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English Jam Apr 2018
This desolate road seems forever long
And my worn feet will carry me through the ruin
All alone, but if you had heard my song
You might just understand why I’m doing
Maybe I’m the strongest person of us all
Maybe you’re used to me being alone
But that doesn’t mean that when I take a fall
I can survive, live on my own

Noticing someone else’s suffering is hard
Wrapped up in your troubles, with an aching heart
But if you open your eyes, you’ll see a man apart
If you can call me a man, I guess

Walking round with an unchanged expression
Ducking and keeping away from the deed
You might think it’s all to get attention
And you’re right, but that’s what I need
I knew a group of people whom my heart held dear
I loved them, and I love them still
But they weren’t there for me in my time of fear
Now I’m not gonna bend my will

How many days of quiet can I keep?
How hard will the blade into my mind seep?
How long can I hide away and weep?
Before you realise I’m not at best

So it’s time to say fare thee well
Don’t know where I’m strolling in my daze to
Just gonna follow my path down the well
See if it’s someplace new
So I’ve thought it through and through again
No pleading will make me change my head
Maybe, before, if I had a friend
But now, it’s too late to hear what I’ve said

The love I have for you will always burn
But my back’s to you, and I’ll always turn
If you haven’t figured it out, you’ll never learn
I want a hug, but I’m drowning in my sleepiness
Gemma May 2018
Sliver shine ,
Captured between the blur of blue;
so the room spoke "monster "
Since the thoughts entering my head were not to be taken friendly,
I'm my own biggest enemy.
What have I done for a life like this ?
I've never been tempted
before
But my fingers itch
it was painful
it was sore
Yet it's what I deserved.
Nobody Aug 2018
Lying here reminiscing about the time we had,
you made me smile, and my heart fluttered in my chest.
Thinking how nobody can make me laugh anymore.
But imagining about the past never helps;  
or the constant daydreams of death, I keep to myself.
I’m so restless from wrestling with these thoughts in my head.
Strong, loud, and piercing; paralyzing me to my bed.
I’m busy listening to the soothing whispers, that all want me dead.
Looking for the coast to be clear, so I don't have to be fake again.
Since the mumblings remain, to sting and heighten all the pain.
I try and write out the disturbing sounds, to keep them at bay,
waiting for the right moment to come, when I can drain my brain.
Jack Jenkins Sep 2018
It cannot be described
only imbibed
through many sorrows
and sorries
until the pain
recedes to numbness
your compass
points to death
& you see the peace it brings
the silence
the darkness
you make your mind up
maybe not today
or tomorrow
but you know
you're going to die by your own hand
& you feel
just a brief
fleeting
happiness

...

that's the sound of suicide
//On anxiety, suicide, and darkness//
Not in a good headspace right now. Thank you for your concerns, I just needed to vent this.
Purcy Flaherty Jan 2018
I spend all my hours crying and crouching in dark despair, consumed by self pity; neither living nor dead, my mind poisoned by grief, ruined, undone, bitter and broken; my love wrenched from me.
My dream smashed into a billion pieces.
I'm finally ready to embrace the black dog with all its teeth and fury, fearless, numb, exhausted, done.
I'll gladly drink down any poison, to end this state of loss, to open my flesh, to let out my blood with glass or steel and to let the cold waters draw me down into the ocean with pockets full of stones, anything to stop this intolerable feeling!
I am nothing but empty!
I’m sick and tired and at the end!

I’m content that but a few will remember, until I'm completely forgotten.
Confused, broken down and in a dark, dark desperate place!
Andrew Kerklaan Jun 2018
Glass ticking like cold plastic

My fingers thrum hopelessly in the hopes of drumming up a solution to a problem with an issue of loss.

This dilemma has found me at the end of my rope and I fear the knots in my stomach are only getting tighter as I squeeze you closer to me now.

Why can't I help me?

I won't let you do it for me.

But must I force feed you the truth?

I'm not hungry for this day any more. Fighting this sickness, I choke back another spoonful of medicine...
--And what am I supposed to do now then?!

Frustration consumes me.
I am bile. The emptiness inside, that fills me with rot.

I'm hollow!!

Somebody save me from myself!   I want to self-destruct and not be okay anymore.

I want to fly a Subaru into the sun on fire.
I'm just so ******.

Just leave me behind and maybe I can decompose into something useful and that actually wants to be here and maybe after that I can finally float away from here...

Wouldn't that be okay?
Why should I have to stay.

I never belonged here any way.
George Anthony May 2017
I know that there is a table
in a Catholic high school in my local town
with an etch of the letter "G"
next to boredom-inspired vandal,
jagged lines, circles,
perhaps a few ******* shapes
as silly high school boys
are prone to draw.

An Advanced Maths textbook sits on a shelf
with a little doodle
of a peace sign next to an emo smiley
from a time where I was caught
between two phases,
tight black jeans and a flowing turquoise shirt.

Tobacco stains smeared
over the wood of a sealed off door
just outside my bedroom,
evidence of the first time
I tried a cigarette, seven years old,
and then panicked and tried to
flush it down the toilet,
only to have to fish it out and stuff it
in a little crevice, to be hidden and
remain there for seven years.

We leave all these little marks
and stains
in places we've been.
Spilled food, spilled ink, spilled drink,
tobacco stains and pools of blood.
"The marks humans leave are
too often scars."

I have scars.
Left forearm. Right calf. Right wrist bone. Both kneecaps.

A scar across my ribs and chest I was
so desperate to be rid of,
I bathed myself in oils and it was
the first scab I
never picked at; but a couple of weeks ago
I dreamt it was there again, fresh.
It tore open in front of everyone, bled out,
and I woke up gasping, drowning in my fear,
agonised, clutching at a wound that'd long since faded
convinced I could feel it splitting me apart again.

I have evidence all over my body
and more buried deep within the recesses of my mind,
scars so jagged they put knives to shame,
shining, pale, like diamonds in moonlight
not half as precious
but still invaluable.
Evidence of the marks humans leave behind.

I'm not innocent.
I don't pretend like I am.
I know there is a man out there
who gained another scar to add to his collection
when he was fourteen years old.
I know my hands carved it into his skin.
I know I used to use my fists
when others used their words to hurt me.

When I die, I know that I will leave
pieces of myself
everywhere
I've ever been. Whether people know it
or not, whether they
remember me
or not. There are ink stains
and coffee spills. My blood
is still on the floor of his house.
The high school cafeteria
has a circle of red
from a nosebleed I didn't realise I was having.
There are parks wearing my graffiti
and children donning my old clothes, and people overseas
still alive because of me

(or that's what they'll tell me, but
all I did was talk.
Give yourself the credit you guys deserve,
you're the ones who chose to listen.
You're the ones who had the strength to
pick your head up and carry on)

There are exes who still think of me
and friends who will one day
come across some article of clothing
or a piece of technology
I left behind after a sleepover.
Teachers who will remember
that smart, sarcastic student
who had panic attacks in their classrooms
and drank coffee in the mentoring hub with Mrs. Hume
whilst buttering bagels and functioning on no sleep.

Maybe our place in the universe is
insignificant. Or maybe it's the
most significant thing
of all.
Maybe the Buddhists are right.
Maybe we are the universe, together
as one. I sure think it makes sense.

Streams of consciousness
and spirits that need healing.
We work the sun
without even realising we're doing it.
We destroy it, too,
which is perhaps why we
are so self destructive in turn.

Maybe we're
smaller than specs of dust
but that's okay.
You don't have anything
without the particles required
to make things up.
Everything is a collection of atoms:
the tiniest things of all
yet they're the centre of everything,
the beginning of everything.

So when the end comes and
we burst back into the sky,
stardust and souls and
blinking little lights,
we'll have left our marks on the earth
regardless of who remembers
and we'll still be there, twinkling,
a collection of atoms that came from a supernova
essential to the makeup of galaxies
and life itself.
What could be more beautiful than that?
I don't know. It was... some sort of stream of consciousness, perhaps? I blanked out halfway through writing it.
Nobody Jul 2017
Time is on your side,
what a beautiful lie;
so many reasons to cry,
so many wishes to die.
Spare time is worse,
to reflect on your curse;
when life moves this slow
you prefer a physical blow.
You just want to go,
you’re sick of feeling alone;
you quit asking why
when you’re too tired to try.
You barely get by
and long for the end,
this hand you were dealt
you can’t ever amend.
You'd rather fold,
It's getting so old.
Your life's a joke;
even with money,
you'll always be broke.
George Anthony Jan 2018
i asked her, does it look the same?
she gave me that funny look she gets
whenever i say or do something a little dim
it's a mirror image for a reason she said

in the mirror i see muscles, and strength
hips a little too wide and fleshy
but still muscular,
strength all the way down

but when i reflect on myself,
no mirror necessary
it is never the same

i don't feel as strong as i could
don't look as sharp and sturdy as i could
those fleshy sides, too soft
for a battle-hardened brain
and turbulent thoughts

i need angles, i need straight lines
but there's nothing straight about me
and that's half the problem

and the other half
is that i hate the softness that lingers
but everybody else loves it
and i don't want to be warm and
able to be cuddled

i want hard edges
and nimble, spindly fingers;
when i play my chords
i want my bones to tap the strings

and when sadness sheathes itself within me
i want eyes as dry
as my eczema-bitten hands
it's been a while, huh?
hey, guys, how are ya?
my 2018 has been a rollercoaster already
i finally got an appointment with a clinic i've been emailing for three months, and my granddad died
Sofia Von Jul 2014
Suicidal serial killer bashes the bones hoping to feel nothing
because that would be something
A Swelling self-image pops in the distance
is chewed,
then inflated over and over
this routine never fails to cycle, disappoint, and please
Ethanol injections cuz oral doesn't do ****
give it to me *******
***** I'll munch your muffin just fo nuthin like I'm ****** with y'all
Cuz I surf to fall and smoke to die
In the high where life is inconsequential
to question and I feel less than short
Of supernatural

Who are these new kids?
They dress in tights and pick fights
I can't see your face but I trust the feeling
Damsel's are rescued
blood is spewed
Yet insanity is gushing
The drugs are running out
We might just be super
We might just be heroes

Entropy enters me ripping the glamour and with a stammer I know
This isn't a comic book
Marvel
In awe at these elaborately induced fabrications
and schemes to change the pecking order or chisel
the universe to perfection

The line of schizophrenic and degenerate flees
for the hills
that now have eyes
Dead lover Mar 2017
Well
I accepted for the sake of your exams,
That i am a bad human,
A fake human,
One into emotional drama,
One who's life is fake..  Fake.. And fake..

Fake fake fake and fake...
Your lover did use this word so easily,
I still feel the cuts in me..

I accept what i am not for you Oh best friend,
I accepted the fakeness... And did put it to the end..
Am just so free,  for everybody...


I remember my words...
I won't ever talk to you,
Oh best friend...
I can't put into words how much it hurts,
Am sorry that i was so " fake"....
I never knew I was..
Don't Know why does she think so....


You are my support..
And look,  we are never going to talk to each other...
Well you have your support...
But what about mine?
I feel so Terrible about myself..
I feel like dying...

Oh best friend, am such a useless best friend,
Who's phone number is not even worth trying..

You have done bundles of favors for me,
But your girl has always left me crying...

Just one wish from you oh friend,
Kiss the forehead of my corpse,
The day i be dead...

And whisper what had been my fault in my ear...
Oh friend so dear....
Mae May 2018
The sky cries for me
I walk alone
No thoughts or feelings
Just a desire to go
To the river
Into the river
Just to float
And maybe drown

My blue hair ripples
Cold water makes my body panic
My lungs are gasping
I fall under
Riding the current
Wherever it wants me to go
I float back to the surface
Thanks to my empty soul
Today's not the day
Perhaps tomorrow
mc ish Feb 1
i will lay back and look up to see rock bottom
i will pretend it doesn't hurt to stay alive
i will be on time
i will not return myself to sender no matter how many times i address the envelope
i can't
i won't
i will pretend i feel the things i should
happiness to see my favorite heart
anger at the news
joy to eat what used to taste like anything
anxiety to look him in the eyes
and imagine the future i used to think id have
disgust at my dissection specimen
i will not wish to be lying there in its place
prodded
looking up to see rock bottom
On Christmas Eve I was talking to my brother

It was 2:30 in the morning

We had both been drinking.

I read him one of my poems.

That one about surviving myself.

It sparked a conversation.

The tough kind.

About suicide.

I told him I truly believed most people

Dont WANT to die

They just want the pain to stop

I told him it was a cry for help.

He told me my first attempt was not.

He said with tears rolling down his cheeks

"You were done that night."

With tears now streaming down my cheeks I replied

"I can't talk about this. Not tonight."

"I know." He cried

"Did you ever get help after that night? After seeing me like that? Did you talk to someone?"

"I couldnt talk about it. It was too hard."

At this point we're both bawling.

I wrapped my arms around him.

I apologized.

See that's the thing about attempting suicide and surviving.

If you're lucky enough

To survive

You have to witness the pain everyone around you feels.

Because of you.

I never use to think it was selfish.

Not until Christmas Eve.

I broke my brother.

6 years ago.

And he's still haunted.
Trigger warning.
-word for word conversation with my brother this Christmas eve. This was not written to offend anyone. But rather to hopefully open the eyes of those considering attempting. It doesn't stop the pain, it truly does just pass it on to the people who love you most. Stay strong, hold on.
YH Sep 2018
I realize I am too compassionate;
I feel everything at a 100% rate,
and I loathe it so much.
Why do they come on so strong all the time;
it mentally drains me.

I am destined to die early;
I can't see myself living past my mid-thirties.
I learn how to accept death as it is,
and I am slowly learning how to let go.

I want to cry, I want to scream;
I want to voice out this indecipherable torment inside of me.
But no one will understand,
and no one will know;
this mask of mine can't be taken off.

It is what I desire,
yet I want to scream the truth out to the world;
my alternating flow of thoughts,
my constant battle;
it goes down with me to the grave.

This happiness is an illusion;
There's a second mind that takes over,
and blocks away all of the hopelessness.
It brings forth a temporary elation,
a nonchalance,
a pretentious ease.

Is this better?
Does it make me better?
Or does this delude me to the point
where I become more destructive
and cause more harm than cure?

Why does my mind run so much?
Why does this version of me exist?

Because I am born empathetic.
Because I am human.
Because I hold a great understanding of myself,
and a greater awareness of how I am.

But not behind in the how it came to be.

No one holds the answer, and I am forever left with questioning all these endless why's and how's.

Everything else is left unanswered

perhaps until the day I die.

— Y.H.

the end of the tunnel,
gentle fervor.
my mind drifts sometimes
as though it's sinking deep into the abyss of water
sometimes i'm afraid it sinks so far
that it never comes back up to the surface again
that i would never see the light another time

but maybe there never was a light
and i've been sinking all this while
further, and further
and the sight of light was only once in a dream

(c) Y.H.
Violet Apr 2017
I always webcam with CJ on Facebook,
since we actually became friends from there!
Everyday, we'd give each other nice look(s),
and sometimes, funnily even just STARE!

While we were talking today with each other,
it'd been, actually, almost past my dinner time!
I heard a strong call from my Daddy, not Mother,
who screamed being downstairs was a full CRIME!

He yelled at me for answering from upstair(s),
telling me I never follow his strict rule(s)!
I guess there're lots that are actually fair,
but I really still do feel like a fool...

That's why I wanted to die.
This poem's in ABAB form (except for that sad, last line) and, as most of my other writings, has 100 words.
Andrew Kerklaan Sep 2017
I have suicidal depression--
                                        and no,  I don't want to tell you about it.

I'd rather hide it from you (if I could)
And bury it the way you might do with someone you once loved

Maybe sharing their pain if only just for the moment...

I don't want you to sympathize with me either. It's not that kind of sad I'm afraid..

I need this to hurt me, because if it doesn't I won't learn that it isn't okay to feel this way.

A long and outlasting life will be my punishment for this.  I will die in valour and bury this axe where cessation lies dormant

Never to be shared with you

My sickness fully contained.  I will vanquish this demon inside myself.

I will starve before it feeds. I solemnly swear this exorcism on your behalf.

You will never know

My pain.
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