a
sound of the wind blowing

There comes this noise out of dead silence
a flash back a glimce of my past and
future my present i was shorked
and started talking to my subconcious
the noice came again out of
dead silence i heard your voice saying "I LOVE U" and "WHERE ARE YOU SANDILE"
i took my purple note book which i we
wrote about all our things and came across
our special song the lyrics wrote by me and you the song came out of thin air and
started playing in my head by then i knew that i was making a huge mistake looking at your pictures after then paralised me  i was
frighten in a coner then there comes this noise out of dead silence saying "I LOVE YOU"
#sj
missing you alot
# keep cool calm and collected
I woke up today,
Wanting to cry,
If only I could get her back,
My subconcious mind cant help but try,
and dream of ways to make my dream come true,

But every time it happens, I wake up wanting to die,
I'll never get her back, I know,
It wouldn't work even if I did,
I guess that is the ultimate sign of failure,
Abandoning the love of your life,
Every time you wake up.
Kelsey Erin Mar 2014
you always said everything was
black and white so why do your
words bleed orange sunsets in
to my black lungs
my dad used to crash his cars
for fun, he used to have competitions
to see how many times he could
roll his car, and it's been years
since he's been in an accident
but sometimes i can still see him
speed up and i wonder if he misses
the thrill or if he just can't break
the habit.
when we do things long enough
we can never really get rid of them
even when we're not thinking
about it, our subconcious does all
the work
that's what it's like to love you
i dont even have to remember to
i just do
you are the last three seconds of
a sunset frozen in forever,
you are in my veins.
Aubrey lynn Apr 2013
I sleep to dream
the strange obscure odd
the close calm clash of skin
the beauty built memories
the expression of my fears
the faces distant in reality
the hopes projections life
I dream to live
in ignorant bliss on tragic days
in senarios built far beyond truth
in all i need power control
in glorious homes white regal
in dank rooms gyms banquets
in your his thier arms minds
I live to escape
where explanations unjudged
where brief unfolds to clarity
where confidence subconcious lies
I escape to lucidity
I am in control
Eileen Prunster Nov 2014
the middle of the night
shallow restless sleep
a
singularly
wild
idea
occurs

but sleep spawned revelations
from the subconcious
wither
and die
of ridicule at dawn
Molly O Apr 2013
I don't believe I want you,
But my subconcious begs to differ.
My body seems to yearn for you,
When i've ingested too much liquor.

I deny it when I'm sober, and say it was the drink,
But this mindset is recurring,
And it's starting to make me think.
And the clock ticks.

The ever steady click, Of the red hand as it twitches.

Unless that clock is digital.

Either way my strain is physical.

Once again the train is missed to go, Off to the land of subconcious flow.

Where a dream is a dream and whats known is known.

Not here where logic is blown away.

And yet its here im doomed to stay, As the clock continues to tick.

That ever steady click.

That click that makes me sick! Oh how i wish that tick would go away!

It wont untill i fall asleep.

But i cannot my thoughts are deep.

And so i lay without a peep and listen as it ticks.
Events take turn beyond our knowledge and control
We are enslavered to perceptions within our soul
Whom choose to perceive us in different ways
From minutes to seconds, from hours to days
We must learn to live with open hearts and arms
With a childs freedom and graceful charms
Choose who you really want to be
With guidance from the world you see
Angels shall be with you in everything
So in a lone concert, they hear you sing
Let your subconcious play its own way
till the end of time and night of day.
Emm Apr 2016
7 years and I still think of you
7 years and I still think of the memories
our memories that smell of dust of the past 7 years
still uneasy to forget the trail of dark cloud on my bright clear sky
it's not the lost of you that I'm trying to forget
but maybe it's the lost of me
you, the subconcious thief
of my sanity, pride, and sense of self
you made me question everyting I thought I knew
everything I thought I learned
you make me question...

7 years time flew by in the limbo
7 years as fresh as yesterday
as fresh as these clean washed sheets but not me
as I still smell of you
of the dust from the last 7 years
Selcæiös Feb 2018
//I swear I just have the same subconcious pattern every time with just waiting when I'm bordering extinction --
like maybe on someone throwing a lifesaver ?

I'm literally someone's-accidental-bumping away from
falling off this escarpment,
A selcouth flower-drenched meadow just last week,
now all-of-the-sudden barren and pretty grim plateau


On the edge of extinction,
Do you retreat, or put up your last fight?


I feel an urge to dismiss all and jump off the edge.
Besides, Extinction is probably the name of our parellel realm.
and they probabaly say
"be careful! you're on the edge of Reality."//


But that’s just a lone-sweet picturesque visualization from my esteemed friend, Imagination.
Sadly, yes, everything just mentioned was just daydreams occuring while sparking others’ sangfroid.


So when this little Miss Cure-Chaser
finally gets a breath-

n it’s honestly usually more like half;
I realize that I just gave out the last drop
of my spirit’s nature to a stranger

when I realize this,
I also see that
no one paid heed to
the healer in need of healing
bastardized by the Real-Life
Nightmare of Californication

I forget the grace
residing in my survival;
When I’m all dished out,
When healing’s lost my fervor,
Scorching my lovely Fylgja.
Meanwhile my soul’s alongside
taking it’s toll, it’s Californication.

I throw on my once-was, back of the closet
Hot Mess resolution
a Way-Too-Tight black dress
And a shoe-like lace up back.
I turn to the mirror, and as I wink I say **** it.
It’s Californication,
and I’m its ******* Counterrevolution.
my superpower's in that dress.
DNL W Dec 2014
Oh how the mighty have fallen,
Fallen from their self proclaimed heights
Built upon cracked and half crumbling foundations.
And I stand before myself to gawk at the pitiful sight.
A shameful disposition amid the rubble, self admission.

How wise I was before!
How wise was I before?
Beg I ask myself, knowing of course the answer.
Not wise, not wise at all.

But did I see it coming?
Could I predict my own end?
Had I knowledge but chose to pretend?
Perhaps...

Somehow I feel another me.
Beside the Crumbled and the Gawker.
The old, outspoken, grey-bearded me
Stands there and shakes his head.
He knew all along it would come to this, said all along.
And all along I did ignore.
Pretended not to hear, but somehow heard.
Knew he was there, probably right, but I didn't care.

Deep in my subconcious mind did these inner me's converse
In a place outside of time, outside of space.
Somehow I recognise these words I told myself.

The unhealed man should not choose to build upon himself.

Time can not heal the wounds hidden from the light
Hidden out of sight. Left, to be an empty space
Covered over, but not erased. Never erased
But soon forgotten, until the Time of Rumbling

We all have such holes I know.
All have built upon ourselves and forgotten (or ignored)
That lies and misdeads lie beneath us,
Holding us up as we reach always higher.

Because of time, we have no time.
Because of fear, we have such fear!
We choose to build upon ourselves,
Not to heal, not to see whats clear.
But our future has long been spoken of,
By that older, white bearded self
Who, all knowing but outspoken,
Warns us of our doom.

So I urge you, as a crumbled man,
As a man gawking upon his crumbled self,
To tend to your soul, to resolve your wrongs,
Before building once more yourself.
To be healthy in pureness of pure exsistence.
To breath fresh air of honesty and truth honestly,
And to reach for selfless love, self-lovingly.
Then and only then, is it right to build again.
After I stumble in life I feel like I always knew it was coming. Like a wiser me was foretelling of the impending doom, but somehow not conciously. From so far in the back of my head do these words come that it is easy to believe I didnt hear them.
Samantha May 2015
It's terrifying. Writing is terrifying. The way you get addicted with words and how they come about from the recesses of your mind, seemingly forming themselves according to a syntax understood only by the primitive language of the soul. You try and try again to find that one moment which made you write your very own masterpiece but unable to. And while looking for it, you stumble upon another thought that slithered its way to your conscious and then you realize, this is amazing. Writing is amazing. Seemingly inexplicable feeling make themselves concrete. Tangible. Through words that you did not even realize you knew. It's amazing how writing unravels you. How you get to face and deal with your deepest desires and uncontrollable fears. Your long-buried shame and never healed wounds. How it makes you bleed out all of your negative emotions which sometimes leaves you dazed and confused due to the sudden burst of sunlight and you even wonder if you've got some loose screws upstairs. It's amazing how you just bare your soul for the world to read (judge) but you can't even care because it is what you feel. You even console yourself with the thought that, they're just strangers. Stranger you get to share and connect with even more than the friends you surround yourself with. It's liberating.

But really terrifying. Writing drowns you in memories long buried and emotions long repressed and if not controlled, it pulls you under. Your broken record of the past plays over and over again until anger and pain and utter betrayal consumes you and trying but failing to swim to shallowed waters makes you give up. You surrender to the whirlpool of emotions starting to swirl within you.
You sink and you spend the whole day wrapped up in your sheets with just your pen, your notebooks, your thoughts and emotions. Unwilling to cross the boundary between your room and reality with a storm still raging within you. So you let the ink of your subconcious stain the once pristine pages. The ticking of the clock seems a useless reminder of the passing time because it never bothers you. It's just you and your poetry.
You start getting addicted with the feeling of being able to explain things for once, even if it is in the form of sappy and sometimes disturbing poetry. You crave for the release of pent up thoughts that never found the proper way from your heart, to your brain then your mouth. The usual stumbling words that leaves your lips now glides gracefully through the lines of the pages and it's heartbreakingly beautiful. That sometimes, you even isolate yourself to get under your "writing buzz".

It's (un)healthy but addicting.

Writing is an addiction I am very hesitant (unwilling) to give up.
AavelinaJaden May 2014
*******, im just a kid with dreams, right?
dreaming of a day when all my problems go away
i dream of lightning striking trees the way teachers striked down every thought causing chaos and fire burning down the forest of thoughts in my brain
and of the waves, on a windy day, being able to wash away every bad memory of plagued black shores caused by irreugular heartbeats
the wasted potential of ghost poems haunt my subconcious on a regular basis
im afraid to go to sleep; nightmares of you leaving chase every atom of my ever running body, exhausted reality and non
i dream of books being true, the words of my favorite love novel unfolded in front of my eyes, spoken characters out of the past
dreaming dreams, all i ever do, in hopes that at least one comes true.
dreams night sleep nightmare unconscious reality thinking thoughts scared you me

— The End —