My Own Personal Hell

In American Horror Story: Coven, Hell is much different than we assume it would be. Rather, it is a period of time in the person's life in which they hated the most, or a situation they'd never want to be in.

For example, one character's own hell is working an endless shift at a fried chicken restaraunt...she hated her life so she is forced to live it out forever. Another is where a character murdered slaves, but her hell is to be tortured forever by the slaves she murdered.

So, this leads me to this question: what is your personal hell?

Can be poetry or prose; no length limit.

It comes and goes like a train.
It speeds through me with no care.
It hears my screams of pain but turns its head away.
I have the key to freedom.
I'm too much of a coward to use that key.
It burns in my hand making me distorted and dazed.
I'm lost forever in the crowds of people.
I can never escape the reality is cold and bitter.
I try and find someone to listen to my pleas but everyone here is a demon.
I am demon that much is true.
I am an angel that much is true as well.
I am a king in this world.
I am nothing in the end though.
This is my hell.
Living...

A Sardonic Twit Called Irony

Her clothing tattered
face wearing deep scars and purple scratches
like a porcelain doll covered in fractures
she smiles
a stark contrast to her demeanor
she's lovely, they tell her

glue would feel better than flattery
but the irony makes it easier
as her scream is heard as laughter
and her sadness goes nowhere so freely

she falls to the sharks and nearly dies
they applaud with madness because she survives
and although she's more dead than alive
they dance

anticipating the next song
as her wounds sting and her insides burn
her head spins and her stomach churns
a bitter taste
straight to the lump in her throat

she shouts obscenities to the gathering crowd
but they hand her a mic to add to the sound
her old wounds are awakened by the new
and no matter what she says
she's misunderstood

they listen intently and miss it by miles
still she smiles

she might as well
forced to live in her personal hell
until death grants her life
at the start of the end

when she can break instead of bend
she'll rest
and she'll smile til then
she can only smile

Too much Ketamine
I am a floating voice.

thoughts of bugs materialize ...
Will I be cursed to be a piece of furniture?
Will the bugs course through my veins and shelves?
All the shapes and colors in the world cannot help me.
My body has evaporated ...
and I am cursed with immobility.

maybe I will never return to normal and escape this futon
of the worst dream I am waking through

Lists

I am tired.
So tired.
I peer out through the windows that are my eyes.
I feel the jostling of this body I live in as it completes its tasks.
It lifts a spoon. Chews. Swallows.
It allows its hand to be held.
I mourn my disconnection; it would be nice to feel that hand.
It would be nice to feel its comfort, its gentleness.
I return to checking and rechecking my lists.
So many lists.
There's no time to be distracted,
to attempt to feel someone's hand.
I prioritize, reorganize, rewrite, and reread my lists.
I'd try to do the tasks listed,
but that'd cause me to neglect the lists.
As long as this body can continue to live in a state
accepted by the world as "healthy"
I can continue to leave it alone,
make more lists.
So many lists.
I'm so tired.

A Moment In Time

The electricity shut off  
in the darkened apartment  
roaches scuttling here and there  
a poignant reminder  
that the lady of the house    
has long since checked out.  
   
Hungry she goes to the fridge  
once, twice, three times  
just to get lost in her mind.  
   
Stripped of her family and dignity  
she removes her clothing and steps outside  
rubs herself in mud hoping this will cleanse her.  
   
Finally the men in white come and take her away  
strap her to a table as she screams obscenities  
as she struggles against her restraints  
screaming to both heaven and hell to anyone who will hear her.  
   
Poison dripping in her veins  
she flows in and out of consciousness  
later she is released to the ward  
where she is warned the walls have ears.  
   
She has dreams of her family    
just awaiting her release  
as she starts to come out of the haze  
she completely shuts down knowing this is only a dream.  
   
Just wanting to go home and find her family whole  
only to be released to find it in pieces  
insanity no longer a place to shelter  
this is a moment in time in the life of a schizophrenic.  
   

This disease is cunning, baffling, all-consuming and bad
It makes you need what you should not have
One day things look great and you feel good
Then you fuck up and do what you never should

Greedy and overindulging, you stuff your feelings
And come out feeling remorseful yet reeling
If there was a way, you have not figured it out
To get healthy and happy, so you could skip and shout

As a child, there was only one wish made
When candles atop a cake were blown out as their fires slowly fade
It has been over fifty years and your wish has not come true
You are one of the pathetic, the unhappy few

Oh it is so simple, those in remission say
You just stay focused, positive, each and every day
Choosing to withdraw, your lifestyle has waned
You have no one but yourself to blame

Fearing the worst, after a few days in moderation
You succumb and remember being used and adulterated
Again, you fear being unable to trust yourself
You are thrust back into the cycle, with guilt like you’ve never felt

You remember your past beauty and being used
You remember over and again being abused
Surely you could never go back to that lifestyle
And have men treat you nasty and vile

Each time it takes a little bit more of your soul
So that there won’t ever be enough of the muscle left to reach the goal
Your heart tears at the losses, the missteps along the way
You have been held back many a time, because of it, what can you say

This disease is cunning, baffling, all-consuming and bad
It begs you to indulge in excess and binge like you never had
Once, again, three times a day, you never know
As soon as you get up, it is raring to go

Denial, self-hate, guilt as long as your arm
Multiplies, weights you down, and makes you self-harm
So you begin to pick at the smallest of things
And cover yourself up in disguise and enjoy what loneliness brings

Your life becomes unmanageable and shit
And others you love are hurt because of it
You remember the day you tried to end it all and come out of your shell
When you tried to be led on the way to your own personal hell

“There is no way out of this!”, you stupidly said
After you took lots of pills and laid down your head
“I want out of this personal hell so bad; I can’t stand it; it’s so absurd.”
But it didn’t work, it was a cry for help that no one heard

Learning to breathe....

Looking out of the window, Longing for fresh air, but knowing I would still be trapped in it, caged in air, no amount of space could give me the relief from this encased chaos. Its on deep down lock down, buzzing frantically, hitting the boned walls, trying only hard enough to guarantee failure while still causing damage.
The confusion of wanting to run, burn away this panic, yet being too frightened to take just one step out of the door.
The relief of self mutilation, pain, a feeling, something for "after care" and focus, maybe a wound to push in seeds, I half hope the destruction breeds creation, there just might be enough moisture left in this poisoned cage to germinate, sprout a spark, some existence? Maybe not? Do I care? I don't know. Confusion feels so familiar now, its my only constant.
In darkness there is still dulled hues of colour, blackened colour, but not black, no details at dusk, just vespertine silhouettes, outlines. So I call this "blackness", not dusk, not darkness. Black as night, skin stretched as tight as leather on a drum. Except this drum is beaten from the inside out, like a heart but without the symbolism of love, the opposite of love is not hate, it is numbness, or nothing.
Flipping from panic, to missing time, lost moments, lost hours, lost days and night, confusion, disgust and then more confusion........What did I do? Where did I go? Who saw me? Why are my knees bleeding? There is a lump on my skull............
Feeling the emergency in leaving, "I need to escape", but the other half of me wants to sit in this numbness of isolation. The insanity wants to punch my insides, force my skin to bruise so my eyes can see that it does exist.................I cant escape myself...............but I try, daily, hourly, block it out, block me out of myself. Maybe I am a cunning enemy of myself..........maybe I need some help.............."help"............if nobody hears you scream did you make any noise at all?  
And I say to myself "one, two, three"...............open the door, step out of the house and just keep on going, keep breathing, keep walking, something needs to change. Quick cross the road, don't even look at the liquor signs, keep walking, there is a tiny part of you that knows where your feet are taking you...................keep going, keep breathing, look straight ahead, go, go, go...................almost there, and breathe..........my eyes are leaking, I am here, I am safe, they know who I am.

Purgatory

When I still drank good liquor
two things would enter my head.

The first was usually pitiful,
a 'please love me'
in the small hours of Friday
followed by six hours
of remorse and Led Zeppelin.

The second was less melancholic;
I'd wonder if I was dead,
If my skin was just
yellowing sheet music
ready to be played

in a decaying bandstand
with a New Orleans trumpeter
blowing out my life
in joyful sounds,
always more celebratory

than me.

Then I'd look for evidence:
my nose, wisdom teeth
the grey hair I offensively found
nestling amongst the blonde
that didn't make the cut

the scars I owned,
the tapestry on my left arm
painted pastel pigments
until the artists came
and interpreted it all.

How I feared that I was dead.

That the last tissue
would be the death of me,
that I'd die in a pool of puke
with carpet burns on knees
and they'd sit and wonder why

for I believe Hell is
what you carry with you

not somewhere you go
when you die.

-My Fears-

Stuck on replay
I can’t even say “Hey”
All my worst moments
Laid out before me in perfect increments

All I want to do is close my eyes
And wipe away the disguise
The disguise of the perfect world I live in
Even through all this sin

The perfect increments of my fears
Knocks me to my knees and forces out tears
I struggle and fight
All they reveal is right

Seeing all of my failures and weaknesses
Is like Déjà Vu, I have already seen this
The darkness flips across my vision
Indicating another transition

My fears may give me the strength to move on
But let me tell you son
In order to cope
You need just a little bit of hope

And in this hell within my mind
I am in quite a bind

I have a tiny cock
Like a crooked little finger
Everybody else's dick
Is inevitably bigger
If six inch as an average
Can truly be believed
Someone here in this room
Must be twice the size of me
If you can do your algebra
Already you will know
Four inches is the maximum
My dick will ever go
For the engineers among you
I'll express my ratio
My little one inch wonder
Up to four times it can grow
I'm glad to hear you laugh
It shows you understand
These are such the shortcomings of
A very short dick man

My pubes are even longer
They make a comfy little nest
With a little acorn sat
Upon the very crest
Rummage in my fly and
Wish that I were blessed
Searching frantically
I recover just the head
Get a little piss drip
Up on my finger tip
There's absolutely nothing there
For me to get a grip
If I sit to pee I must
Be wary of my jet
The angle of my dangle means
My trousers may get wet
Then dribble on my ball bag
For I have no overhang
These are such the shortcomings of
A very short dick man

I wank it with one finger
If you really want to know
And no I can't imagine
The feeling of deep throat
When I look down I can still
Clearly see my toes
But my little willy hides
Beneath my belly folds
Sometimes it is inverted
Even when it isn't cold
Like a little turtle
Inside of me it goes
Girls they like to tell me
It' such a cute surprise
Until I have to tell them I
Left the condom stuck inside
I'm hung like Micky Mouse
You've just got to understand
These are such the shortcomings of
A very short dick man

Now why would I admit to this?
By now you know it's true
I'm such a little babydick
Exposed in front of you
But the greater pain exists
In propagating myths
According to the internet
Real men have massive dicks
So for anyone who feels small
Let me reassure you all
By bringing down the average
With my little four inch prick
So if you're sat with five or six
Feel the relief
And if you really want to,
Then have a laugh at me
You no longer have to hide it
Give a fuck or give a damn
You no longer have to let it
Be the measure of the man
And I guess I kinda like it
When I am being teased
These are such the shortcomings of
A short dick man like me

Distance
Unrelenting

Our love once bloomed
A flower of fluorescence
How many more moons
How many more fights

Before separation becomes desperation
And I'm cast into a world without you...

twentytwo degrees

the brightness asks for a reason
deriving its illumination, he glows. not for all, not for self
rolling in shifts and phases..just trying to keep the motion
to spread a notion of his sense and sensibilities  
and  furthermore, the remotest of all, falling in diehard circles of romanticism
damn the poets
true revolutionary
this fascist

give a sip on one thing, the other suffers
even if that's unavailable, the loss is on its probable presence
the mind’s in constant juggling
 monkey-ing towards unseen shores
 shuffling statuses in favoritism

radar's circumference
spies with an agenda
calculative strides
tactical holds
cosmetic glitters
nonsensical neon streets
designs deathmode

twenty two degrees
this halo glimmers
burns inside, light’s intersecting geometries
crystalline ice, an irony in traps
storms in the looming
still, orbiting hypocritical
hellus maximus

between infinitesimal to nullness
zeroing in random
stick upon something
anything striking, to settle
heavenus minimus

oscillates
coexists, the range
never exclusive
eluting one
elucidating the other
possible?!

"Gates of Hell"

I fucked it all up
Nothing new
It’s what I do
Murdering trust
the most delicate
of a relationship’s features

She struck back
with words as sharp
as a prison yard shank
ripping into my soul
leaving me in pain
the agonizing torture
of true depression

My heart races
muscles ache
bones sore
A familiar feeling

Minimal sleep
with needles appearing in every dream
waking me whilst resonating in my mind
Battling with my own demons
whilst I compete for the one thing
that completes my soul
to not disappear

Guilt and fear
directing every thought
driving me closer to those dreams
Self-loathing for
not being the man I know I can
causing more
remorse and shame
pushing me closer to the needle

Subconsciously
the syringe brings me peace
as it always has
My conscious thoughts use the spike
to inject the same substance
yet the goal has changed
from temporary tranquility
to a permanent sleep

Spiraling downward to the gates of hell
Tempted to enter
the fiery land of the damned
knowing the flames will burn
yet feeling a comfortable
content familiarity

I long for that warmth
before I’m torched
The numbness that relieves the
guilt
pain
regret
shame
The escape from
self-loathing
depression
and most of all
the bitterness
of never having felt
so close to another soul
then having it all ripped away

I fucked it all up
because that’s what I do
I don’t know another way
All of our love
For each other
wasn’t adequate
but I’m fighting for it anyhow
praying for a miracle
that would provide me
the one thing that can save me from myself

I step back from the gates
keeping them in my view
watching the scorching flames
beyond the comfortable warmth
and I pray that she will come down
and snatch me out of here

Then I spot her through the flames
realizing that she is at her own entrance
to the flames
having a similar internal debate

It’s become painfully clear to me
that we will either climb out together
or we’ll each burn up alone

The internal war continues on

The Rumbling Deep

Deep in my past
Rises a rumbling
It rises from the night
The dark deep inside me

A fire starts from nowhere
My mind hollow
But then he comes
Striding towards me

Raging at the world
He is me
The parts that rage
The parts that kill

We step up together
We are no different
We hate what we have done
We hate who we have helped

We aren't normal
As we step apart we aren't the same
He stands in my way
I fear what he could do

I am nothing without him
He is nothing without me
I fix what he destroys
He tries to destroy what I fix

I fear no man
I fear no pain
I fear no world
But him, the destroyer of worlds, is no man