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Jules Jul 2018
the images
come in flashes,
now:

red lines on my dark skin;
a loose noose;
a cliff to fall from
and a fear of falling.
the tip of a sharp blade
against my throat.
(for some reason
i never think of guns.)

they come unbidden
in the midst of everything:
while i am eating;
in conversation with family;
in the shower;
when i wake up in the mornings
wondering why i have still awoken,
and in these moments,
time slows,
stretches out like a drawn-out punishment
while i watch myself stare into nothing.

the indescribable messy affair
of limbo,
of nothing being bad
but nothing being good;
of things not being terrible,
but feeling that they are about to be;
of wanting to leap off the cliff
before you are pushed off;
a pretence
of control.

outside, the storm keeps raging,
and a tree knocks on my bedroom window.
i sit up in time to see the lightning
illuminate a leaf
blown off of its tree.
in the morning, the leaf will have dried
or be floating in flood.
it will not see the storm pass;
it will only turn yellow
and crumple under someone’s foot.
a satisfying crunch.
i wonder only if the leaf had the chance to leap
before the wind pushed it off.
lately i have been wondering
that if everything leaves eventually,
what is the point of arriving at all.

in my bed,
with only the thunder to speak to,
i lay back again.
i plead with the images to let me sleep,
and close my eyes.
this was written in one go and unedited, for the words have been begging to be written down for a long time. my only regret is that i cannot properly tag this with its triggers, but i do not feel comfortable posting this anywhere else. it is nice that i can come back to this site always, even after half a year, when there is little else. if you are struggling, do not go yet. i only want you to know that you are not alone in the battle.
Blyn Jun 2018
Lying
Is easier without eye contact.
In a text message,
You can say anything,
And they'll never know.

Yes, I read your letter,
No, I haven't cut recently,
Yes, I'm taking my meds,
No, I'm not thinking about killing myself.

They like to hear that last one.
No, I'm not thinking about killing myself.
But it's never the truth.
I am always thinking about killing myself.
Not like I'm thinking about going to work tomorrow,
But like I think that I could be a mermaid.
Sure, I'm probably not going to be a mermaid,
But it sounds like a nice escape sometimes, doesn't it?
A Lofi Cherry Apr 2018
He turned to the ornate seraph of a human, her whole life ahead of her.
"What do you want?"
"The sun the moon and the stars." She replied.  
"My child," life said while patting her head. "I cannot give everyone all the sun, all the moon, and all the stars."
She is all these things, a mind like  bottled eternity and a Hand full of ideation. But in return feeble things like the state of her human life suffers. Choices must be made, not everyone can have all the sun, all the moon, and all the stars.
kas Dec 2017
somewhere beyond the baseball fields
inside my mind
i see myself in a linden tree
toes grazing the grass
with the perfect knot of a noose
tight around my neck

the names of all the people
i've never met
and all the places
i've never been
fall from my mouth
and from my mother's eyes

i won't apologize
Anders Thompson Mar 2017
If there is not a solution, a transfusion, a deliverance
Then may Death’s sweet kiss deliver me from this.
I will not be alive trapped in my mind:
Hell is empty, they put the devils here
For me to unwind.
Anders Thompson Mar 2017
Laying on a bed in Urgent Care
Life stops seeming to be so fair,
Not that it could be or ever was,
But I’d kept telling myself this because
It was easier than facing myself.

Oh God but this is such a journey
-- Thoughts from on top a gurney --
I feel like death and want to die,
God, life sure is one hell of a ride:
I’m looking for the nearest exit.

Life’s normal denizens keep striding by,
Too far to hear my strangled reply.
If I could possess them for my own,
I would leave them behind in my body sewn
So they could drink of my daily delirium.

I’m sorry, is the bitter too loud?
Sometimes my anger I will no longer enshroud.
I keep it under wraps to protect the people best,
Lest they know how hard I am pressed
To keep myself from snapping.

I will not lie, it angers me so:
To see myself disabled while others glow.
I hate to be pretentious but I was told
That the world was mine to hold.
My desolate hands lust in silence.

But I am tired, worn, and low;
I will fall away from this anger’s afterglow.
I will sink back down away from this
Inspiration will become another game of hit and miss.
The waiting game begins again.

The walls will keep me secure and cold
And as always I will stay controlled.
And yet you, oh God from up above,
Could I learn to look on you with Love?
This heart is ice and needs some tenderness.
Lucy Crozier Aug 2016
satellites above your head
are blinking down not quite morse code:
they definitely wouldn't mind hanging out
whenever you have the time.
when they can't sleep
they think of stories you tell and rest easier for it.
stars and light from stars
that aren't anymore clutch
their metaphorical hearts over how good you are,
at how kindhearted you are, or if your heart is rage and fear
how kind you manage to be anyway.
the moon sees how hard you are trying
even on the days you don't leave your bed.
the moon loves you the way you are and she'll
love you when you change.
when you look at yourself and all you see is a parasite,
a waste of air, poison waiting to escape and it tastes
sour sour sour on your tongue and you realize
stopping this before more people are hurt
is your most compelling duty
the night sky wants you to stick around.
This is draft 1.5 so this may be subject to some changes over time.
I'll wait for it.
The tips of my toes just barely skimming the sand.
I'll keep breathing,
When my eyes sting and my hair floats around my hands.
I'll watch it,
When the blue glitters and turns to foamy white
I want to feel it,
The aching need for something, anything, dark or light.
Let me feel it.
Let me feel life.
Anjana Rao Feb 2016
These days,
you don’t talk to anyone.
You hear the offers,
and you refuse to take them,
refuse to give anyone
the satisfaction
of helping.

[What could they do,
what could they say?]

These days,
you don’t reach out
reply as much as you have to
when approached,
and disappear into dissociation again.

You don’t feel bad,
you don’t feel sad,
you don’t feel.

Only tell yourself that
they don’t need you
and you don’t need them.

You’re alone.

But not lonely.
Your brain is home to a chorus,
there’s never a dull moment.

How could you ever be alone
with so many voices in your head?

There’s the querulous one of anxiety with her constant,
whatdoidowhatdoidowhatdoido?

The heavy, lumbering one of depression, who only mumbles,
Who cares? None of this matters.

There is the babble of Mombrain,
a hodge podge of toxic sludge that
at this point,
is not cruel but
almost comical:
You’reuglystupidbadloserfreaksocialmisfitliarliarliarug­lystupidbaddesperatepatheticracistunfeelingcoldfuckyouyoulazyburd­enonsocietyfuckyou.

There is the matter of fact one of Logic Brain.
She is the one who
has to do damage control, works overtime to
make you appear Sane, Articulate,  Good, Better.

She is the one who guides you through
every
single
action.

Get out of bed.
Now brush your teeth.
Now make the bed.
Now take a shower.
Now put on clothes,
Now eat - you have to eat multiple meals.
Now take your meds, don’t be a child.
You are going to get things done today.
You will be Fine.


But the whisper
is the one that interests you,
scares you,
thrills you the most.

She's the one you never shut down.

She is cool, suave.
You can never see her, of course,
but she is the girl you could never be.
She is
so close,
so seductive -
just                  out of reach.
She breathes into your ear:
crash the car,
jump on the tracks,
fly off the bridge,
stab yourself to watch the blood,
drink the nail polish remover,
chug a whole bottle of whiskey
and down some pills,
just like the old days,
remember the old days,
you were sure you would die?
You can still Do It.


Ideation always whispers,
but the whispers are so loud,
feel so
right.

She tells you:
You think I’ll disappear, but
you and I,
we’ll always be going steady,
I’m not like those other girls,
the ones who rip out your heart,
who never say sorry when they need to,
who use you and expect so much and
leave when they’re done.
Baby, with me
there will never be any surprises
no heartbreak,
no drama,
no manipulation
no uncertainty.


*Baby,
I will never leave you,
I am the one constant.
Come into my arms,
let me hold you tight
and never let you go.
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