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Poetic T Oct 2014
I was swimming in a sea
Of balloons
They were
Ocean
Blue
&
White
I tried to hold on but
Always slipping under
The white would slip off
the many blues
And hit like a
Feather
Shaped
Brick
Many more would fall
I tried to breath
But the latex water
Suffocating,
Asphyxiating,
Breathless,
As each rolled off my face.
I was in a ocean of
Balloons,
But they kept floating down
Knocking the air from my lungs,
I swam,
I drifted,
As the white wall faded
Sinking to the bottom
The weight too much,
To float as the blue,
I was swimming in balloons,
Now floating face down
Suffocated by the endless blue..
Moonbeam Nov 2023
I wake up in the darkness of the morning, panicked and alone
Your absence has left a suffocating emptiness in me, after all the warmth I was shown
I thought you would be here always, because you promised me you would be
But I’m just sitting here alone, next to the spot where you should be
You told me your love was unceasing, that it would last forever  
Then why aren’t you here, we need to be together
I still add to our playlists, hoping you’ll see
That we are so connected, that we are meant to be
I wish you would come back, but you told me you won’t
So I’m left here alone, writing the universe a note
Akela Santana Oct 2014
I took a drag of a rolled, unlit, cigarette.
You have no idea how truly pleasing it was.
That cigarette had her lipstick on it.
It was like kissing her all over again.

I lit that rolled up, lipstick stained, cigarette, just to feel like she was here with me again.

The smoke had burned my eyes and scratched at my throat.
I tried to breathe but I started to choke, suffocating on the last of my free will.

For a minute, it felt like I wasn't going to survive.

I took deep breathes and remembered it was her love I never wanted to forget, so I smoked the rest of that rolled up, lipstick stained, cigarette, but by the end of it, I was dead.
To Her.
Neo Madime Mar 2014
I still remember you
I lost you because non-commitment was all I could give.
Now I wake with my sheets soaked with the residue from my nightmares, suffocating me.

I long for those days when the sun was setting and hand in hand we'd sit, in silence.
You'd pull me closer to share your excitement with me; grab a fist full of my hair to allow you to enter into matrimony with my lips.

I long to have your presence next to me; to see the rise and fall of your chest reminding me that that is where my home is.
To have you wake me in the morning with your arms protectively caressing  me, rhythmically and suggestively moving along my body...
To have you send shivers down my spine with your hot breath as I feel you smile into my neck

I remember your lips became the metaphor for our young hasty affair:
your lips often grazing every crevice on my body, arousing feelings in me I never thought existed and exciting this dormant precious place between my thighs.

My thighs, which are now the empty hallways you used to roam with so much passion and ferocity used to release waterfalls that cascaded down in a pleasurable release,
long for one more body trembling exhilarating encounter.

But most of all I long to be loved again.
Some things are just forbidden
mxy Mar 2015
stripped naked in the figurative sense, I see a girl that is far overdue for a dose of joy. so much emptiness in her eyes, blood flow has become invisible. beauty. oh so much beauty in the way she cares absolutely too much for those that are unaware of her favorite color nevertheless asks how she feels every blue moon. perfectionist could quite possibly be her middle name by the way her heart beats in sync with the spontaneous moods that show their appearance every two days or so. anxiety equals a rapid beat. "if you feel worried then you must act on it" seems to be her philosophy because when she's sad and shaky the heart must go slow.
for,
she.
is.
slow.
when the depression hits and vulnerability only shows its face behind closed doors im sure she would say that she feels as though she's suffocating. suffocating in the figurative sense, where everyone is there watching her but no one can differentiate heavy breathing in basketball practice from a ******* asthma attack.
idiots.
so numb. she's so numb in the figurative sense. you ask her how she is and each time it's an automated "good" as if practiced hundreds of times before a theatre performance. an actress. she's an actress in the literal sense. planting a smile from ear to ear even when it's an obvious gloomy day for everyone else. she puts on a show of happiness that could very much earn her an oscar, if only she were literally in the entertainment business. I can see her falling in the way her back hunches just 10 degrees lower than it had a year ago. I would recommend a doctors appointment but im hoping she learns to fix it on her own. I'm hoping it begins to appear in someone around her that maybe she isn't as okay as she seems. this beautiful perfectionist doesn't just have bad days and doesn't just spare her low moods in spite of upsetting those around her. this beautiful perfectionist doesn't see herself as beautiful. this beautiful perfectionist is so far from perfect.
maybe if someone looked a little deeper in the literal and figurative sense, they would choose to ask, after her automated response of "good", "are you really?"
-mxy
Honesty the lost art/
  Honesty is rare
it should cost a lot/
  It would be sublime if
We could find it/
  Honestly, honesty is the best policy/
We should treasure the
thought cherished engulfed/
  combined with
Loyalty
  till death do us part/
I yurn
The lies tiring
  like ones sleepy
lay down Suffocating to a corpse/
  Thought is boss
employ by it
  We're all guilty I guess/
Liar liar in court
  A sentient being-ness/
Troth be told
  I can't believe in this/
Question,
  Am I the only one seeing this?/
Or only me blind and ain't            Seeing ****/
  I try and **** it out
its epidemic, Chronic/
The remedy Poetry Hop
   Visual Sonnets/
**** naked in
  My correspondence/
Articulating articles
  Waiting for responses/
Is it a defense mechanism
  Of the conscious/
Honesty? Honestly/
  Seems like everyone's
Not doing it so its gotta BE/
  Non honesty
The ever lasting Prophecy/
  And were full filling it
The good succumbs
  To the villainous/
My willingness/
  To compromise my will
I guess/
  You could interpret as weak/
Most realize
the Inside scoop
  Yet everyone tells lies
non interested in truth/
  Me, a victim and a suspect
An on going cycle yet/
  I ask what's next/
as if I didn't know
   Where the L lies underlying Facts can't grow/
  HonestLy, we all lose an L to Honesty!
Eddie Starr Apr 2014
Suffocating , in this world full of sin and despair.
Christ is allowing our freewill to override all else.
Revealing to us, what happens when we are in control.
If the world really seen the truth , they would repent.
That we all need Christ, this mess that the usa is ion.
Is proof of what happens when man is in control.
But the ones in the world are being blinded to the truth.
That Christ way of living is the only true way to live.
Penguin Poems Sep 2018
If want was water,
I would be drowning, my head under completely
and my oxygen quickly depleting.
If confusion was cold,
My fingers would be numb and I wouldn't even
have a coat to ward off the freezing.
If youth was you,
It would be slipping away by the second,
And I can't get a hold to stop it.
Now,
my air is gone,
I'm shivering to the bone,
and can't keep a hold on.
But, this is only a poem:
I know I'm not suffocating, subzero, or slipping.
But I can't help but feel like the more I write,
the farther I get from reality
and the closer I get to metaphor mortality.
Tara Sep 2018
Watching the colour drain out of someone’s face,
like ice cubes melting shades out of your coffee.
Branches falling off your favourite tree,
foreshadowing its winter death,
but you pretend you don’t know.

Watching someone you love fall over the same step each time,
like they see a ghost every time they turn left,
so they keep turning left,
And they scream “Why is it always going wrong?”

Watching your brother beat himself black and blue,
like the kids used to do at school,
And now all he recognizes is his beaten back and bleeding knuckles,
but he is so much more than the pain he holds in his hands.

I’ve been watching you break bridges with your voice since I was a child.
I’ve been watching you use fists to communicate since I was a child.
I’ve been watching you self-medicate since I was a child.
I learned from the best,
don’t you see?

Watching you love a woman made me angry,
maybe I knew all along she’d only leave a knife in your back,
after you stabbed her in the front.
At least she saw you coming right?

Watching you break down made me fall apart,
maybe I was hoping I’d become strong,
but watching you suffer felt like being suffocated.
Yet you were the only one suffocating.

Watching you not exist in my life the way you used to took a part of me away.
It’ll never be the same again.
Do you remember all the days we spent doing nothing,
but doing nothing together?
I felt so alive.

I’m watching myself search for you in everyone I meet,
just to get some pieces of you back.
I’m watching myself run away from the person you are,
but I’ve been stuck in quicksand since you left.
I’m watching myself drown as I realize how quickly life changes,
and how quickly it ends.
LouLou Mar 2020
crawling pain
seeping pain
numbing pain
consuming pain
stabbing pain
constant pain
throbbing pain
flickering pain
scalding pain
terrifying pain
piercing pain
stinging pain
exhausting pain
tearing pain
nauseating pain
quivering pain
shaking pain
tingling pain
sickening pain
agonizing pain
cramping pain
pinching pain
gnawing pain
pulsing pain
drilling pain
gut-wrenching pain
splitting pain
crushing pain
searing pain
excruciating pain
suffocating pain

ive felt
all of it
but
none of it
prepared me
for the pain
of losing
you.
kevin morris Jan 2014
This is a fictional account of the abuse suffered by a young boy. Any resemblance to persons either living or dead is purely coincidental.
Chapter 1

Lady Macbeth remarked “Tis the eye of childhood that fears a painted devil”. All children have their terrors. The bogeyman who lurks in dark corners patiently waiting to harm the unwary child. The ghost who haunts the attic where, even on a bright sunny day the child fears to go alone or some unspeakable terror, a horror with no name which lies just below the surface of every day life. In my case the ghoul who cast an all pervasive shadow over my childhood was Colin, a man small in stature but, to a child a monster of epic proportions.
I have, on occasions tried to comprehend why my abuser acted as he did. As a boy I had no desire to understand Colin. I hated him with an all consuming loathing. He was the devil incarnate who, if it had been in my power to do so I would have destroyed with as little compunction as a man would show when exterminating a rat. As an adult the hatred remains although now tempered with a desire to understand why Colin abused a small, defenceless child, physically and mentally over a prolonged period.
Was Colin abused by one (or both) of his parents? And, if so does this help to explain (but in no way excuse) why he took such great delight in inflicting pain on me? I met both of Colin’s parents and stayed with them on several occasions. At no time during those visits was I subjected to any kind of abuse. This does not of course prove that Colin’s mother and father where not abusers. It demonstrates that they did not abuse me, no more, no less. However, looking back at my visits to their home and, in particular the fact that neither of Colin’s parents abused me, I am inclined to believe that he was not ill treated by either of them. So what turned Colin into the monster who took delight in twisting my arm so hard behind my back that I thought it would break? The answer is, I have no idea. What turned apparently normal Germans into mass murderers in ******’s *****? The answer is the same, I don’t know. As with the concentration camp guards who committed mass ****** I can speculate that some where subjected to abuse as children and that this led to them becoming psychopathic killers. However not all of those abused in childhood go on to commit abuse, while many in the SS experienced apparently happy childhoods untroubled by abuse. Colin may have been abused by someone other than his parents but even if this is the case this does not explain or justify why he became an abuser.

Chapter 2

I was born on 7 February 1971 in the north of England. Soon after my birth it became apparent that all was not right with Donald Myers. I cried far more than any normal child ought to. In addition I banged my head against hard surfaces on a frequent basis which, obviously gave rise to concern. My mum, as any good mother would took me to the hospital only to be told that there was nothing amiss. However a mother’s instinct told her that something was terribly wrong with her son. She refused to leave the hospital and demanded a second opinion. This was provided by a Polish doctor who, having examined me diagnosed a blood clot on the brain. My distraught family was informed that I required an urgent operation and even if the blood clot was successfully removed I was likely to be severely mentaly disabled. Fortunately the blood clot was removed and I am not mentally deficient. The clot did, however leave me with very poor vision (I am registered blind and use a guide dog as a mobility aid although I possess useful vision which assists with orientation).

Chapter 3

As a young boy I spent a great deal of time with my grandfather. This was due to my sister, Janet being ill and my mum not being able to look after 2 young children simultaneously.
I have fond memories of playing in what I called “the patch”, a piece of the garden which my grandfather allowed me to do with as I chose. I recall making mud pies and coming into the house caked in mud literally from head to toe.
Being blind I relied on my grandfather to read to me. Most weekends found us in a book shop. Whenever I walk into W H Smiths the scent of books brings back happy memories of time spent with my grandfather, me sitting on his knee as he read to me.
My grandfather was a dear, kind gentle man. Had he known how Colin was abusing me he would, I am sure have gone straight to the nearest police station to report him. However he never knew and, being a small child I never confided in him.
I am amazed when I hear people ask “why didn’t so and so report the abuse?” As a small child I was terrified of Colin. Had I told anyone I was sure that he would deny everything and the abuse would intensify. I was not aware of the existence of the National Society For The Prevention Of Cruelty To Children (NSPCC) and even had I known of their existence I would, as a frightened little boy have lacked the courage to pick up the phone and call. Colin would, no doubt have accused me of lying and in the 1970’s and 1980’s children where rarely believed when making alegations of abuse.

Chapter 4

I used to dread leaving the safety of my grandfather’s home to spend time with Colin and my mother. My heart would sink when Colin or my mum came to collect me from my grandfather’s. On one occasion I deliberately dropped the car keys behind the kitchen worktop in the forlorn hope this would prevent my mum taking me to stay with her and Colin. Oh vain hope, the keys where discovered and I found myself in the lair of the abuser.
Colin took care never to abuse me in the presence of others. He was, however adept at tormenting me when my mum or other people where nearby but couldn’t see what he was doing. One incident is indelibly etched on my memory. I was sitting on the sofa, in the living room. The room opened straight out into the street and I was seated close to the front door. My mum called to me from outside asking whether I wanted to accompany her to the supermarket. I replied “yes” but before I could leave to join her Colin, who was sitting on the same sofa twisted my arm behind my back and whispered that I should tell my mum that I had changed my mind. I continued to attempt to leave but Colin increased the pressure saying that if I didn’t inform my mum that I had changed my mind he would break my arm. Naturally I called to my mum that I no longer wished to go with her and she left without me.
Being outside my mum did not see the abuse taking place a mere few feet from where she was standing.
On another occasion, while Colin and I where sitting in the living room, he forced a chipped mug into my lip which drew blood. Again my mum was present in the kitchen, which was located next to the living room but did not observe the abuse. On entering the living room and noticing the scar a few minutes later she enquired what had caused it. At this point in time I don’t recollect whether Colin put the lie into my mouth or whether I concocted the story in order to avoid further abuse. In any case I informed my mum that I had cut myself with a chipped mug, a version of events she accepted.  
At times I thought that I was going to die. No small boy likes washing but I used to dread bathing due to Colin’s own unique method of assisting me to wash. This consisted of holding my head under the water so that my nose and mouth filled and I felt as though I was going to die. I would emerge, terrified coughing and spluttering.
Colin obviously derived tremendous pleasure from half suffocating me. On numerous occasions he would place a cushion or pillow over my face and hold it there until I felt that I was about to die. Years later when I attended counselling with the mental health charity Mind, the counsellor asked me why I thought that Colin had not killed me? I replied that he probably derived more pleasure from having a living child to torment than he would have gained had he murdered me. Also, had he murdered me the prospect of detection and Colin spending a long period in prison would, I said have acted as a disincentive to  him taking my life. .  
Colin was a sadist. In adition to systematically abusing me he also abused my mum. I remember him hitting her on a regular basis and on at least one occasion pushing her down the stairs. He was (and is) a ******* of the first order.
Colin didn’t confine his cruelty to people. I recall him flinging the family cat at me. The poor animal stuck out it’s claws to gain purchase with the result that it scratched my face badly. Like all bullies Colin was, at bottom a coward. I never once saw him abuse the family dog. I am sure that this was not out of any affection for the animal, rather it stemmed from the fear that had he done so the dog would, quite naturally have bitten it’s tormentor in self defence. Oh how I wished that the dog had sunk his teeth into Colin.          

Chapter 5

We all have nightmares. As a young boy one of my recurring bad dreams concerned being chased by a hoover. To anyone unfamiliar with the abuse inflicted on me the relating of my dream will, no doubt result in mirth. However my nightmare was no laughing matter as to me the vacuum cleaner was a thing of terror. We owned an upright hoover which Colin would, periodically place on my head while the motor was running. I well recall the terror as the wheels of the machine ran across my head. Colin was nothing if not inventive as in addition to putting a working vacuum cleaner on my head he also made me hold the machine above my head. My arms would ache terribly but I dare not put the hoover down until ordered to do so by Colin. For many years following the ending of the abuse “the chasing hoover dream”, as I refered to it stubbornly refused to go away. While the nightmare no longer plagues my sleeping brain, whenever I use a vacuum cleaner the recollection of a terrified little child being tortured by a hoover comes back to me.
In another of my childhood nightmares I would enter the spare bedroom only to be grabbed by a clicking monster which wrapped it’s hands around my neck attempting to strangle me.
Colin choked me on numerous occasions. One incident remains vividly imprinted on my memory. It was evening and my mum, sister, Colin and I sat in the living room. All of the family accept for me where watching television. I was listening to a talking book about a footballer which contained many amusing stories. I laughed uproariously throughout much of the book. Later on that evening, following the departure of my mum and sister to bed Colin choked me telling me never to laugh like that again as I had “disturbed” people. As I recall Colin’s strangling of me the old terrors reassert themselves. At the time I felt that I had, perhaps done something wrong. However the logical part of my brain told me that I had done nothing whatever to justify Colin’s barbaric treatment of me. He ought to have gone to prison for that incident alone. He was (and remains) the personification of evil to me. To this day I can, on occasions feel self conscious about giving in to the natural desire to laugh at a great joke when in the company of friends. I can (and do) let myself go and laugh uproariously but Colin remains in the background, like Banquo’s ghost putting a dampener on the feast.

Chapter 6

Colin possessed considerable charm which is, perhaps how he came to entrap my mum into marrying him. I remember sitting around the dinner table with guests present and Colin holding forth on Charles Darwin amongst other topics. Although not university educated Colin was by no means unintelligent and could, if one was unfamiliar with his propensity to abuse, appear to be charm itself, a man whom it would be a pleasure to have over for dinner.      

Colin possessed the capacity to make people laugh which he used to devastating effect when making barbed comments at the expense of my mum. I hated him for his comments but laughed none the less which is proof of the idea that hostages frequently try to please their captors by forming some kind of relationship with them. I can not at this juncture in my life recall in detail how, precisely Colin undermined the confidence of my mum, I suspect that this inability on my part stems from the fact that I was, quite naturally concerned with my own suffering and the abuse perpetrated on my mum was of secondary concern. My own pain preoccupied me. I had little time for that of others.

Chapter 7

My counsellor and my dear friend, Barry have raised the issue as to whether my mum was aware of the abuse to which Colin was subjecting me. I have thought about this question long and hard and I still can not provide a categoric answer. I am sure that my mum never actually observed Colin in the act of abusing me. She was, as explained in the forgoing chapters, never in the same room when the abuse took place. The fact that her son showed a profound disinclination to be alone with Colin should though have caused alarm bells to start ringing. Colin was clever. The only time I can recollect when he caused me to bare a physical manifestation of abuse was the incident of the chipped cup related earlier. On all other occasions the marks where deep psychological wounds not visible to the casual observer.
I have tried discussing the abuse with my mum. Her reaction has osilated between stating that the abuse occurred a long time ago and that I ought to forgive and forget, to questioning whether it did, in fact take place. My gut feeling is that my mum does not doubt my veracity. The anger she manifested on discovering that I had informed my wife of the abuse perpetrated by Colin demonstrates that she does not doubt me.
Shortly prior to my wife and I separating we went to stay with my mum and sister. One morning my mum, my daughter and I went for a walk during the course of which my mum received a call from my sister. Janet said that my wife, Louise had told her that I had informed Louise of the abuse to which I had been subjected to by Colin. My mum rounded on me asking “why the hell I had told Louise about the abuse”. There ensued a blazing argument during which my mum hit me. On returning home the argument continued with Janet stating that I should talk to Colin about the situation. The fact that Janet did not defend Colin and state that he couldn’t, possibly have abused me indicates that she was, to some extent aware of the abuse.
I love my mum deeply and have no doubt that she loves me. Yet whenever we are together the elephant in the room (Colin) stands between us, seen by both but mentioned by neither. In my case I fear the eruption of a blazing argument. I have always shyed away from arguments which is, I suspect down to me having grown up in a family in which vilence and arguments where commonplace. As a small boy I developed strategies for minimising the likelyhood of being abused. My main strategy was to make myself as inconspicuous as possible. I became a master at sitting quietly, not speaking unless I was spoken to and doing everything in my power not to antagonise Colin. While I don’t fear being physically abused by my mum I shrink in terror at the prospect of a verbal tyraid eminating from her.
In my mum’s case she does, I believe feel guilty due to her not having protected her son from Colin. The fact that she refuses to discuss the abuse to which I was subjected shows her inability to acknowledge to me her own sense of culpability at her failure to prevent Colin’s behaviour. On at least one occasion my mum has told me that the abuse could not have taken place as, if it had she would have been aware of it. This is contradicted by her statement (refered to earlier) that it was a long time ago and I ought to “forgive and forget”. Both statements can not be correct and in her heart of hearts my mum knows that I am telling the truth, she lacks the courage to admit her own failings and apologise to me.      

Chapter 8

At this distance in time I can not pinpoint the precise point at which the physical abuse stopped. At some indeterminate point (I think during my early teens) I began to challenge Colin’s behaviour. I remember wishing to join a social club and Colin informing me that I could not do so. Full of fear and trepidation I said that I would join to
Yang Yan Aug 2020
homeless, no
metropolis without a home
blaring and clinking and laughing
lights sharp like daggers
me and strange men—and
you
blinding
motorcycle

red, yellow, purple, neon
all blurs together
then, music, like iceland, like
a flooded jungle, drowning
I let go,
take me away

you are my key,

---

gun in hand
orchestra in other
and bach and beethoven in between
I'm sure we heard the same organs that day
but you, other hand on bible
prayed

why hadn't I?

my actions will have consequences
.

---

my only chance

test after test
failure after failure
higher
and
higher
suffocating desperation
I
grab on and
never
let go

**** you, and
I'll
be

free
furi ost
Tatiana Nov 2014
I'm suffocating.
But I don't need your help,
I can handle my throat closing,
no don't call 911,
there's no reason to.

I'm choking.
But I don't need your help,
I can handle the mucus that blocks my throat,
I can spit it up just fine,
so just keep on walking.

I'm coughing.
But I don't need your help,
I can handle myself doubled over in pain,
with my chest hurting as I try to sit up straight,
so just ignore me hacking up a lung.

I'm breathing.
But I don't need your help,
I can handle hyperventilation without my inhaler,
I don't have to breathe properly to live,
so thanks for just leaving me on the floor.

I'm dying.
But I don't need your help,
it's not like I have no energy to get my inhaler,
you can totally just run out of the room panicking,
it's not like i'm scared too or anything.

I'm angry.
And for some reason,
you can't figure out why.
So leave me alone.
I'm fine now.
I can handle myself.
I don't need your help.
I'm changing the caption 4 years later because it was very angry and I don't carry that same level of anger anymore towards that person.
Except in reference to asthma
Then I'm quite angry
Asthma *****
Madds Mar 2012
Fighting to get away from sleep,
suffocating,
I woke up.
Not quite together-
my mind wasn't sure what it was doing,
Only half aware of the blade that traced your initials on my wrists.

I stumbled
and roamed the house
staining the carpets with blood
eventually collapsing at the foot
of my parents bed, falling asleep once again.
When my Mother found me
she was scared and confused.

This dream was different to the re-occuring dream
i usually have.
Instead of watching the usual dream
of you taking your own life;
instead of seeing your face,
one i had known and loved my whole life,
morph into an unfamiliar being...
I had murdered you.
Just be real friend.
Be who you are,
and where you are at.
That's enough,
and it's the only way
forward.

Most of us have put on enough masks
in our life time,
to have completely forgotten
our original face.

We've become far too clad
with the heavy coats of expectation,
suffocating under the weight
of the ways we think we ought to be.

You can drop that garb.

There's always mystery
at the naked core of who you are,
and that's just fine.

It's not that we must rediscover
some definable self,
and hand that image over
for validation.
Rather, those solid definitions we
cart around with us
are heavy enough as it is,
but we've continued pushing them
despite the distress.

We've gotten so used
to that awkward play
of needing to be a somebody,
as if that somebody
were other than
who we already are.

We've forgotten how to let go
with all the spontaneity
of a flowers growth;
forgotten the beauty
of our own personal bloom.
That we are a fluid sweep
of light and dark.
That our faces,
like the moons,
wax and wane.

You don't have to be any which way,
other than the way you are.
That sort of self acceptance
is the innate flourish,
is the fluid self cycle,
is the way back into life.

Don't fool yourself
into believing
there is a better disguise.
Strip down to the bare beauty
of your authentic state
in this moment,
and move from there.
ANH Aug 2013
I can’t catch my breath
as throat swells after smoke
you exhaled behind you;
you didn’t look back as euphoria hit.
I can’t catch my breath
as salty tears dilute my blood
and erythrocytes shrivel
leaving gas stranded in my lungs
after each grudging, shaky breath -
I can’t catch it,
it begs for freedom in endless sky
over the suffocating pressure inside my chest;
I can’t catch my breath,
I can’t catch my breath.
A Aug 2020
Slowly suffocating in ink
Thinking this will somehow make
living life any easier

Thinking and thinking
And eating and eating
Cake at 2 o’clock in the morning
Trying to forget

Cloud over my head
Pouring out blood,
sweat and tears
from the days of
Helping you survive

Head held up high
in desperation
Praying and praying
that I don’t drown

Slowly suffocating
And restricting any other love
for my mind, body and soul
Putting you first was the
Utmost worse decision I have
ever made in my life.

Because years later
I’m still drowning in my own sorrows
from back in those days
When I loved you.
Aurianna Feb 2019
I am suffocating.
I can't get you out of my head,
please go away.
So I can go back to my simple life,
the one without your smile,
without your brilliant blue eyes,
without your voice.
Why would God put you in my life...
if it wasn't meant to work between us?
The thought of your shiny blonde hair,
your mouth sliding in and out of mine.
I can't breathe.
I stay high,
so I don't have to feel you right.
I'd have to say I'm addicted,
I should stay away.
But these urges I can't fight.
I can't breathe

I am suffocating
David R Jun 2018
Round about is deep black darkness,
Darker than the blackest night,
Whispering deep 'n dreadful murmurs.
Bird dropped dead in midflight.

Blind and weeping, lifeless attle,
What you see is your own soul,
Burnt and weary from the battle.
Disenchanted from its goal.

In the ash, a spark she smoulders,
Crackling, rasping, wounded warrior,
Briars squeeze her neck and shoulders,
Suffocating in smog-fill'd air.

Deep within stagnating waters,
Crystal-clear elixir tear,
Movement rippling, life astir,
Phoenix rises from the slaughter.

Still she rises, Golden Daughter,
Fears no longer yonder fright,
Strength within from those who fought Her,
Blackest night turned brightest light.
Saturn and Sun
arham Jul 2014
I'm a big city girl
but sometimes it feels like
my life is in a hole
with everything caving in
and the landslide suffocating.
PS Jun 2016
Breathing in
It hurts
Breath in deeper
Try to stretch it out
As if my chest was constricted
or bound
by invisible strings

One more time
the pain drives tears to the eyes
With every breath
With every expansion
of the lungs
it gets harder
the strings tighten

Breath by breath
comes shorter
Puffs of air
escape my throat
But nothing 
to fill the void inside

I'm suffocating 
The strings seem invincible
Knotted
Unbreakable

I'm suffocating
While the world
keeps on turning

Grasping for air,
the struggle inside
does not show on my features

My face to the world
is stone

Only few more breaths
accepting my fate

I hear your voice
down the hallway
calling my name

You peak in through the doorframe
Smile on your face,
wishing me a good morning.

Knots untangle,
the strings loosen
- Invisible boundaries -
fall to the floor

Breath comes easier,
air filling the lungs
where there was void.
My chest heaves 
with a heavy sigh

A smile steals on my face,
reflecting yours. 
Thank you
For saving me.
From the darkness,
From my own fears
Ciel Nov 2018
I was hurting, suffering
From a pain so great,
That words, screams and tears
Were not enough.

So I did the only thing
I knew how to:
I danced,
And danced,
And danced some more.

I danced
Until my feet bled,
And my vision was blurry
From the sweat and fatigue;
Until I was breathing so hard
That it burned my lungs;
Until I could no longer feel
My legs aching;
Until my lips were so dry and chapped,
It hurt to smile or move them at all.

I let the music carry me,
And with every note,
With every beat,
I would imagine a string
Attaching to my limbs
Allowing me to lose control,
Allowing me to surrender
Until I was no longer in charge
Of my movements.

It felt good.
That pain felt comforting.
Normal. I understood it.
It let me know I was alive still.
It let me know I could still feel something.
And so I welcomed it.
For it was nothing compared
To the one that I felt inside.

The one that was invisible,
Yet suffocating me with its presence.
The one that left me numb every night.
The one that filled me up with fear
And still drained me of all emotions.

The one I tried to ignore,
But seemed to never leave.
Always stalking me,
Hiding in the shadows
Waiting for its moment.
A moment of weakness,
Of solitude
Or ultimate numbness,
A moment I was terrified
Would soon come.
I know this poem is sad and sombre but it is how I felt and I know a lot of people can relate. One thing I would like to say however is that it gets better. It really does. Once you decide to get better, you will.
r0b0t Jul 2014
There is a fine line between obsession and love
and suffocating myself
with a pillow will not solidify that.
I'm simply suffocating,
Still breathing,
But suffocating.

I'm simply stuck,
Still moving,
But stuck.

I'm simply crying,
Still smiling,
But crying.

I'm simply dead,
Still alive,
But dead.
Antesha Marie Dec 2019
The intent is always there
But putting the pen to paper is like hands.
Hands closing in around your throat.
Suffocating.
You push. And fight
Thinking “I’m just trying to write”
You put the pen down.
The hands that were never there disappear
But you’re still suffocating.
Jordan Frances Nov 2014
PTSD is not something you get over.
It is when soldiers get tired of hearing their own shots fire
Into a purple horizon of nothingness.
It is when assault victims are scared of becoming a statistic
And their brokenness is suffocating
It is when fear compels the mind to change
And it willingly obliges.
PTSD is when the darkness of human nature becomes evident
It is when it's stronghold is suddenly
More prominent than the beauty in the world
It's brash fingers create a vacuum
That ***** the sanity from your mind
Until you wake up in the middle of the night screaming
"Don't shoot me!"
"Don't **** her!"
You see him and now he is with your little sister
Taking her into his Jeep
While you stand there, watching
******* because you can do nothing about it.
This has not happened
And probably never will
But you are crippled by paralyzing bouts of anxiety and guilt and fear
From which your mind cannot console you
You can no longer hide the loss
That this event, this person, this illness
Has placed strategically within you.
It is when you will do anything to get these memories to stop playing on repeat
An endless loop maybe ended by alcohol
Check
Cutting
Check.
Promiscuity
Check
Anything that will eliminate cycle of not knowing
Of reliving
If only for a short time
Even pretending you believe in God
Because it makes it seem like there is a reason for this confusion
But then you begin to question why God would do this to his child
So you digress into darkness once again
Left feeling unsure.
PTSD is when you stop repressing memories
And they come back so forcefully that they knock you to the ground
Leaving you bruised and ******
Leaving you lost.
PTSD is different from other sicknesses
Because you do not feel sick
You feel there
Like you are in his bed again
And his room smells like mushrooms
That is actually a field of grenades
Waiting to explode throughout your small body
You remember the tone of his words
Slipping from his lips as though they are snakes
Strangling me, leaving breath unable to escape
This is not sick
As you feel no symptoms
But an altered state of consciousness
You do not even realize you are disconnecting as it happens
But this is Hell
This is war
You are broken
And the worst part about it
Is that you must understand your triggers
Your dissociations
Before you can get better.
This air bag is suffocating me.
All i can breathe is the sulfur.
I don't have a witness.
It's a bitter, sweet, sweet, pyrrhic victory.
Lights looking left are lights looking away.

I promise I'll drive into the distance.
Your lights illuminate only exits now.
You can drive around in circles for years and years and never do justice to all of your fears.
A traffic circle.
And the ringing in your ears is the car wreck I'm trying not to escape. This sulfur is suffocating me.
circle, circle, circle, circle, circle, circle, circle, circle, stop.
erin Oct 2014
I feel like
I'm suffocating
more often
than I should.
I never knew
breathing was so
labor intensive
until I knew
life without
you.
Pyrrha Jul 2018
Love, why do you make my heart bleed?
It leaks thick red plasma that stains on my fingers
As I try to conceal the pain and hide it deep within
My own two hands reach up and take my breath away

The lies you speak catching in my lungs
Forget keeping appearances, I'm suffocating
The answers seem so clear
As I gasp for air

In shock I stare down at my hands in horror
As I find they are replaced with your own
This sudden display leaves me in disbelief
I don't want to see all the truth coming up to smother me

I wasn't smart enough to stay away
From those treacherous arms that promised safety
As they had planned from the beginning
To clench around my throat and liquidate all my strength and glory

Before we even said our first hello's
You planned the end before we began
Love, I will make your heart weep
What you give out comes back to you

I will get you on your knees
Begging for forgiveness
Till they become bruised and give out
I will break you down before you dare to believe you've won

If you are iniquity think of me as your karma,
You will never win
Steph Nov 2014
december 2011:
soulmates? something out of a fairytale!
handsome Prince Charming and the sweet Princess
are unlikely childhood sweethearts
their scripted fate tucked away under my bed.
april 2012:
soulmates? it’s just like in the fairytales.
we flirted with chance but knelt on destiny
my eyes were bright and wide as
true love’s first kiss hangs promised in the air.
april 2013:
soulmates? the fairytale wasn’t mine.
I tried to fill in the gaps with ice cream and picnics
but we were a jigsaw puzzle missing half its pieces.
don’t worry, I thought, I am still so very young.
july 2013:
soulmates? the fairytale forgotten
I threw myself at people hardly worth the toss
mistakenly discarding pieces of myself
I didn’t expect to need later
november 2013:
soulmates? a fairytale of treachery.
you sleeping beauty, wide awake
I tore myself to shreds on your wall of thorns
tread carefully, for fate is a dangerous game.
january 2014:
soulmates? a fairytale, for now
I cast that suffocating doctrine out of my mind
frozen in time, I decided now was what mattered
a love like one I’d never felt before beckoned
may 2014:
soulmates? a fairytale assured
I don’t know what the future holds, or how my story will unfold.
happiness is everything and care is not for this world.
love is abounding and soulmates can wait.
october 2014:
soulmates? they belong in fairytales.
chipped and damaged hearts don’t become more whole
just by finding comfort in another broken soul.
all the world’s a playground
these grown-up children
just playing pretend
because nothing’s really meant to be
after all.
Sjr1000 Apr 2016
I don't know what I'm doing
I don't know what I'm feeling
I don't know where I'm going
I don't know who I'm being
I'm overwhelmed,
frustrated,
I can't cope

These are the slogans
I repeat to myself
Over and over again

Oh yeah

I'm a failure too
I've lived this life
What did I do?
What do I have to
show for it?

These facts about myself
are the one thing
I'm very positive about.

I repeat these slogans
day in and day out
always wondering
what I'm so
depressed about

I bury my head in these sands

Suffocating
Smothering
choking on anxiety
in my own
advertising slogans
on my private airwaves

To complicate
matters
worse
just because we think something
doesn't make it true
that goes for
self worth too.

But

Mindfulness
stands
watching the passing cars
from a freeway overpass
like our racing thoughts
not holding on
not making them go away,
in peace
simply
letting them
be.
States of mind are transitory, come and go.
Poetic T Sep 2014
I crawl from the ground
Black roots release me
From my grave,
Wood
Splinters,
Earth,
Torn from
The underground
I walk as my roots of black
Spread  across the land,
Like vines they spread
Suffocating,
All other life around.
Decay,
leave,s its touch on this land.
   I walk the land from the grave.
The roots released me
From my rest
Now I poison the land
With each step
Corrosion
  Withering,  
My roots saturates the ground
Decay,
Erode,
Decompose
I am dead but my legacy,
Will be death as my roots suffocate the land,
All life is drained
There will only be
Extinction,
Oblivion,
Darkness,
Where ever my roots take ground
As I fear no other
What can the dead fear
As all that surrounds, is death all around.
KM Ramsey Jun 2015
where am i?
how am I to write when
I am no different from
those gaseous ephemeral words
who lie prostrate upon
the pages of my dictionary
carved plainly into
those battlefields strewn across
the wartorn country
my heart the despotic dictator
whose primal drumming
carries no tune
and no rhythm
and throws of explosions
grenades that
black out the world for
a brief moment
until it careens back and
slams into me
disorientated

i should have been born twice
for how could i have
both my body and that
intangible inexplicable
something inside
it stirs at the molten core
of me
that chasm that forged
those graven images
that first gave way to
a pictographic language
and offered me
a voice
to explain that immutable
all powerful
urge
lust
to throw myself on that
red button and
detonate
burst into a million pieces
and finally relieve that
nauseating pressure
of adipose smushed between
holy bone and
saintly skin
interloping in that space
and separating two lovers

barriers create madness

walls box me in
and yet i grow
an expanding balloon girl
macy’s day parade and
candy littered streets
and razor sharp edges
to steel walls pressing harder
against me than
my supple skin could
ever possibly press
back

i can’t breathe

there is no room
for my lungs to expand
and feel the
fresh sun filled meadow
of crystal air
delivering oxygen to
starved alveoli
and i can’t find your chest
to guide me
in impossible respiration

i’m suffocating in my own skin
from no outside force
but my body itself
turns inward and
shouts its dominance at my
cowering self
sniveling in the corner
of my dusty half used heart
where no blade could possible
land a blow deep enough
to silence the torment and
particular personal poison
a torture to course through
every part of me
activating every single neuron
and making me
hyperaware of my
shame and noxious
venomous corpulence
a reality i
never wanted you to see
but is written plainly
in fiery script across my forehead
and in every fold of fat.
on how it feels to be in your body when you are having a body dysmorphia episode
My hate is the unused love
The love that was not accepted
Everyone saw that quiet, lonely shell
But merely flicked it away

I walked alone
I sat alone
I had this love
This unwanted love
No one to give it to
No way to show it

So I learned how to hate
This love turned sour
Covered in black
Scrape away the darkness,
You'll end up back

The hatred filled me like love once did
And like love,
There was no one to give it to
Like always,
I was alone

So the hatred simmered
The darkness calmed down
And turned dark blue
It was sadness
Suffocating sadness

The muggy air filled my lungs
Condensation pouring out of my eyes
The love was being chipped away
Was there any love at all?

And here I sit
With a line for a mouth
And tired eyes
I'm still alone
Tess M Mar 2021
the smoke in my lungs,
tears in my eyes,
he is the break in my heart
I am suffocating;

Time.

he squeezes,
he grips,
demands, limits,
leaves no survivors;

Time.
Charity Warren May 2017
They say I'm good, they say I'm fine.
I'm meeting all the appropriate lines but I go to work, I feel slow
And I come home to feel all alone
When I speak its hot but not
They say it is and then its not.
I'm too close im too far
Where can I find the middle land
If I can even stand
I feel like im too much
i just need someone too clutch
I don't need help im not a child
But I just wish someone would be by my side
When im alone the world is dark
Spinning in my head
I feel like my heart has turned to lead
I give and give
At least thats how I try to live
But I feel like its not enough
And my emotions I try to *****
Im suffocating in my own skin
I hurt in silence its the best
Better than pushing my pain on the rest
Ill keep trying
And ill keep slipping

Is it all in my head am I a fool?
No im alone and sad in my room.
There are those who'll say they'll stay
Then they don't and I just lay
But its alright they say im fine
Apparently im meeting all the appropriate lines
Megan Feb 2018
My therapist used to say that
I get the flashbacks because
I don't talk about it enough.

But how am I supposed to talk about it
when everyone tells me that my story has been made invalid
by the alcohol in my bloodstream,
and the fact that I laughed about it the next day?

We all have different ways to survive.

How was I supposed to process my emotions the morning after
when I had blood dripping down my legs,
standing in the 6am cold,
because shivering outside without a jacket
was far better than staying in a room with one of my rapists,
and the lingering smell of shame?

I am far too young to feel a pain like this.

A pain so heavy that my entire soul is flattened
by the weight I carry around.

A violation so evil
that I cannot help but leave my body -
it is no longer mine
but a vessel
that carries the blackness of my ache,
my thoughts that turn to ash when I try to say them out loud
and the demons that have possessed me.

Demons born from the three of you.

How can I continue
when I can still feel three pairs of unwanted hands,
      gripping,                                           ­         
hitting,                                        
bruising me                    
all at once?

How can I breathe
when I can still feel six eyes
on the most intimate parts of me,
every vulnerability and weakness?

How can I live
when I still have pieces of you
entangling yourselves around my bones,
suffocating my heart?

I thought that by burying it all deep into myself -
every 'it' that you called me,
every bruise left on my skin,
every single ****** that tore me apart -
encased by my ribcage,
wrapped in skin that you made into paper,
I would be able to carry on.

I created my very own Pandora's box.

But you escaped;
every millilitre of your venom
is combined and coursing through my veins,
poisoning each one of my nerve endings.

I no longer see the same version of myself,
like looking in a broken mirror,
each fragment showing a different flaw, a different shame.
I am not me.

I am full of darkness.
My mind is sick,
I am filled to the brim with hate and anger and inescapable sadness.
You made me into a monster
that leaves fingerprints of acid on everything I touch.

Is there anything worse
than seeing six vitriolic eyes
everywhere I go?

Is there anything worse
than your visits to me when I sleep,
waking up drenched in sweat because of the horror?

Is there anything worse
than feeling a constant lump of anxiety in my throat,
whenever I'm left alone? -
because please
please
please don't feed me to the wolves again!

Is there anything worse
than starving myself because
no-one will ever love me unless I'm thin because
I'm too riddled with trauma?

Is there anything worse
than blaming myself so much
that I started hurting myself again?

No-one ever tells you that trauma lasts forever,
but I'm learning that now.
Because it's been ten months and twenty-two days since
the three of you destroyed me...

And you've been destroying me every day since.
If you've read this to the end, THIS is the destruction caused by **** - stop injustice anywhere you can
the air was filled with scented candles,
giving the room a red glare
featuring the sweet aroma of her perfume and my shower gel;
we were surrounded by nothing but white walls and blood-like roses that were aesthetically spread on black satin sheets

a once silent atmosphere
quickly transitioned
into a room full of light moans and groans;

we stood in the midst of it all,
lip-locked and engulfed in each other's arms.
she slipped my shirt above my head
and i unzipped her fitted red dress,
watching it drop from her body, onto the ground
discovering nothing but  an alluring bare body underneath.
her upper frame was prepossessing
and it took me a while to regain my sense of awareness.
"this is mine, all mine."
i felt like her thoughts mimicked mine
since we both gave the same smirk at the exact time.

we ended up on the bed sheets,
scattering the roses in our wild venture.

light pecks
quickly turned into deep french kissing
featuring hip caressing
and as my ******* grew
her wetness seemed to become more immense.

light bites
turned into a twilight ****** season
and a trail of purple blooms
trickled from her neck
to between her *******
straight down to her navel.

foreplay was always essential
so i tantalizingly used my tongue
following the flowery trail.
somehow, i got sidetracked
and ended up caressing her left breast,
then the right
and my mouth and tongue seemed to
be enticed by the stiffness of her *******
as they pleasurably tortured them with flicks and twirls.

her moans became louder
but i was unsure if she was ready.
as my mouth and tongue continued their torture,
my hand took a trip to somewhere warm and wet;
i stared her deep in the eyes as my hand slowly explored her walls.
i watched every little moan,
but mid-moan
my lips found their way against hers
and my tongue found itself once again
dancing its sensual dance with hers.

i pitched a bit at the sound of my belt buckle dropping to the floor.
i was left vulnerable and my ******* sprung to life,
pulsing as her soft hands caressed it,
forcing me to succumb and lean back,
giving her the power to do as she pleased.

as i lied there with
my back on the sheet,
my head on the pillow,
and my eyes closed,
i felt her warmth hovering over me
and again, her hand tightly
but comfortably gripped around my *******.

she leaned over me,
whispering sweet serenades in my ear;
the warmth of her breath and the slight touch of her tongue
gave me goosebumps.
it was obvious she realized the effect she had on me
because she repeated it over and over,
ear to ear.
suddenly i felt her teeth sinking into my skin,
sending a mixture of painful
yet euphoric sensations
throughout my body.
she tantalized me with the same purple blooms
but she traveled past my navel
onto the head of my *******.

the twirling of her moist tongue
gave me the impression that i had died for a split second.
i was far from a submissive but i allowed her some play-time
as she continued her pleasurable torture of tongue swirls.

her time was up.

i parted her thick but soft hair and slipped between her soft lips
which she already had wet for my arrival.
with slow twirling hip movements,
i repeatedly made an entrance and exit between her lips,
sometimes greeted by the tantalizing feel of her tongue
sending me off the edge.

things got heated and she pushed herself back,
parting her thighs,
looking me in the eyes and biting her lips.
the view was one to make any grown man succumb.
i crawled over,
playfully nibbling at her toes
up to her inner thighs,
leaving yet more purple blooms;
with each one,
i witnessed an exorcism
as her eyes rolled back and her eyes became more lustful
and her body seemed to crave me more and more.

sweet sweet pink matter.

my tongue found itself trailing along the inner parts of her *****
then circling and flicking her **** tortuously.
i felt her feet and hands
wrapped around my neck
suffocating me in the sweetest taste and aroma
and as i struck my final flick,
i ****** up her ****,
sending her to her ******,
as she clung onto my head as her body
repeatedly ****** and became tense.

it was time.

i found myself against her ear,
"are you ready princess?"
she nodded and my lips locked with hers
while my hands made their way down to her *******.
my *******, now pulsing vigorously,
found itself between her legs,
with tip at her entrance;
she began to let out slight moans and screams but
my kisses served as a suppressor for that.
my tip and shaft both made it's full entrance and
not even my lips could deter her screams now.
"should i stop my love?"*
she nodded no and
i felt her hip movements starting to matching mine.
with each *******,
her grip became tighter and tighter.
i felt her grasping onto my ***,
bringing me in deeper and deeper.
i felt my ******* soon succumbing  to the
wetness and tightness of her grip
then she whispered she's ******
and i found myself lost between her legs
and lost in a world of euphoria and relief.

(d.b.d.)
I guess this is one of my many fantasies..at least one of my 'vanilla' fantasies ;)

— The End —