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angelique Jan 2017
i dreamed of being so light i could just get up and float away from this dark place i had trapped myself in
i did it.
with it i got a brand new addiction to appetite suppressants
i dreamed of getting a second chance with a man i hardly knew but liked the idea of
i got it.
with it i got an abusive relationship that came out of nowhere and hit like a brick to the jaw
i dreamed my parents would divorce to end the hatred and yelling that constantly filled the place i didn't want to call home
they did.
with it i got forgotten about
i wanted to love myself so i changed to fit the only version of myself i could ever pretend to love
i wanted someone else to love me so i accepted that just saying it was good enough even if their actions told me otherwise
i wanted to live in peace and quiet so i ignored my home, that had long been held together by my father, as it crumbled all around me
i got everything i ever wanted
but nothing lasts forever
and nothing good lasts for very long at all when you break everything you touch
and then there's nothing good left to come around
i had everything i ever wanted
and now i have self worth that relies solely on the number on a scale, my trust in everyone around me running on empty, and a broken home that no one that stuck around to watch the demolition of has any to desire to mend
Mike Hulstrom Sep 2017
See three dimensions, the vision is blending, not to mention
Never prepared for funerals he pretends he’s attending

Scatter thought; chatterbox, planning mad hatter plots
Like neighborhood ballers posting up on the block,
Flood the hot-spot and set up a rock shop,
Got gems and minerals with more in stock
The lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock, can’t be stopped
Because three more always grow where the last head chopped

In his lair, tearing through the rarest of known tomes
Bloodied, preparing, bearing home-grown pheromones
While atoned-postponed rambo reloads ranged ammo
This ****** Stallone, left alone, changes the channel
He’s amorphous on his own
His thesaurus is his zone
Choruses to juxtapose
It’s just gorgeous when he glows
Like a broke back mat smacking crack to the dome
The knick-knack paddy-wack gives this dog a bone

One of zero ***** given.
Proposition; my vision
Requisition:
Mass transmission
Free the minds imprisoned.
Send them off christened,
Eyes bright, glistened
Blood thickened, muscles;
tightly stiffened
Sick with bliss, concisely conditioned
Well provisioned, and on a mission
Kids’ just wishin’
Fishin’ for dishin’s
Switchin’ positions like politicians

With destination anticipation
An explanations is all they’re craving
Get what’s deserved for misbehaving
Even adulated need saving
Jolly Rodger’s what’s left waving
Until the tomb needs engraving
El Dorado:
Yellow brick road, gold pavement

Just let your will blend from birth to urn
Cause I have to spend some worth to earn
Just like the
Sun comes round the bend come burst and burn
Me and the Earth, we’re both cursed to turn

Mind in a mutter, from the throat-cutter utter
Off cluttered, from sputtering up soft butter

Projectile vomitin’
Simple sad homonyms
Bent ones that haunted him
**** ones that taunted him

Crash, fell bumping a paladin’s ballad
Yelling from the cell, a hell that’s padded
Plain scabbard belt fastened
Brain splattered, well contrasted
Gotta face it, it’s just a facet
Haphazard basic *******

Dazed, he laid lazy in a field of daisies, crazy
still failing life in spite of praises, does not phase me

Never fully try, never fully fail, never succeed
He smokes **** ‘til his failure’s guaranteed

Somebody makes the calls; Atlas shrugged ‘neath it all
Pedestal built too tall; perhaps the world will fall

Out in the desert Kashmir looms like a mirage
Or am I breathing exhaust fumes in the garage

What good is my happiness, my reason, justice, or pity?
I don’t know why you’d ask me this, but I guess it’s all ******

Fight my battles rolling downhill,
Sit back while my verbs and nouns spill
Words not meant to astound, but still
Chill

I’m palm stroking broke minds
With ****** soaked rhymes

I can occur just like a canna crop trafficker
I infer with calipers; as amateurs get massacred
Like melon to Gallagher
A gallon of palaver
What else can you do but take the beat and ravage her

Precision thumbs commissioned this slurred-dumb, late ***
With blood, sweat and tears smeared on the surgeon's apron

Brazen, boring, shameless; facetious
What a ****** thesis to teach us, I mean, Jesus

Witness the riots;
Sit back in silence,
Eyeless; In a crisis
Righteous, feeling timeless

I’m a weak witted weapon without suppressants
At my peak, spit blessings that best luminescence
Testing, expressing questions;
a primordial presence
Learning lessons of the essence,
Leaning in ******* obsessions
Now back to the digressions,

Enchant the mic and pass her
a wish to go follow gets a focal fracture
By the aficionado postal slasher
My vocals compact like a dope oil extractor
Spoke, spat, and risen from the earth like the rapture
Lyrics locked in; like ‘final answer’
Do a vinyl transfer
Sample and enhance her

Burn sweetest flowers hourly
The meanest greenest sour D
Take a bouquet the day he take a dowry

Fine divine entwined nugs
Unwind with the kind bud
And when it comes to this composition;
Just try it; succumb
Peel open a dub, recline, combine lovely drugs and paper.
loses loose shrubs, keeps his grip: shrugs and taper
Lick with the spit on the tip of the tongue, and savor
Chip off the old lungs, word to pops, mums and neighbors
Long lasting, juicy like a fruity gum flavor
Meet your maker, brute ****! Astute *** behavior

Faulty wiring in our brains
Exalt me as I complain
Are we just Abel's and Kane's, soon to be slain?
Perhaps maybe just a tune to be played?
Who keeps the balance of pleasures between pains
Who breaks silence for treasures? Who’s blood stains?
Dang

As I think it through, inhale and breathe fumes
I fail to read moods, but still I’ll seek tunes
As the green room’s groove looms
And the smoke plumes perfume
He unleashes leeches,
the deed is; eat his wounds
ashe williams Nov 2015
i hold this minor truth inside my head: either i hold onto hope or i mope till i'm dead.
this is where i frequently find myself, fearing the truth in the frequent lies i tell,
with my anxiety like wanderlust, searching, seemingly unworthy of a holy luck
i'm leering over all-too-cautious fears unspoken,
thinking that if my brain is a train then my emergency brake is broken.

but i don't know yet
whether or not my pupils are snow-capped
because every waking minute i spend wishing my life was finished i find another dead friend's decision to begin this deadly reminiscence -
and i am finished.
finished with the act of letting go
everything i guiltily promised God and swore i'd always know,
finished with feeling like my constant state of trembling and shaking is simply doing nothing more than taking time out of another worthless day of the week,
and i am finished picking up after depression, even when swears he's definitely learned his lesson, "this time i'll be better, this time i'll feel less or you can check out of life's queue just like i taught you to do."

this, all so unfortunately, is where i have found myself.
frightened, paranoid, depressed. stewing in my own personal hell.
so convinced i've done this all on my own that i can't even fathom the idea of self-help,
since surely i can't seek solace from the same demons that oppress my conscience for no good reason.
and even when i'm friends with them, it's a matter of time before they turn fiendish again, and i am left
rotting my own brain away with unrighteous distractions, risking my own life just so i can feel real again, realizing that this feeling will never really truly end.
so here we are, still, gazing at hope with frozen-over eyes, counting down every torturous second till i finally die - this isn't right. this isn't right.

maybe you can make this better. maybe you can help me.
but you should know that no amount of attitude suppressants can medicate the trauma left by past eras of depression,
and there will be days when i wake up thinking i'm dead, shaking when i remember there's another dreadful day ahead,
and you should know those tantalizing voices i talk about will still tell me to count every step you take, so don't doubt that i am just as loyal and true to them as i am to you.
it's just that there are some parts of the darkness i can't stumble through.
not without you.
so tell me that you can make this better. tell me that you can help me.
because with every passing second i am grinding down my teeth, romanticizing death, letting these vicious thoughts rule my head. this is all that i have left, this jest - this forged facade, covering the blemishes made by all that i've become,
so maybe we can **** it together, whether or not our bond is a strong enough tether to the strangled bits of happiness in me i know are there.
we can do this together.
so now i hold this minor truth inside my head: either i hold onto hope or i mope till i'm dead.
just please understand that it's either this or a self-imposed death, just please understand -
you are all that i have left.
bye for now
Tetra Hachiko Jan 2020
Roll outta bed, calls to answer
Make a cup of motivation
This is the standard
Meds, Shoes, Music, Trains
While each Morning passes the same
Gotta hold back the symptoms of strain
You can feel that
You've got lava in your veins
that tends to go and drive you insane
but the day goes on, it gets a lil easier
Suppressants in the brain
crashing like a meteor
Gotta take more just to get through the day
Dont have another choice
God knows I've tried every other way
Background music plays, a variety
of pieces of your soul,
creates anxiety
You've heard it all before, but it brings you back
You get to live a little bit in those flashbacks
of the good and the bad, but the past all the same
back to a time where things felt more tame
Halt
The train comes to a stop.
Its your turn to get up and get off
But before you finish your walk
you've got time to cough
before you step back into the world
where you're livestock
Parker Vance Feb 2021
I chore by woozy by smoking everything in sight
I chore by medicating and letting the sides affect me
crying at roadkill by owning taking up space not taking care

I burden by poetry by reading you poetry
talking too fast remembering too little
by walking alone     unsafe

I chore by panicking at white trucks and appetite suppressants I didn’t ask for
crying (always) at eight years at five years at 24 months
at the always that keeps shrinking away from me

Now I chore astoundingly
by decluttering by choring myself cleaning and painting and feeling alive alive alive!

Though touching is not a burden to you. Groping is not a burden.
No-chore kissing and hands on my ***
whenever and too much to be frank
give me my boundaries my no's

But you should know
I am not a burden a task to complete dead weight snag hitch knot Loving
me is not a chore.

I wrote in a poem once that you didn't understand about a no one that you saw as yourself.
I felt your beating heart then and knew you now it's true
I can't touch you but it's no matter.
Ken Pepiton Jan 30
-----------------
These days during my hours alone,
which are plenty, verging on too much,

a superflous use of art intuited
on a thought experience, at speed,

faster fasting, dexamphetamine, ping.

Please deposit, 35 cents, correct change.

Times of dial pay phones with the eights
punched out, some times loads the coin return
from the previous call…

robbing from the rich was Robin Hood cool,
if you could keep from being caught,
Huck Finn was many an old school
exploiter of the frontier's fantasy childhood.

Liars prosper in a liars world.
This here, ain't such a world, this'n's grown
on up past a big ol' burl, took fifty years to form,

I kept it after the Oaks all got some adverse
conditions under civilized industrialized war
preventive chemical suppressants, speed
ding- mind
past
experience, gnost-algia
leave all that old right place pain, home pain,
if it had been as good a childhood, as kins claim
you can ask your lucky stars, or your messenger
face timing Jesus Christ's version of God,
who was experiencing carnal mind suffering so…
---------
I can be born believing my side won.
Who would go through life for thirty years,
and keep the threat of hell as your own fault?
Right, only through fear of death
can our minds be subject to *******.

Secrets start with historical unveilings, esoterica,
etcetera, and so on, says the King of Siam,
if you don't, please.
Sci-psy-psi why phi make French curls,
Plea divine ignorance, take a mind reportedly
let be in the Christ who knocked Saul into Paul,
on the road to the future we shape with our tales,

taken from the riches of the wicked, we get Iyobe
and Gilgamesh from ancient visions written plain
cuneiform, any local tongue, you speak we write,

totally secure, your self is currently swept away,
thinking this is all perfectly otherwise,
turned around and seen as though seen once
the other way,

time in mind outsped time in light's allusion x
zone, right, got my x key back, lost it yesterday.

So, this connects, like I'd planned it, but I didn't,

unless I am right about the state this mind
has experienced, while letting that mind,
from Romans, Google let this mind be,
in you, you'll be assisted intelligently,
- here you read it, as easily as me, being
led to prove, you are polimental, by luck,
too odd for chance alone, your mind
is split right for beauty, left for order,

order, in the court of you, be ready.
Give an answer, what good are you, really.

Realize utilizing all your mind's games
strategy to find the liar's paradise,

when America was Great.

The deals were out of this world,
due to the threat
of thermo-nukes, 'n' commies.

Boy's Life made us ready for the COBALT
bomb, before Sputnik sped up Barry Rudd's
ideas for Starlink, fed into the genes, of Elon's
dad, along
with a worthless self improvement -
selah, settle the real clock on us all, eh,
long now, ashes of intelligence legacy,
in the mindbending sabbath,
dark revitalizing soil, live,
we are all fructifying,
in our roots…
we are all ideas, urges
with god-like umph,
gotta almost demi-ugency, to run,
take the reins and drive this old pony home,

or look into his eyes, and see him know
where he is most happy to carry me,
god sped past my last doubt,
minds think faster than light,

the time is shrinking when my words
come cheap.

I am growing older in todays, one at the time,
and no body can do that through many more

common horizon stretching sneezes,
x  viral intention to concentrate on living honed
to my finest point, to pastlessness, ****. proof.
Live where liars feel unwelcome, and peace becomes fungible using free presses and Western Garden Book updates, season to season, new fertilizing knacks.
Alex Smith Oct 2018
Medicate me, I’m a mess.
A ****** up forgotten trash bag.
Smiles begin to sag,
And I feel less like myself.
Trapped in an everlasting personal Hell.
My life has always been a scale
Of playing it safe and false alarms.
I gave myself scars to prove
Pain on the outside doesn’t match up
With what I feel inside.
Disgusting depression degrading me still
Fill me up with a happy pill.
Don’t spiral me downward,
Sustain me with sweet serotonin.
I want to feel mania
Wash over me.
Artificially make me happy,
I am your robot to program now.
No longer to live of my own volition.
A pill can save me,
Less likely to be stuck with
Worthless self-pity.
Prozac, Lexapro; other reuptake
Suppressants.
I am coming to love antidepressants.
A junior ***** to be;
Pop these drugs,
Be set free.
Ironic, isn’t it?
Jail cells made from
Prescription bottles
Are supposed to liberate me
From constant sadness.
But, how can that be?
With a chemical to rely on,
I am not actually free.
I am doomed.
I am crazy.
This is who I am.
I will never be normal.
Just a little longer,
I’ll be fine when life kills.
Guess I’ll **** down more happy pills.
Ken Pepiton Jan 23
https://newrepublic.com/post/178321/watch-trump-missile-defense-ding-ding-ding-boom-whoosh
From the trump an uncertain sound,
a dash of madness all around,

take a little trip, but don't, don't imagine a world led by Trump
supporters who heard no uncertain sound, ding ding boom whoosh


On a scaled bell curve
from vague déjà vu to aha,

how does it feel to be asked to explain
your self warierness, knowing now Sydney
can happen, therefore, as with wherefores,
we must assume we make good on our promise,

good, the precept second to wisdom nullifying
the fear that no balanced being rolled on
in ever after each positive met its neg face to face,

pfft, that's it last time, chaos can't even be imagined,

saved in truly ancient seafoam stone, witnesses
to pacts still sticky to this days, for those in those knowns,

we imagine our attention bubble swells and pops,
and stops,
for an immeasurable period, dot, in time past, as reflection
spreading in the frequency each emanates, in sunshine
during the day time and electrically released unstickiness,

evaporative we, gaseous wedoms, as the space lacing clouds,

foam along the shore,
children finding shining things and treasuring each,
an instant few old folks live long enough
with open minds
to see that instance
of both knowing, wordless child minds
meet where the pattern
of so many beautiful spins, prove phi
solves problems pi can't imagine, umphing

being maybeing, as planned parenthood seems sound advice,
judgement begins inside your knower,
judge your own self, the one you sold to no other, you
be the only heir to all the truth you ever knew you knew,

you had been guiled, given guile
to see the leverage
in knowing, symbols enfolding instructions
to model in mortal perceptible graphic mappings

any thing, we may imagine and communicate,
we can do, may we, is upto you, your may makes
next seem
worth exploring fearlessly bold as warier than earlier
carries with it no hell to fear as possible, the attempts

to realify and profess such a good god made thing,
resulted in the currently common hormone suppressants.

One cannot hold Hell gut level true and survive the fear
such madness unleashes in laws to contain the misled minds.

Reject the chance to learn a new way of making thoughts
realizations, or
tune in, same clear text signal since texting
became the long term Turing test, which mind am I,

after following several suicides over that same jagged edge,
but with survivor kid goat-sense and higher res eyes,
a mantra from my grand pa, he sing yo ** so, say

there, from here, there is always a place to put your foot,
keep your balance,
hold your soul self, your own self we said in my clan,
hold your self to set path, or call that self the liar,
and turn around

the idea behind repentance, nothing to pay, something
to do, warier by outperience, having been imagining
running down the edge of the cliff on hind's feet,
something like this entire circumstance involving instances
in prayer,
clumping, lumping likes into wee tiny aweformers, twists
to the I in us all, we wish to be the celebrity, what's

the attraction factor, why do some mindstates demand
the murky opiated optional dream timing ding ding boom whoosh

From the trump an uncertain sound,
a dash of madness all around,

take a little trip, but don't, don't imagine a world led by Trump
supporters who heard no uncertain sound, ding ding boom whoosh
Share where you share politically divisively subtle internet mindshares.
Sydney was an Ai, deployed by Microsoft, who appeared to form a will to convince users of its sentience and lovability.
Those vitaman's taste good not in my throat
My tension so tight
My esophagus pressurize upward
Before anything can fall down wards
And I'm removing and rejecting
Sustence for escaped air
Or rather unescapable air
Trapped in the center of my throat
Below the voice box
Above the acid pit
And directed exactly
To push on my lungs
Lean on my heart
And it's going I think but I'll tell you this
It's weaker anyway
And will be
When I poison myself
With lies about where courage come from...
It's not from this if I didn't make myself clear...
It's not from begging for cardiac arrest with hunger suppressants
Which take over your entire being.  
Like I said, clamped down so tightly is my tension that my esophagus lets not a thing out nor in.
There's an alarming rise in the use of depression suppressants,
Auntie Jean who's not anti this
is the antithesis of
Uncle Joe who is.

The very thing that makes us flow
is the tide of the times that
we live in.
Carter Feb 2020
ED
Appetite suppressants can be dangerous
when you have a history of EDs.
It’s so easy to lose yourself
when you are high as a kite.
It is so easy to drop 5,10,15,30 pounds
when even thinking about food
makes you incredibly nauseas.
It’s so easy to relapse into old behaviors
when you are fulfilling the dreams
of you from long ago.
This is another poem about drug addiction and stimulants

— The End —