Poetry competition CLOSED 28th December 2018 12:48pm
WINNER
FreeLove87 (SamuraiEde)
FreeLove87 (SamuraiEde)
RUNNER-UP:
CasketSharpe
Show Us Your Conflict
Anonymous
Related submission no longer exists.
Glimmer of Hope CRUSHED by Eternal sad
I've always maintained that I
will only take what another
offers. I am not one to push
or pull or guilt You into any
one thing or any spiritual or
anything...Love.
I received an email yesterday
(NO, I am not going to share
it with You, as I've learned
a valuable lesson from this
yesterday) and this is some
of the most heart stabbing
bleed I've ever been privileged
to experience in my reinvented
life. I feel sick to my gut
as if I throw up right this
fuckin' minute; perhaps I will
do this later...every hour
of every - later.
That email has a hint of
forgiveness but under the weight
of eternal sad and obvious
betrayal, hope may just be
the tease.
What does it mean when some
someone says that You betrayed
them but they still deeply
love You?
Means that there's a slim
glimmer of hope for me, but
crushed under hers and mine~
eternal sad.
My love signs off to me an
unconditional good-bye:
agape. Another ort of
hope?
I read too much. . .
will only take what another
offers. I am not one to push
or pull or guilt You into any
one thing or any spiritual or
anything...Love.
I received an email yesterday
(NO, I am not going to share
it with You, as I've learned
a valuable lesson from this
yesterday) and this is some
of the most heart stabbing
bleed I've ever been privileged
to experience in my reinvented
life. I feel sick to my gut
as if I throw up right this
fuckin' minute; perhaps I will
do this later...every hour
of every - later.
That email has a hint of
forgiveness but under the weight
of eternal sad and obvious
betrayal, hope may just be
the tease.
What does it mean when some
someone says that You betrayed
them but they still deeply
love You?
Means that there's a slim
glimmer of hope for me, but
crushed under hers and mine~
eternal sad.
My love signs off to me an
unconditional good-bye:
agape. Another ort of
hope?
I read too much. . .
Written by Tallen
(earth_empath)
Go To Page
a Daily Dose & Drowning
( Schizophrenic’s Struggle )
Sometimes it’s mindfulness, at times,
at other – at times, I am not…
this distant and quiet, me.
Sometimes I don’t know,
not certain of anything!
Skulking about, pondering,
wondering schizophrenia & suicide.
However,
I am not depressed
or sad
or lonely, upset or mad.
I’m just logically drowning
‘bout mental illness verses
and my Spirituality.
( I could use a hug, a gentle whisper, perhaps ----
but she’s too far away and on video-chat, I only
get…a…flicker. )
Just because I am quiet
Just because I have little to say
doesn’t mean I love You…less.
It oft means
I am struggling
with myself,...
I guess.
Sometimes it’s mindfulness, at times,
at other – at times, I am not…
this distant and quiet, me.
Sometimes I don’t know,
not certain of anything!
Skulking about, pondering,
wondering schizophrenia & suicide.
However,
I am not depressed
or sad
or lonely, upset or mad.
I’m just logically drowning
‘bout mental illness verses
and my Spirituality.
( I could use a hug, a gentle whisper, perhaps ----
but she’s too far away and on video-chat, I only
get…a…flicker. )
Just because I am quiet
Just because I have little to say
doesn’t mean I love You…less.
It oft means
I am struggling
with myself,...
I guess.
Written by Tallen
(earth_empath)
Go To Page
Anonymous
<< post removed >>
MULE
Draw the seared tracks in pools of his
Lethargy one minute, through dwindling
Piles of emeralds & rubies, the next.
My nephew Kyle could've been anything.
A mulatto baby out of wedlock,
Not in the social outcast sense, but
In the way his (also) mulatto father
Abandoned him, after trying to kidnap him
From his mother in a parking lot in
Broad daylight, traumatizing him at age 3.
He was beautiful in ev'ry shade the
word is meant to convey.
He became a child model, and appeared
In television bit parts and walk-ons.
Perhaps he would wind up on theater
Screens like his father.
Seems incredibly long ago;
A length of rope seems as long when
Someone you love, with his whole life
Before him, opens his arms to free fall
Ev'ry minute for the following years,
Still dazzling me with his dimpled smile
That meant nothing to him.
Late last summer, with the hindering of
Drugs & drink, and clinical depression,
The drop from a freeway overpass
Was about to be the poster child for
Why innocence of the core often
Loses out on the slippery slopes of
Misguided intervention.
Caught by the scruff of his black hoodie,
His physical body was pulled off
The barrier wall, and saved.
But the soul we never see slipped through
And fell far below to the gravel road
Where tractors passed each day.
The images change like the chamber
In a revolver of Russian roulette
That holds the only bullet.
It's only one, but one is all you need
To snuff the third eye.
I don't care to have the other two
Now that I know that in his mind,
God's little drug mule's into fisting.
The last time I got to hold him
For what must have seemed to him
An interminable lapse,
I knew all we could hope for was
That he might stay alive.
I felt selfish to wish him to exist.
I would've wanted more if it were me.
But for my sweet brilliant nephew,
His life was our loss, all of us.
.
Lethargy one minute, through dwindling
Piles of emeralds & rubies, the next.
My nephew Kyle could've been anything.
A mulatto baby out of wedlock,
Not in the social outcast sense, but
In the way his (also) mulatto father
Abandoned him, after trying to kidnap him
From his mother in a parking lot in
Broad daylight, traumatizing him at age 3.
He was beautiful in ev'ry shade the
word is meant to convey.
He became a child model, and appeared
In television bit parts and walk-ons.
Perhaps he would wind up on theater
Screens like his father.
Seems incredibly long ago;
A length of rope seems as long when
Someone you love, with his whole life
Before him, opens his arms to free fall
Ev'ry minute for the following years,
Still dazzling me with his dimpled smile
That meant nothing to him.
Late last summer, with the hindering of
Drugs & drink, and clinical depression,
The drop from a freeway overpass
Was about to be the poster child for
Why innocence of the core often
Loses out on the slippery slopes of
Misguided intervention.
Caught by the scruff of his black hoodie,
His physical body was pulled off
The barrier wall, and saved.
But the soul we never see slipped through
And fell far below to the gravel road
Where tractors passed each day.
The images change like the chamber
In a revolver of Russian roulette
That holds the only bullet.
It's only one, but one is all you need
To snuff the third eye.
I don't care to have the other two
Now that I know that in his mind,
God's little drug mule's into fisting.
The last time I got to hold him
For what must have seemed to him
An interminable lapse,
I knew all we could hope for was
That he might stay alive.
I felt selfish to wish him to exist.
I would've wanted more if it were me.
But for my sweet brilliant nephew,
His life was our loss, all of us.
.
Written by Jade-Pandora
(jade tiger)
Go To Page
This is my Conflict
Every year
I reread these words
bow my head
and cry
a little more
Merry Christmas
to the forgotten ones
the little ones
who continue to live
in fear and despair
Merry Christmas
to the homeless familys
because their governments
don't really care
Merry Christmas
to the misguided
vets
who minds and limbs
are M I A
who fought for a dream
that will never be
on these cold hard streets
where they wonder
aimlessly
like shell shocked
refugees
Merry Christmas
to the 90percent
who sit happily comfortably numb
within the flickering light
of there out of reach
plastic dreams
while being spoon fed
fools gold
and like mindless moths
they fly
to the flicking light
Merry Christmas
to the 9percent
who walk the path
between happiness
and despair
knowing
there is no
turning back
when you become aware
Merry Christmas
to the 1percent
who fully believe
that common sense logic
and empathy
should only belong
in the lands
of poor peoples dreams
Every year
I reread these words
bow my head
and cry
a little more
Merry Christmas
to the forgotten ones
the little ones
who continue to live
in fear and despair
Merry Christmas
to the homeless familys
because their governments
don't really care
Merry Christmas
to the misguided
vets
who minds and limbs
are M I A
who fought for a dream
that will never be
on these cold hard streets
where they wonder
aimlessly
like shell shocked
refugees
Merry Christmas
to the 90percent
who sit happily comfortably numb
within the flickering light
of there out of reach
plastic dreams
while being spoon fed
fools gold
and like mindless moths
they fly
to the flicking light
Merry Christmas
to the 9percent
who walk the path
between happiness
and despair
knowing
there is no
turning back
when you become aware
Merry Christmas
to the 1percent
who fully believe
that common sense logic
and empathy
should only belong
in the lands
of poor peoples dreams
My Conflict With Schizophrenia
I’ve become a writer to find a truth, buried within me for too long. It’s been screaming deeply within, even sprouting to taste the quenching air it has so longed. Feeding it with my taboo desires, which I’ve chosen to keep hidden from a suspicious world. I cannot stop feeding it, it’s another stomach needing to be filled and stretched, its acid dissolving the virtues inflowing and absorbing the nutrient lust. If I hold these truths to be self-destructive, then maybe I truly am a schizophrenic!
I’ve tried to approach others, but so hesitantly. How could you possibly explain something like this to someone? The sane shall read these words with confusion and think: “well, get help! Why didn’t you talk to someone?” Oh, I’ve tried for years. Over a decade of speaking to those holding doctorates in psychiatry have always been puzzled, or say, “I may not be able to help you.” I’ve also been told, “it’s not as bad as you think Daniel.”
I know the true extent of the catastrophe within. It’s something that the world has proven time and again that it is not able to understand or even willing to. When I do find that someone who listens, whether they hold a doctorate or not, will be too late; the canister of gasoline will have been tipped, the green meadows around me scorched. I’ve seriously contemplated suicide so many times since teenagerhood. Sometimes, in some lives, it’s the right thing to do. Many suicidal persons carry the weight of concrete in their minds, when they as children were meant to carry the weightlessness of a feathered touch. Only they know… not their family or friends, only they know the firestorm they knew had to be smothered.
Typically, it’s the acquaintance that sees in different perspective and realizes what truly is. I’m afraid to write of those whom I’ve crossed paths with that found me to be scary or, “weird.” I rest and remember stilled images of their faces, their reactions as they look back into my eyes. This is where my rant typically morphs into riddles. I can only explain these things the way I can, I’m not writing this for the simple-minded who join the ranks of most others, as I’m marching on a narrowing road to…. I don’t know. Their reasons for rejecting me pinprick my mind constantly. I know they’re right though, and I know I’m wrong. But I can’t change it. I cannot go through a day without thinking of their faces and what mine must look to them.
I want to go back to the day a few years ago when I sat in a bistro beside a woman who was serving in the National Guard. She looked at me so positively, so differently from the others. Intrigued about my writing, her eyes were sewn to mine. The “something” within my mind, no longer crawled or hid behind these perceiving eyes, peeking through these black irises. I sift through more memories to find another more recent one, the face of my ex-girlfriend, resembling the child that we never had together. She’s such an energetic little girl, very comical and just brings a smile to my face whenever I think of her. I see her face in the same image behind closed eyelids and she looks at me with a smile that never ceases. The image wrinkles, and the cold returns to my skin. Suddenly I’m beside the face of a man with a rigid, stone-carved face.
The dream will return unexpectedly. My physical being left as a corpse in this realist world as my soulful dreams leave such a stagnate thing behind. “The Wall,” a piece I’ve written tells of how I’ve followed the warmth back to the land sorrow never invaded. It’s the world I can survive as me; not as a “something.” This “something” I am is the energy constantly reacting within, giving this tongue a voice and articulating fingers to duplicate my thoughts to writing. I would prefer this body destroyed; burned, crushed, or just incinerated. Whatever afterlife there may be, I don’t think it’s anything like we can comprehend in this life. “My soul” crossing “the wall” that splits my mind, into “my world” with my dreams guiding me through the threshold between realism and surrealism, off into a surrealist writer’s paradise. I know I’m delusional, but at least I’ve learned to embrace it. Turning it from a weakness into a strength!
Only If you could step into my schizophrenic world! I often wonder: what is the point of life when you can’t feel the warmth of normalcy? People look at you differently and they make false assumptions. It’s as if they’re glaring at you through a cracked window and the impression becomes distorted. Forget the rumors, the stereotypes, and step into my world for even an hour… you’d feel the pain I’ve felt it all these years and it’d be too unbearable for you! You would withdraw into your realist world in shock and ask; “How Daniel? How’d you do it all these years? The armed forces may have rejected you for psychiatric reasons, but you truly do have the perseverance of a soldier!” That may very well be true, but I need to hear it more from the world. I need to hear it! I want someone to walk into my life, grab hold of me and cry… “Daniel! I hear you!”
Those of us who suffer psychologically, never stop suffering. In the silence of the night I will always hear those voices. Are they just memories being played back in my mind and they just sound real? Or am I truly plagued with this pestilence of a disorder? The termites are eating my legs and the whole rotten edifice is about to collapse. I’m falling! I’m crashing into a pile of burning rubble. The debris of my being looted by the sanity of others. I want my pieces gathered and piled into a coffin and given a gloomy, quiet funeral while it’s raining. At last I’d be given peace. I could just rest in harmony. I’ve seen, heard, felt enough already, I feel like an old man. I’m not religious, so “don’t bring a priest,” I’d say in my suicide note. Just gather and remember the good things, not the bad, but the good I’ve done that most had decided to overlook. Soon this withering soul will cease spinning around in the sandstorm and be feathered back down to the cold earth. Oh, how unsympathetic this world is! Sometimes… only sometimes, I’ll scream and the glass cage around me shatters and then I am free! The flame within me too weak for the sane to notice. So, the cold overpowers my flame and a layer of ice encases me. Stiff, rigor mortis, save for my eyes. With my eyelids frozen open, I can watch the world pass by. All the happy people; gifted with saneness. Can one of you put your warm hand on this icy corpse and perhaps thaw me back to life? I didn’t think so...
Step after fall is how I’ll continue. Whatever happens in coming time happens. I’ve warned the world, they cannot tell me or you later that there was no avoiding the power of will. Embrace whatever you feel you can understand in this passage, maybe you’ll learn something of your own conflict as well!
-Daniel
I’ve tried to approach others, but so hesitantly. How could you possibly explain something like this to someone? The sane shall read these words with confusion and think: “well, get help! Why didn’t you talk to someone?” Oh, I’ve tried for years. Over a decade of speaking to those holding doctorates in psychiatry have always been puzzled, or say, “I may not be able to help you.” I’ve also been told, “it’s not as bad as you think Daniel.”
I know the true extent of the catastrophe within. It’s something that the world has proven time and again that it is not able to understand or even willing to. When I do find that someone who listens, whether they hold a doctorate or not, will be too late; the canister of gasoline will have been tipped, the green meadows around me scorched. I’ve seriously contemplated suicide so many times since teenagerhood. Sometimes, in some lives, it’s the right thing to do. Many suicidal persons carry the weight of concrete in their minds, when they as children were meant to carry the weightlessness of a feathered touch. Only they know… not their family or friends, only they know the firestorm they knew had to be smothered.
Typically, it’s the acquaintance that sees in different perspective and realizes what truly is. I’m afraid to write of those whom I’ve crossed paths with that found me to be scary or, “weird.” I rest and remember stilled images of their faces, their reactions as they look back into my eyes. This is where my rant typically morphs into riddles. I can only explain these things the way I can, I’m not writing this for the simple-minded who join the ranks of most others, as I’m marching on a narrowing road to…. I don’t know. Their reasons for rejecting me pinprick my mind constantly. I know they’re right though, and I know I’m wrong. But I can’t change it. I cannot go through a day without thinking of their faces and what mine must look to them.
I want to go back to the day a few years ago when I sat in a bistro beside a woman who was serving in the National Guard. She looked at me so positively, so differently from the others. Intrigued about my writing, her eyes were sewn to mine. The “something” within my mind, no longer crawled or hid behind these perceiving eyes, peeking through these black irises. I sift through more memories to find another more recent one, the face of my ex-girlfriend, resembling the child that we never had together. She’s such an energetic little girl, very comical and just brings a smile to my face whenever I think of her. I see her face in the same image behind closed eyelids and she looks at me with a smile that never ceases. The image wrinkles, and the cold returns to my skin. Suddenly I’m beside the face of a man with a rigid, stone-carved face.
The dream will return unexpectedly. My physical being left as a corpse in this realist world as my soulful dreams leave such a stagnate thing behind. “The Wall,” a piece I’ve written tells of how I’ve followed the warmth back to the land sorrow never invaded. It’s the world I can survive as me; not as a “something.” This “something” I am is the energy constantly reacting within, giving this tongue a voice and articulating fingers to duplicate my thoughts to writing. I would prefer this body destroyed; burned, crushed, or just incinerated. Whatever afterlife there may be, I don’t think it’s anything like we can comprehend in this life. “My soul” crossing “the wall” that splits my mind, into “my world” with my dreams guiding me through the threshold between realism and surrealism, off into a surrealist writer’s paradise. I know I’m delusional, but at least I’ve learned to embrace it. Turning it from a weakness into a strength!
Only If you could step into my schizophrenic world! I often wonder: what is the point of life when you can’t feel the warmth of normalcy? People look at you differently and they make false assumptions. It’s as if they’re glaring at you through a cracked window and the impression becomes distorted. Forget the rumors, the stereotypes, and step into my world for even an hour… you’d feel the pain I’ve felt it all these years and it’d be too unbearable for you! You would withdraw into your realist world in shock and ask; “How Daniel? How’d you do it all these years? The armed forces may have rejected you for psychiatric reasons, but you truly do have the perseverance of a soldier!” That may very well be true, but I need to hear it more from the world. I need to hear it! I want someone to walk into my life, grab hold of me and cry… “Daniel! I hear you!”
Those of us who suffer psychologically, never stop suffering. In the silence of the night I will always hear those voices. Are they just memories being played back in my mind and they just sound real? Or am I truly plagued with this pestilence of a disorder? The termites are eating my legs and the whole rotten edifice is about to collapse. I’m falling! I’m crashing into a pile of burning rubble. The debris of my being looted by the sanity of others. I want my pieces gathered and piled into a coffin and given a gloomy, quiet funeral while it’s raining. At last I’d be given peace. I could just rest in harmony. I’ve seen, heard, felt enough already, I feel like an old man. I’m not religious, so “don’t bring a priest,” I’d say in my suicide note. Just gather and remember the good things, not the bad, but the good I’ve done that most had decided to overlook. Soon this withering soul will cease spinning around in the sandstorm and be feathered back down to the cold earth. Oh, how unsympathetic this world is! Sometimes… only sometimes, I’ll scream and the glass cage around me shatters and then I am free! The flame within me too weak for the sane to notice. So, the cold overpowers my flame and a layer of ice encases me. Stiff, rigor mortis, save for my eyes. With my eyelids frozen open, I can watch the world pass by. All the happy people; gifted with saneness. Can one of you put your warm hand on this icy corpse and perhaps thaw me back to life? I didn’t think so...
Step after fall is how I’ll continue. Whatever happens in coming time happens. I’ve warned the world, they cannot tell me or you later that there was no avoiding the power of will. Embrace whatever you feel you can understand in this passage, maybe you’ll learn something of your own conflict as well!
-Daniel
Written by gothicsurrealism
(Daniel Long)
Go To Page
Truth — A Confusing Question.
Truth means what actually —
my personal belief or my visible deed,
my good intention or my bad execution,
what I do think or what I did say?
When I believe contrary to something, but conform —
to norms, to mass opinions, to obliged to rules,
for normalcy, for concession, for the good citizenry,
against my conviction;
when I mean well, but chose to be mean —
to make an impact, to be heard above,
the noise and break through a blinding illusion,
against my better judgment;
when my thoughts can't be said out loud —
for fastidiousness, for political correctness,
to be considerate, to be sensitive to opposing feeling,
against my sensibilities;
I second guess my own sincerity,
between options of neither nor;
why do I always end up doing either or —
regardless of regrets?
The truth is buried under the confusion,
of my everyday life decisions, redressing itself,
when I am faced with hurdles before a fork road,
I cross a line, to live another present reality —
until a different one comes;
my truth? Ask me again tomorrow,
or if and when I am less confused.
Written by OxyMoronicMe
(G.L.)
Go To Page
Muddy Puddle Part 2
I had ran away from home today
I went to a place my family didn't know
To a man that lived on his own
Hours from home and scared in a new place
But I had been speaking to this man for a few weeks
I was sure he would put me up until I was on my feet
When I finally got there he was high
and invited me to join him
I'd had a joint before but this was different
This. Was. Euphoria.
It got a little later, people started showing up
I protested not wanting company from people i didn't know
I was abruptly swept aside for
Little exchanges of hands and everyone getting high
I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched
After sitting on my own for an hour I asked the man if I could stay for a few nights
He said i could, if I gave him sex each night i stayed
But I wasn't stupid
I argued for 15 minutes each time getting more and more forceful
But he stood his ground and I mine.
I threw a dinner plate at him in frustration
I stormed out.
I started walking, I didn't want anyone there
I didn't want to be near anyone, I felt gross
"Hey not so fast"
oh god, what now?
"I want to talk"
cool, I don't
'please leave me alone'
I keep walking.
Faster.
Faster.
Fuck he's still following me.
I start looking frantically for a lit window,
a busy street,
a car.
But nothing is around.
I take a sharp right and start running
Blinded by tears. Blinded by fear.
I cannot see where I'm running
I trip on what I can only assume is Satan trying to trap me forever
I throw my arms forward.
Too late.
I hit my head hard
I feel warm blood running behind my ear,
Turning quickly cool from the breeze
Suddenly someone's on me
I can't see his face, black with shadows
He starts patting me down, but he's too handsy
I push his arms away, trying to turn and get up
He suddenly starts getting angry
He slapped me. hard.
I'm stunned, where'd that come from?
I hear my shirt ripping and
I'm propelled back to reality
'NO GET OFF!' "shut up bitch"
I feel my pants tearing from beneath me
'NO.NO.NO.NO.NO.NO.'
I struggle but he's too strong
He hits me again.
I feel his hands on my knees
And I squeeze with all my might
And again I'm hit. And hit. And hit.
I finally release from sheer exhaustion
I taste his slimy breath catching in my throat
I feel his cock forcing it's way in
I struggle again.
He pins my hands next to my head
'No.no.no.no.no.please.please stop.'
In.out.in.out.in.
Out.in.out.in.out.
'Please just stop'
I feel everything.
Every single hair. Every single vein.
Every tiny inch. Every agonising thrust.
He shudders and releases that vile stuff into me
I feel it just sitting there.
I feel dirty.
where if I bathed for a hundred million years I'd still not be clean
You roll of me finally.
I'm frozen on the cold unforgiving ground, unsure of what you'll do if I move
You motion to stand and look back to me
Think better of it and walk away.
I was raped. I was naked. I didn't know anyone. My clothes a pile of blood and rags. My sense of self, destroyed. My confidence, my trust? Non existent.
A shell of a human.
Sitting alone and naked in a vacant block.
no one to blame but herself.
I went to a place my family didn't know
To a man that lived on his own
Hours from home and scared in a new place
But I had been speaking to this man for a few weeks
I was sure he would put me up until I was on my feet
When I finally got there he was high
and invited me to join him
I'd had a joint before but this was different
This. Was. Euphoria.
It got a little later, people started showing up
I protested not wanting company from people i didn't know
I was abruptly swept aside for
Little exchanges of hands and everyone getting high
I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched
After sitting on my own for an hour I asked the man if I could stay for a few nights
He said i could, if I gave him sex each night i stayed
But I wasn't stupid
I argued for 15 minutes each time getting more and more forceful
But he stood his ground and I mine.
I threw a dinner plate at him in frustration
I stormed out.
I started walking, I didn't want anyone there
I didn't want to be near anyone, I felt gross
"Hey not so fast"
oh god, what now?
"I want to talk"
cool, I don't
'please leave me alone'
I keep walking.
Faster.
Faster.
Fuck he's still following me.
I start looking frantically for a lit window,
a busy street,
a car.
But nothing is around.
I take a sharp right and start running
Blinded by tears. Blinded by fear.
I cannot see where I'm running
I trip on what I can only assume is Satan trying to trap me forever
I throw my arms forward.
Too late.
I hit my head hard
I feel warm blood running behind my ear,
Turning quickly cool from the breeze
Suddenly someone's on me
I can't see his face, black with shadows
He starts patting me down, but he's too handsy
I push his arms away, trying to turn and get up
He suddenly starts getting angry
He slapped me. hard.
I'm stunned, where'd that come from?
I hear my shirt ripping and
I'm propelled back to reality
'NO GET OFF!' "shut up bitch"
I feel my pants tearing from beneath me
'NO.NO.NO.NO.NO.NO.'
I struggle but he's too strong
He hits me again.
I feel his hands on my knees
And I squeeze with all my might
And again I'm hit. And hit. And hit.
I finally release from sheer exhaustion
I taste his slimy breath catching in my throat
I feel his cock forcing it's way in
I struggle again.
He pins my hands next to my head
'No.no.no.no.no.please.please stop.'
In.out.in.out.in.
Out.in.out.in.out.
'Please just stop'
I feel everything.
Every single hair. Every single vein.
Every tiny inch. Every agonising thrust.
He shudders and releases that vile stuff into me
I feel it just sitting there.
I feel dirty.
where if I bathed for a hundred million years I'd still not be clean
You roll of me finally.
I'm frozen on the cold unforgiving ground, unsure of what you'll do if I move
You motion to stand and look back to me
Think better of it and walk away.
I was raped. I was naked. I didn't know anyone. My clothes a pile of blood and rags. My sense of self, destroyed. My confidence, my trust? Non existent.
A shell of a human.
Sitting alone and naked in a vacant block.
no one to blame but herself.
Written by KenkeiJhones
(Kenkei Jhones)
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Between Ghosts and Future
"Watch the context....
It reads wrong...
Go fuck somebody else, sorry I'm still a little raw..."
The result of my constant need for walls and running... to run away from what I want because I am fearful of the outcome is a practice I've held in the shards of my corroded heart...since....since...
Well...
I guess since I left him... since I lost myself submitting to a man who took me from myself and left nothing but blood on the linoliuem, bruises on my face, scars on my spirit in return.
I fell in love with walls... the way they granted the power to be built as tall as I so chose them to be... how brick by brick I could ward off anything that might cause me to ache that way again.
I don't remember the last time I was given a choice before now...
"Shut the fuck up bitch! You don't know what you're talking about!"
"I make the decisions, what I say fucking goes, you should know that by now!"
Echos haunt me even now... nights alone are both dear and haunted for me depending on which way my mind decides to run. Sleep a stranger that I visit from time to time wrapped in the arms of my keeper and how I miss it when it... him...when they're gone.
"Good morning beautiful."
What the hell does he see in me?
"You're a fucking useless slut!"
I almost believed that once before I got off my knees and tried to gather the pieces of myself again. The mind is a terrible thing to waste....but even worse is the fate of allowing an infection to breed in your own self image.
I still find myself some nights screaming for him to stop, still find myself rocking on the bathroom floor tears streaming my cheeks hating what I allowed him to destroy in me.
"You can't change the past, but you have a chance now to make a better life lil one."
I am still in pieces, shambles if you will, but there is this man that won't stand for anything but me at my best that deserves me whole.
Still fearful of what the future holds...no longer running.
"Baby please help me forget, hold me in your arms!"
I choose to try again... because life is to short to live tangled up in ghosts.
It reads wrong...
Go fuck somebody else, sorry I'm still a little raw..."
The result of my constant need for walls and running... to run away from what I want because I am fearful of the outcome is a practice I've held in the shards of my corroded heart...since....since...
Well...
I guess since I left him... since I lost myself submitting to a man who took me from myself and left nothing but blood on the linoliuem, bruises on my face, scars on my spirit in return.
I fell in love with walls... the way they granted the power to be built as tall as I so chose them to be... how brick by brick I could ward off anything that might cause me to ache that way again.
I don't remember the last time I was given a choice before now...
"Shut the fuck up bitch! You don't know what you're talking about!"
"I make the decisions, what I say fucking goes, you should know that by now!"
Echos haunt me even now... nights alone are both dear and haunted for me depending on which way my mind decides to run. Sleep a stranger that I visit from time to time wrapped in the arms of my keeper and how I miss it when it... him...when they're gone.
"Good morning beautiful."
What the hell does he see in me?
"You're a fucking useless slut!"
I almost believed that once before I got off my knees and tried to gather the pieces of myself again. The mind is a terrible thing to waste....but even worse is the fate of allowing an infection to breed in your own self image.
I still find myself some nights screaming for him to stop, still find myself rocking on the bathroom floor tears streaming my cheeks hating what I allowed him to destroy in me.
"You can't change the past, but you have a chance now to make a better life lil one."
I am still in pieces, shambles if you will, but there is this man that won't stand for anything but me at my best that deserves me whole.
Still fearful of what the future holds...no longer running.
"Baby please help me forget, hold me in your arms!"
I choose to try again... because life is to short to live tangled up in ghosts.
Written by Erotic_Goddess
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The Lonely Path
Going my way looks like bliss
'cause I have a home in heaven
With an amazing saint of a husband
with a whole bunch of little kids
One has even grown up
Past high school into apartment
Fiancé, scholarship and all
But they don't see the siege
the stalkers, bigots, assailants
cyber bullies, child stealing old perverts
and really, so many more
all waiting outside our door
while some dig in the back way
like internet zombies buying confusion
in the hopes of stealing someone's brain
one more time....
cause someone didn't learn
They don't see the shell shock;
Seemingly meaningless isolation of two souls
trying to grow in the dark like mushrooms
so birds of prey can't steal love
from dizzying heights of manipulation
All to protect a brood in heaven...
one family under seige
just past the smoldering entrance of Hell
'cause I have a home in heaven
With an amazing saint of a husband
with a whole bunch of little kids
One has even grown up
Past high school into apartment
Fiancé, scholarship and all
But they don't see the siege
the stalkers, bigots, assailants
cyber bullies, child stealing old perverts
and really, so many more
all waiting outside our door
while some dig in the back way
like internet zombies buying confusion
in the hopes of stealing someone's brain
one more time....
cause someone didn't learn
They don't see the shell shock;
Seemingly meaningless isolation of two souls
trying to grow in the dark like mushrooms
so birds of prey can't steal love
from dizzying heights of manipulation
All to protect a brood in heaven...
one family under seige
just past the smoldering entrance of Hell
Written by EdibleWords
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Wounds
I think about you everyday,
And inside a piece of all i was disappears,
Leaving behind a scar in the shape of my innocence,
Everyday i scrape at the scabs that grew,
From the wounds i received when your body went cold and your breathing ceased,
I've tried so hard to make the ghost of you,
That preludes everything i do, proud,
But it is an exceedingly difficult task,
When i am but a shell of all my former potential,
And inside a piece of all i was disappears,
Leaving behind a scar in the shape of my innocence,
Everyday i scrape at the scabs that grew,
From the wounds i received when your body went cold and your breathing ceased,
I've tried so hard to make the ghost of you,
That preludes everything i do, proud,
But it is an exceedingly difficult task,
When i am but a shell of all my former potential,
Written by Yung_Revenant
(Robert Anthony)
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When
I live in a world of grey
What else can I say?
When I look into my own eyes
A part of me dies
I'm living a lie
Because I am dying inside
Waiting for another fix
Waiting for another hit
Waiting for someone to save me from this
At my lowest when I am the highest
Asking myself, "Why did I even try this?"
It staves off the emptiness
It helps the edginess
It helps fill the hole
That's in my soul
That's growing out if control
Just like a staircase I'm spiraling
And just like that I'm dialing
A number of someone to get a fix
Someone who would never help me quit
I know I should stop
I know its wrong
But I can't listen to the tune of any other song
My mind is sick
It's something I can't fix
I'm scared to stop
This habit, I cannot drop
Being ill is a crime in this world
Getting better? There's no time in our world
Being told to deal because others have it worse
Being told what not to feel, it's almost like it's rehearsed
I can't be myself
Because I died a long time ago
I can't be helped
Because everyone gave up me a long time ago
I can't beat this
Shits hard.
who I am to change up the universes cards
I was dealt a bad hand
And this is where I'll always land
Waiting, shaking, anticipating
The next time I'll get high
So why even try?
So I take a hit, I pop another
Saying in mind that I'm sorry to my mother
asking for forgiveness from my lover
as the bad thoughts hover.
I think if life as I sit
I think of life so I take a hit
I've got rock bottom and I can't climb up
I can't stand being stuck
But this is where I'll stay
Because that's how it is today
In their eyes there's no hope
For someone who cant cope
For someone like me
I'm a lost cause
The scum of society
So in my grave I'll lay
One with my hands I've made
Staring with a blank face
Staring as I wait
For someone to save me
Before they have to grieve me
Waiting for the high to start
You know it hurts my heart
I can finally breathe again and that's the worst part
Why I am like this is hard to comprehend
I know this needs to end
But the question I'll never know is when?
What else can I say?
When I look into my own eyes
A part of me dies
I'm living a lie
Because I am dying inside
Waiting for another fix
Waiting for another hit
Waiting for someone to save me from this
At my lowest when I am the highest
Asking myself, "Why did I even try this?"
It staves off the emptiness
It helps the edginess
It helps fill the hole
That's in my soul
That's growing out if control
Just like a staircase I'm spiraling
And just like that I'm dialing
A number of someone to get a fix
Someone who would never help me quit
I know I should stop
I know its wrong
But I can't listen to the tune of any other song
My mind is sick
It's something I can't fix
I'm scared to stop
This habit, I cannot drop
Being ill is a crime in this world
Getting better? There's no time in our world
Being told to deal because others have it worse
Being told what not to feel, it's almost like it's rehearsed
I can't be myself
Because I died a long time ago
I can't be helped
Because everyone gave up me a long time ago
I can't beat this
Shits hard.
who I am to change up the universes cards
I was dealt a bad hand
And this is where I'll always land
Waiting, shaking, anticipating
The next time I'll get high
So why even try?
So I take a hit, I pop another
Saying in mind that I'm sorry to my mother
asking for forgiveness from my lover
as the bad thoughts hover.
I think if life as I sit
I think of life so I take a hit
I've got rock bottom and I can't climb up
I can't stand being stuck
But this is where I'll stay
Because that's how it is today
In their eyes there's no hope
For someone who cant cope
For someone like me
I'm a lost cause
The scum of society
So in my grave I'll lay
One with my hands I've made
Staring with a blank face
Staring as I wait
For someone to save me
Before they have to grieve me
Waiting for the high to start
You know it hurts my heart
I can finally breathe again and that's the worst part
Why I am like this is hard to comprehend
I know this needs to end
But the question I'll never know is when?
Written by vagabondvibes
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two worlds are at war in me
two worlds are at war in me.
both sides at a standstill.
one side desperately in love with her.
the other in complete doubt.
I don't know if I should follow my mind or my heart.
my mind constantly playing pictures of the past.
possible outcomes if I go down this path.
my heart is joyfully pounding to the prospect of finding new love.
two worlds are at war in me.
wreaking havoc, causing blinding confusion.
a demon and an angel,
I just don't know who to listen.
they both have their solid reasons.
a hazy crossroad, I need to make a decision.
but I don't know what I should consider before making.
should I dwell on my lack lustre and broken heart past?
should I open myself to the unknown of new love?
or should I toss away the key to my heart?
or hope this new found love can heal old scars?
two worlds are at war in me.
both sides at a standstill.
one side desperately in love with her.
the other in complete doubt.
I don't know if I should follow my mind or my heart.
my mind constantly playing pictures of the past.
possible outcomes if I go down this path.
my heart is joyfully pounding to the prospect of finding new love.
two worlds are at war in me.
wreaking havoc, causing blinding confusion.
a demon and an angel,
I just don't know who to listen.
they both have their solid reasons.
a hazy crossroad, I need to make a decision.
but I don't know what I should consider before making.
should I dwell on my lack lustre and broken heart past?
should I open myself to the unknown of new love?
or should I toss away the key to my heart?
or hope this new found love can heal old scars?
two worlds are at war in me.
Written by poetOftragedy
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