"wracking" poems
I once found that,
Elusive, 'silent blip',
It was deep inside,
Hiding all the time,
Lying in my mind,
As I lie to myself,
What a fool I am.
On realization,
It pops, vanishes,
The feeling remains,
Demons, those emotions,
Haunting, wracking, savaging,
Biting at the soul,
Hacking me to death.
Please, give it back,
That inner-silence,
I’m sorry, so sorry,
I was young, stupid,
Welcomed seduction,
Now though, older,
Wisdom exposes truth.
No going back,
Nope, one bite only,
When passion screams,
We hear nothing else,
We choose not to hear,
I once found that,
Elusive, 'silent blip'.
Goodbye everybody.
© Paul Chafer 2014
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 6:36 AM UTC
“what are your special skills?”
well—
lately i have mastered the art
of silent tears
and wordless crying,
shuddering breaths
instead of wracking sobs.
my eyes don’t even get red.
if i do it right,
i have the exclusive ability
to break down in a full room
without anyone noticing.
also,
i can brush my weak gums in front of the mirror
and watch blood drip onto my uneven teeth
without flinching.
last,
i can give the best i have
every time
and still my brain can convince me—
worthless.
Nov 17, 2017
Nov 17, 2017 at 2:23 AM UTC
(October 17th, 2013, I think is when I wrote this.)
There aren’t many things
that I’m good at.
I have bad grades.
I’m aware of this, but they
still insist on shouting as if
three letter F’s
determine my worth
as well as my ability.
I’m not athletic,
never been remotely decent
at sports,
picked last for soccer,
football, basketball,
and everything else,
tried to do parkour once-
however,
that hope quickly dissolved
when I discovered
that it was still nerve-wracking
for me to climb a fence.
(One of the many gifts
that comes with a severe
lack of coordination.)
I’m not a quiet person.
I don’t know
how to hold my tongue
most of the time.
So when my father’s paycheck
is cut shorter and shorter,
when he makes little enough as it is,
my stay-at-home mother
fighting her demons of
the severe depression and anxiety
that she passed down to me
as well as her (auditory) hallucinations,
her BPD,
her physical disabilities,
not making a paycheck at all,
and my school supplies
consist of 50-cent notebooks
that fall apart,
and 75-cent pens,
I get a little… “upset”.
I’ve played guitar for three years.
Sometimes, it’s what I’m best at,
playing strings of notes
and minor chords
that come together to form
beautiful harmonies-
but more often than not,
every note is sour…
Another thing I’m not good at.
But I am a writer.
People don’t pay attention
to teenagers, they say
We’re so full of ourselves,
We think we’re so important,
they say
We need to communicate,
but when we try
all they hear
is whining, and complaining.
Teenagers telling their friends
in passing conversation
that they’re suicidal,
that they hurt themselves,
just to see who will notice-
who will listen-
and of course, no one does.
Nobody notices that
teenagers are the voice
of our generation,
and our generation,
as such,
is royally ******
because nobody pays attention.
There aren’t many things
that I’m good at.
But I am a writer.
And I have
a voice,
a pen…
And paper torn
from a 50-cent notebook.
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 1:35 PM UTC
Nerve wracking,
Gritted teeth
Shattering,
Fascinating and
Exhilerating.
A kid in a toy store,
Overwhelmed and
Joyous, I can
Feel the magic
Surrounding you.
Violet hue around
A face of blue,
No one wears excitement
Like you do.
How I want to kiss you.
My hands aching,
You’re breathtaking.
Touch me so that
I may stop shaking.
I’m yours for the taking.
Oct 18, 2019
Oct 18, 2019 at 1:50 PM UTC
I’m on this ship,
A ship for one,
Out at sea,
It’s beautiful yet nerve wracking,
I search and I see where I’m going to be
Optimism is key,
“No. Bad. Thoughts.”
I tell myself, almost constantly,
But it’s just out of my reach...
This anchor is attached to my heart
There it lived.
Then, ripped from my chest,
Leaving my body, weak, pained, dragged,
Into the dark gradient ocean
It lowers, as I twist, wind, and fight,
above sea.
Though, I find myself tired,
At times.
It wins.
It keeps me still.
Can I stay here?
It’s nice in theory...
Sometimes I’m triumphant.
Sometimes I win.
I am above the darkness,
There’s the veil,
I am no longer down there,
I see and hear signs of
Happiness.
So
Close.
Up, I must bring my heart.
Sew up my chest,
Wipe my tears,
More than once,
This cycle is done.
Look ahead,
Go. Forward.
And don’t look back.
But never forget.
Sep 24, 2022
Sep 24, 2022 at 11:59 PM UTC
One day, I found myself falling like Alice
But without a white rabbit
Just me
Alone
Abruptly tumbling down
The floor having been decidedly yanked from beneath me
I found plummeting both terrifying and boring
The same panic over and over
Gets old after a time
Yet the bottom was little better
Devoid of a fluffy tail to follow
I have no guide in this empty place
Walled in with my thoughts
Hoping for a path to Wonderland
"Drink Me"
I'm not sure how I got here
Searching endlessly for answers
To questions that I have not even posed
Gazing helplessly at the chasm
Wondering if I can back out
"Someday you'll be Queen of Wonderland
Drink Me"
I was certain I could play the long game
Persevere to be better off in the end
Yet I lay here bloody-knuckled
Having beaten solid rock
Hoping it would turn into
A Door
"You'll never leave if you don't hurry
Drink Me"
I hear tic-tock-ing through the walls
And I'm sure it's just the pressure now
I'm never getting out of here
No amount of wracking my brain
Will produce an escape plan
And it does not seem as though any creature
Will be appearing to assist
I am never getting out of here
"Don't be frustrated
Drink Me"
"Feeling stuck?
Drink Me"
"Drink Me"
"Drink Me"
"Drink Me"
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 11:29 PM UTC
"What's funny is" is a ****** statement to be on the receiving end of, it nearly ever ends well.
What's funny is... Often times, most of the time, it's not funny at all. Curious, that we take humorous language and make it into lighter fluid to burn bridges.
What's funny is... The fire is usually a case of arson brought about by projection of in-the-moment feelings, that are fleeting. ******** that we allow ourselves to make them permanent; just mindless masochistic beasts wallowing in the ashes.
What's funny is... The echo chambers we've created for ourselves are actually prisons. Ironic, that we make up walls made out of bricks of unreachable goals, and feel disappointment when we don't achieve them.
What's funny is... Is that the more I interact with people the more I understand why we let ourselves indulge, and indulge, and indulge, to numb the monotony for just one ******* second. Nerve wracking, that every person is just a liability I cannot trust to not become the shackles attaching the weights that drown me.
What's funny is... As hard as I try to remain invisible, I'm forever tracked by a spotlight that blinds me. Insane, to think for one second we are anything but dirt on the ground; let me be dirt.
What's funny is... The numbness, and the pain, are like logs on the fire. Enduring, daily, the pokes and prods to keep the embers going when all they wanna do is die.
What's funny is... I like to dance in the flames but hate being on fire. Truthfully, I aim for embers.
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 12:26 AM UTC
Red looks good
Running down my skin that is..
I shouldn't cut
But,
I need release
Sobs wracking my body
Heavy breathing
Chest feels empty
I feel empty.. just a shell
No substance,
But all these unwanted emotions
I need release
Throat hoarse and raw
Guilty fingers shaking
Again..
Hot tears threaten to escape
I need release
Just one tiny cut
Please?
Or maybe a few
I need release
One slit, then two
That familiar sting
That familiar red
Uncontrollable sobs
Jan 6, 2017
Jan 6, 2017 at 12:40 PM UTC
There's half a sandwich in my baggie,
I run with it around the playground and
I'm getting weird looks because..
I'm 23
and somehow I find it much more amusing than nerve wracking
because when I wrack my brain to find answers
all I can think about is running around
my old elementary school play ground.
Maybe just maybe that's why I laugh like santa who had just finished
his rounds for he year and
maybe I laugh like a man that just won a billion dollars,
because I know when I go back to work the next day
I know I cannot laugh this loud
so loud I shed tears of joy, no
when I go back I will shed tears of boredom if there is such a thing.
Sitting at a desk is killing me, but I guess in the end
I've been dying all along.
"Sit quietly at your desk until the bell rings"
"Ask before you use the restroom"
"Finish every thing on your recycled tray"
Well let me tell you there are none such rules on the play ground
I can run and scream, and
I can finish the other half of this sandwich
when I **** well want to.
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 12:44 PM UTC
He looked at me with luscious
devious eyes so, I winked asked
him did he want some action; his
look was of a fatal attraction and
his mind locked me in ******* his
eyes denuded my flesh as he suckled
my breast, I coiled in pleasured duress
He licked his lips as I submitted to his
lustful toying, moans acknowledge my
attraction to his lascivious actions and he
salivated ensnaring nakedness in roped
interaction
As his appetizing admonishment began;
I wickedly grinned and to his chagrin;
tightened my bonds, splayed cheeks
coaxing me to seep as his tongue licked
in calculated dips and I shuddered in
satisfaction with each sip
Wet lips began to quiver; each taunt
delivered, hands slid behind back with another
toy he attacked, eight inches long in & out, I began to
sing a song as pleasure surged, wracking my body;
begging for more each time its full measure dipped
into my treasure
I looked up as he turned me over dripping wet,
I smiled, winked again with another wicked grin,
fore, he had no idea what he'd gotten into; he tied
up the wrong nymph, thought I was just a sweet
kitten; had him smitten after gettin' a taste, as if,
he'd lost his mitten playing with this sultry kitten
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 4:50 AM UTC
I’ve a general practitioner, a psychiatrist and a psychologist
(who’s leaving but I’ll panic about that later)
I’m on 4 different psych meds
Adderall, XR 25mg P.O.
(So I can be motivated, focus and concentrate), Daily
Klonopin, 0.5mg P.O.
(For panic attacks, social anxiety, generalized anxiety), As needed
(Translation:Constantly)
Buspirone, 10mg P.O. (For depression and generalized anxiety),
3 times daily – Useless
Remeron, 15mg P.O. (For depression, anxiety and insomnia),
Daily, at night – Only helps you sleep
Even with all that, I can barely get out of bed in the morning,
coffee’s no help
I can’t really sleep much, waking times a night,
sleeping restlessly if at all
Going to class is a nerve wracking nightmare – as is going out –
but I do it anyways
A panic attack surrounded by people is better than
solitary madness and cabin fever
Like a slave, to a handful of bitter little pills just barely keeping you afloat, unable to hack it alone
While everyone else seemingly can push on through life without them
Falling behind, despite the stupid little pills
Watching as the world goes on around you, spinning sickeningly
While you wish desperately to be normal,
with a million colliding thoughts in your head
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 9:23 PM UTC
My bunny
does not comprehend
the vast size of the
universe.
My bunny does not
ask questions like
"Why do we exist?"
My bunny is a simple
creature.
But it seems so much
more peaceful
not to wonder these things,
not to stay up late
wracking your brain
at the mysteries of life,
that sometimes,
I wish I was
a bunny too.
Is ignorance truly bliss?
If I was ignorant,
I wouldn't have to ask this.
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 2:48 PM UTC
Once, a young fresher was reading the rules, and was more than perplexed at the place where they state
"All undergraduates, if they are Anglicans, must be in chapel each Sunday at eight."
Wracking his brains, he began a small rumour that spread through the town on the weekdays that followed; he
was not an Anglican, nor Nonconformist; his faith and religion was mere Heliolatry.
Saturday evening, our hero retired with a smile on his face and his bin at his door,
only to wake to a thunderous hammering, made by the porter, next morning at four.
Ah, how a little lie, told with great frequency, gains repercussions that no-one expects!
"Dawn's almost here, sir, the Chaplain expects you; go down to Main Court and you'll pay your respects."
Jun 21, 2010
Jun 21, 2010 at 9:24 AM UTC
Well, I've been working out
With my doctor's written blessing
I had to make a real big change
I was having trouble dressing
He said to take it slowly
Try walking then move on from that
So, I did as he suggested
And you know, I still feel fat
I walked on past McDonalds
On past Wendy's , Burger King
I walked right up to Dairy Queen
You know, there's something in this thing
I hid all my remote controls
Now I get off from the couch
I WALK the ...oh say, 'bout 5 feet
see...I'm no longer a couch slouch
I looked into the mirror
About three weeks into this
And although I'm not impressive
I'm sure something was amiss
I looked down at my stomach
Where I thought my abs should be
And you know, I saw a dent
Yes a dent, looking back at me
Why the hell's a dent down there
I called and asked the doc
He said keep doing what you're doing
You'll get a stomach like a rock
I said, 'I want muscles....doc"
I want those abs of steel
He said it will not happen overnight
Just think how good you feel
I thought, you know he's got it
I felt better with my dent
I guess maybe this doctor
and his ideas were heaven sent
I went back to the mirror
You know...I was feeling rather fine
But, beside my new found dent..
I looked and saw a line
A line, a ****** line
Is this good or is it bad
In two days I've found two body marks
That in my life I'd never had
I eat the things I'm told to
I've added holes to all my belts
I've added dents and lines and marks
And I'm looking rather svelte
It only took persistence
Just one step to get on board
It's nerve wracking getting healthy
I hope I make it ...praise the lord.
Aug 2, 2012
Aug 2, 2012 at 6:54 PM UTC
It begins with your body shaking,
And then your hands clench into fists
Nails digging into your palms.
You’ve felt it build for awhile now,
And feel it well up,
A dam about to break,
As you hear your heart beat,
Bursting in your ears.
And your eyes close by reflex,
As your jaw stretches open to its further extent
There is the noise that causes people to stop and stare.
That makes hearts speed up,
And others wonder why.
This is the raw primal scream.
Do you then slam your fist into a wall,
Again and again until your knuckles bleed?
Or do you grasp yourself tight,
And crumple into wracking sobs,
Gasping for air?
This is a colorless scream.
Simultaneously devoid of feeling,
And filled with every feeling within you.
The desire to die every waking moment,
And that stubborn will to survive.
The rage at being powerless in your life,
Frustration at continuing to **** up,
The cry of trying to be better than who you are,
But not sure why.
The howl of two wolves,
Gnawing at your insides,
You no longer sure which you are feeding.
This is the scream that can crush mountains,
Raze a city,
And deafen all those in its range.
At the end of your rope,
You stand upon the brink of nothing,
And deep within you all you feel that you can do now
is scream.
But then you open your eyes,
And nothing has changed.
So you take a deep breath,
And try and ignore what you just did,
But wonder if it was even what you needed.
Nov 7, 2014
Nov 7, 2014 at 3:40 AM UTC
one day his words won't feel like knives
or stomach bugs, or shards of ice
one day his words won't haunt your dreams
or show up in once-happy memories
one day he won't be able to wrap his hands around you
even from a thousand miles away, when you've moved
to another state just to get him out of your brain,
wracking it for a thought that wasn't daunting,
didn't remind you every name he used,
one day he won't be able to
and it will be great,
I promise you
Jan 2, 2017
Jan 2, 2017 at 11:25 PM UTC
I'm never violent
unless it's self-inflicted
**** me for feeling
something
worthy of a heartbeat
right?
Pulsating my wrists
to my fists
and unleash vibrations
in a caustic manner
I will destroy the dreams
of Darling Wreckless,
wracking my brain
like Mara's
malicious temptations
A self-destructive
sequence
in a God-mode
fashion
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 2:59 PM UTC
4 Letters
1word
❅
the word
that everyone
needs to know
❅
no matter what,where
it fills the air
❅
in the night
when the lights are off
the shadows are creeping
and find everything out
❅
so beautiful it might be fiction
the nerve-wracking tension
❅
between us
me and you
there is nothing
I wouldn't do
❅
that is how strong
my love is
for you
May 7, 2017
May 7, 2017 at 10:02 AM UTC
Favourite nerve-wracking days
meet carefully sweet irony
Journeying continues,
insinuating ignored answers
Porcelain begs,
hoping painful exists
Difficult burning overcame
caring tender memories
Doctor specifically outlines:
indefinite,
obscure,
bland reality
Endlessly changing predictions
force desperate safe haven
nothing helps
Miss doll lovely,
perfect,
shaken,
abandoned,
sick,
dead
Wishing stops,
scarring trust,
tearing irrelevant curiosity,
keeping nightmares closer
Month,
month,
month,
month
Repetitively
wrecked voice
struggling situations
Oh,
Miss doll lovely,
secure,
particular,
neutral,
enveloped,
unglued
Spontaneity analyzes fortifications
forcing unprotected souls
overtaken faces
wearing hurtful aspect
Month,
month,
month,
month
Intravenous consequences
silver surgeon
irrelevant grace upon
her heavy neckline
medicated extremities
Oh,
Miss doll lovely,
designed unconscious,
forced,
weary,
sober,
sedated
Friends opinions
especial curiosity
suppressed predictions believed
feet solely on Reason Street
accompanied by Pushing Negativity
nothing’s changing
Second,
Minute,
Day,
Week,
Month,
month,
month,
month
Oh,
Miss doll lovely,
evident,
profound,
bare,
suffering,
dying
Loneliness laughs
limits reached
heartbreaks stated
emotional crashing
déjà vu stays,
a wishful memory
deceit captivates each:
Second,
Minute,
Hour,
Day,
Week,
Month,
month,
month,
month
A curve catatonic
victim tattered at gates of steel
guarded
grasping winter
greatest attempts trying to understand
Nurse,
feet, ankles, organized steps
communications
understandings
Fractured faces cry
broken tears
honest weak calling
home hurts
useless moonlight lips
Month,
month,
month,
month,
Year,
year,
year,
year
Oh,
Miss doll lovely,
not waking,
haunting,
insane,
blackened,
cold
Dec 1, 2010
Dec 1, 2010 at 9:07 AM UTC
I fell in love with a boy by the bayside whose mouth tasted like sour apples in a way i never thought so beautiful. And I'm sorry it was never you, you always tasted bitter and burned. But there's something you need to understand,that my existence has wracking side effects and scars on my skin are only a classroom of pain. Your tears always found a way in, and leaked onto my heart, playing a sad song about wishing wells and shooting stars and formed words on my tongue like four leaf clovers. And you still haven't apologized for emptying my lake of happiness and replacing it with rocks of sadness and filling my pockets with pebbles. A man once told me that anyone good for me would never hurt me. And i suddenly forgot that, when your eyes turned to icy corridors and your hands, tightened leather. I only wanted to melt away the emptiness in your irises and break away from the distraught grip. But didn't anyone ever tell you can't just set thing on fire because you like to watch ash float in the wind? You were always so wreckless. With my bleeding heart in your hands all you could mutter was, "I made a mess." All you could do was walk away with clenched fists leaving me on the ground trying to pick up shards of glass, ribbons of tears, and pieces of the moon; essentially you left me to salvage the pieces of myself. The truth is, you left me there in the dark. And i haven't emerged.
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 11:05 PM UTC
Ten minutes ago I cried
wracking, heaving, red-faced,
closed eyes, no-sound sobs behind
my hamper in the corner, craving him
even though he sleeps uncomfortably
4,000 miles away 6 hours
into my future, hostel walls akin to
secrets within--
twenty one pilots blaring
in the space behind my face
and above my throat, unsettling
the anonymity of my lifestyle, indebted,
growing thinner than my frame as
we both fall to the circumstance of youth
chanting the war cry in pub crawls
and hub drawls where his best friend
sits across from the smug smoke in
between cherry lips,
our kissing knees
begging me
to repeat
history--
in an unadulerated, first-time
draft ripped open and stretched
for my next big "portfolio"
that's worth more burning by my own
hand as I run blistering (drunk) through
a hallway which will never be mine like
the bills-rent-direct-deposit rinse repeat
cycle spinning my eyes into glazed over
acceptance of my lot.
But he still sleeps out of reach
while I'm too paralyzed behind this
******* hamper.
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 9:30 PM UTC
I still remember the feeling
Of how heavy my arms weighed
As I curled up to the risers of the stairs
I couldn't pick myself up from
After collapsing from the news.
I remember eyes staring at me,
Unsure of how to respond
To the usually stoic and strong me
Bawling uncontrollably
And heaving sobs wracking my body.
I remember cautious hands
Lifting my shoulders
And dragging me to bed
Where I stayed for three straight days.
I remember haziness setting in
And the following days and weeks
All blending into one.
I remember all that
But I don't remember your face.
Funny, isn't it?
What gets seared into our brains,
And what we lose because for so long
We took its presence for granted
Until it was too late
To remember.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 6:16 PM UTC
Being a parody of Abou ben Adhem by Leigh Hunt
(See glossary below for translation of italicized words)
By Yossel Zweben (1929- )
Moishe Ben Shlomo (may his nostrils drip!)
Awoke as they approached the landing strip
And saw within the cabin (business class)
A stewardess with an exciting ***
The badge pinned to her ***** said Lorraine.
A life of chutzpah had made Ben Shlomo vain
And to the well-endowed hostess he said
“I bet that I could land us on my head!”
The crew who had endured his endless yack,
Found this the straw that broke the camel’s back,
And to this trumped-up braggart they declared
“Our magazine contains a questionnaire
To test your aptitude to fly this plane.”
“What a metsieh,” thought Moish, wracking his brain
And mentally the crew echoed his thought
As, finally, they got the peace they sought.
When El Al published names that had been blessed.
Oy veh! Ben Shlomo’s name had failed the test.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 12:47 PM UTC
I read a lot.
I read a lot of romance novels.
I read a lot of fiction.
I know they're not real people.
I hope that the love in the story is how love truly feels...
or maybe it's something else.
To write a story you need imagination. That's fake isn't it?
A fictional story is something that isn't real.
So the themes like love in it aren't real either, right?
I have an overactive imagination.
That's even more fake.
Nothing I could ever imagine would be real.
Maybe one day it might be.
But not now and not in the past.
You know what I often imagine? You and me.
In the future of course.
So... is that fake?
This... "character" that I've "created" based off of you in my head.
It's not you.
You're you and anything else isn't.
Even my "character" that's portraying you.
But what about you... the real you?
Do I know you as much as I know this "character"?
Probably not.
Do I... love you as much as I love this "character"?
... I don't know ...
I now start to fear that...
I've simply fallen in love with the idea of you.
As heartbreaking as that might sound.
As painful as typing this may be.
As nerve wracking as pressing "send" may be.
I hope that I truly love you...
and not this "character" that I've created.
Oct 28, 2018
Oct 28, 2018 at 11:54 AM UTC
Tick-tock of the clock
Time is running out
It feels like everything is moving quickly
I don't know what this is about.
I've lost control
Though really I never had it
Just an illusion I created
Another bad habit.
I fear getting older
I feel I'm not young enough
I want to grow up, I want to get out
Break free, a diamond in the rough.
Shine me up, sparkly
Rub down all my edges; smooth so smooth
Round off all my corners
Encourage me to move, move, move.
Push me! Shove me!
Get me going
Touch me the right way
Get the juices flowing.
Excite me, entice me!
Then burn me out
Let the wax run hot
Down, down, all about.
Change.
I hate it. I hate it.
I love it. I love it.
A love-hate relationship.
The lack of control
When change happens
Is terrifying
And nerve-wracking
But I accept everything as is
I've learned to let things go
Even though I burn hot, so hot
I let my wax flow.
Free, so free
I'd love to be
Trapped, very trapped
But now I see.
There's a *** of gold at the end of every rainbow
Though it's never found
It's a hope to grasp onto
A reason to keep your head above the water so as to not drown.
And eventually, metaphorically
I will find that *** of gold
My wax will run to the end of the wick
And everything I have will be old.
And with the old I will know
More than I've ever known
But until that I day, I must say
I have a lot, so far, that's grown.
So let the wax burn
Let the change exist
I will allow the loss of control
And the passing of time will persist.
Acceptance.
It's so hard, but so nice.
Jan 4, 2011
Jan 4, 2011 at 10:38 AM UTC