i dont have therapy or friends this is my only way to talk
what happened to dreams
I wonder where my life will go?
Whether every step takes me
Backwards or forwards, I don't know.
As footsteps quicken, my heart slows.
Remembered faces are a blur-
A black mark where their name should be.
Memory's a watercolour,
But the one colour left is her.
A greeting smile, a light-kissed cheek;
The darkness in my heart washed free.
Though that time is gone, still I seek
For that lone pebble in the creek.
Fingertips raw before I stop
My heart stops too, as I flee
Away from the pain: I fall, drop-
As thoughts start over from the top.
I wonder where my life will go?
Every footstep goes nowhere;
Backwards or forwards, I don't know.
As if walking through endless snow:
I look behind me, ground left bare.
only one today, sorry to the 2 people who read these
i'll try to come up with more things but my brain feels empty
also i've never walked through or seen snow but i like the metaphor
gonna start linking songs i used to write stuff, for memory's sake. today's
I've dug a hole, three-so feet deep,
At the bottom, a linen sheet.
Unwrapping it, I find a box-
It's where I keep my hidden thoughts.
I lift the lid, place it aside;
The old box is empty inside.
I take a breath, and scream aloud
Until my throat hurts and eyes cloud.
I wipe off my tears now flowing;
Placed in the box, they start slowing.
My hoarse throat soothes and lungs take air,
There's no sign they were ever there.
I've thrown in my frustration, so
Loneliness is the next to go.
I place no friends to the left side,
And all the times my mother lied,
And all the times I said "I'm fine"
Go deep into this box of mine.
Next I throw out all my regrets.
Memories of failure and debts,
To the box's right side they sit.
As I throw in the times I quit,
And the love I lost in the past-
The old box is filling up fast.
Last I throw in my self-hatred:
Thoughts of bloodlust never sated,
And vices I could never drop.
A taste of bile that never stops
And the joy of a razor blade;
Placed in the box, these thoughts now fade.
Back at the hole, three-so feet deep,
At the bottom, a linen sheet.
I place the lid back on the box-
It's filled with all my hidden thoughts.
Put back in the hole, it's time to hide
The old box that's empty inside.
idk i had an idea but it just didn't work out that well
i hope it was at least somewhat understandable
nothing worse than writing a literary form of mumbling track
Maw cut gracefully,
A smile is the simplest lie.
I sink in red lips.
---
a walk to the park
It's too hot.
The sun glares down at me-
I try glaring back, but
My eyes hurt.
Too many;
There's too many people
Enjoying the nice day.
Except me.
Sweat gathers,
Stinging me underneath
Freshly lain bandages.
Pull them off.
Mouth is dry-
Can't tell if it's the heat
Or my anxiety.
Head spinning.
Watching eyes;
They judge me silently.
As a little boy cries
Inside me.
I need out.
An escape from this hell
That the sun brought about.
I go home.
It's too hot.
who even writes haiku in 2016 i mean seriously
but i had a line in my head and went for it
the 2nd poem is garbage, just filler 'cause i couldnt think of anything in days
also it was really freakin hot not gonna lie my brain is prob hardboiled rn track
Empty words on empty pages
Formatted with empty spaces.
Empty thoughts and empty feelings;
Medicate with empty dealings.
Empty smiles and my empty lies,
I've done my best with empty tries.
Empty friendships from empty friends:
They all came to an empty end.
Empty lust in an empty mind-
Hoping to find an empty kind.
Empty lovers and empty ****s-
I can't cry tears with empty ducts.
An empty house, an empty room;
In the night sky, an empty moon.
Empty fears filled with empty dread,
As I lie in this empty bed.
Empty heart feels empty sadness
Trying to fill this emptiness.
idk. i feel very tired. end of year blues, ya get?
i couldn't find a good sounding way to end that one it seems to just cut off awkwardly.
i had something else i wrote but it was really bad. i mean worse than usual. oh well. track
Thoughts of endless despair, life's collusion-
Nowhere's safe and everything goes wrong.
Eyes staring upwards, you stand along
The edge, the thin air is no illusion.
Fear clutches at your throat, you can't do this,
You'll just disappoint them all again-
You already do, let's not pretend;
As the ice slips into your heart and twists.
Internal struggle tears at you and claws
At all the regrets left in your head.
The fear's gone, you take a step forward-
With your back facing the fall, safe once more.
this is for anyone who feels the way i do every time new years comes around
when you just really want to kill yourself but never can
keep on keeping on, another year is easy. stay strong track
The gun is pointed at my head—
Greeting me as I lie in bed,
Meeting me wherever I tread;
Night or day, it's always loaded.
Exhale
Inhale
It's waiting for my mask to slip–
My armour checked with holes and rips.
If I say the wrong word, I'll trip
And surely squeeze down on the grip.
Exhale
Inhale
Those around me can't see my plight—
Even as a hostage, I fight,
But red still seeps into my sight:
I can't save me, try as I might.
Exhale
Inhale
The gun is pointed at my head—
Waiting for the times I see red—
And when my heart is filled with dread—
I squeeze the trigger and shoot me dead.
Exhale
Inhale
this is a poem about that on edge feeling you get like when you have anxiety
when you're scared of every action you make
like a hostage
Breath running short;
I'm not even running.
Everyone laughs—
But nothing is funny.
Mind's going blank,
A twist in my tummy.
I can't walk straight:
Limbs flop like a dummy.
An endless hell
Of lost personal space.
People watching,
Is something on my face?
I need to leave
And get out of this place.
There's the exit—
I'm gone without a trace.
---
anxiety pt 2
There is a hand that grips my chest;
The hand in my chest keeps gripped as I rest.
Clawed and mangled, and scarred at best—
And a reminder of the life I've messed.
I tried to move on with my life,
But the claws gripped like the edge of a knife,
And the edge of a knife seemed right
To help give me some respite for that night.
Again, my respite was cut short,
As the hand came back and gripped further taut.
It ignored all the times I've fought,
And comes to claim the happiness I've sought.
Since then, a decade has passed by
And still it grips when I pass by passerby's,
And still I cover it with lies—
A depthless ocean filled with endless tides.
People tell me: "Get over it,
You can't be happy when you always quit,"
But I've fallen too far to see
That the hand gripping my chest has been me.
no time to edit, i'll check later. just random crap from today
I am a man of mere necessity, a boy of bare essentials;
I don't like complexity, rather, it vexes me.
When they told me: "Keep It Simple, Stupid", I must have taken it literally,
And while a kiss can be stupid, it's never simple. I just simply make out. Or make do. Or make both.
Although I have no need for extras, I play an "extra" to my own life,
And like a Lifetime movie, the contrast is too heavy and peoples emotions seem so uncanny;
Though never in my life have I seen a valley.
Even if shadows of death came upon me, I would turn them away because I cannot relate.
The only relatable feelings I have are the exasperation's of waiting in line,
Or lying to people about what I do in my spare time.
I'm not embarrassed about my writing, though,
What's embarrassing are the other 23 hours of nothing to show.
There's nothing I've done worthy of any respect, I just write down problems:
A text-to-speech therapist.
But I've never been to therapy, I'm just not good at speeches.
I could sit down and write you the whole world and still be left speechless—
That's not to say I couldn't learn to, it's just the thoughts in my head stop completely when I open my mouth,
And everything I say is either reactionary or recital,
But even what I recite comes out wrong despite what I wrote;
A struggle to stay afloat.
Like when I was a child, I could swim with the best in my class,
But now I'd class myself a liability, and hope I still have the ability to tread water.
I am not a fish, and unlike a fish, I feel myself drowning in my own environment.
The lack of air should surely kill me, yet here I stand, gasping for air I can't stand and I can't seem to understand why—
As another day goes by.
this is meant to be spoken rather than read
but i'm not a speaker, so read it instead
this is what id do for a spoken word poem if i could do that
I couldn't think of anything to write today
no really i mean i didn't know what to write so i just kept going on til i got bored
My page is empty, my mind is numb
And every thought I think seems dumb.
Or just dumbed-down, like network T.V.,
But there's no tragedy left in me—
The only tragedy left is me.
So I write about the thought of not
Having anything to write, a jot
Of ink smudged across this page of mine,
Filled with snippets of thoughts I'd mined—
My every thought blurred, an ink smudged mind.
What's the point of hitting the point of
Being suicidally depressed, love
Feels like a distant dream in my head.
I can't sleep, but I live in my bed—
Haunted by the void beside me in bed.
I turn up the sound to drown out this
Static on loop in my head: "sssss,"
Stop that, I'm being driven insane.
It's all in my mind, even this pain—
As I look at life through a clouded pane.
Even though the window is too small,
The latch works; opened up with a haul.
I can't leave, but I can hear outside
And my anxiety turns aside—
It whispers, "Hurry up and pick a side."
Anxiety always wins this game;
It's one-sided, like a matchhead's flame,
But even that will burn my fingers
If held too long and left to linger—
Closing the window, I'm left to linger.
I don't play with matches though, unless
A cigarette counts as one, I guess.
I really should smoke less and write more,
Both vices for vices I abhor—
They're my only friends when life is a bore.
It's not that I can't have fun, instead
I'm alone in my head, in my bed
Trying my best to hide from the sun,
And I feel like depression has won—
It's lonely in here, this world made of one.
I'm not the only one in it, just,
I've lost sight of my feelings and trust.
I can't trust that they'll come back to me:
My blurred mind finds it too hard to see—
As the waters slowly rise in my sea.
so many cheesy lines in this but i just kinda went with whatever
like every stanza is just built on whatever i said in the last one lol
I like to look at old photographs,
Wondering where the time has gone to
And what's happened to me, too—
Whilst I watch my old self laugh.
Who was this person in my body?
Feeling good, looking even better.
Now I'm just sad and fatter,
Yearning for anybody.
I want to go back to those old days:
Friends, lovers, parties, drugs and laughter.
I gave it all up after
I'd spent three years in a daze.
No one will come save me from this hell—
Hell, I cannot even save myself.
The old me forsook himself,
Before he knew it, I fell.
Those days won't come back to me ever;
I sit here contemplating death and
Stick my head deep in the sand
From all the bonds I'd severed.
So I clench my breaking teeth down heard
And put up with what life deals to me;
Sitting with my hand of three,
Waiting for a better card—
As I bring the rope down to the yard.
idfk lol. am i even trying anymore?
maybe i should get another hobby
though that last stanza and closing line were cool
maybe ill reuse them to write something better
I'm sitting in an invisible chair
That's standing in an invisible room.
If I get up, the chair might not be there,
But just keeping still will hasten my doom—
And the people outside just point and stare.
---
Anxiety feels like leaning back in a chair and losing your balance,
That split second of dread spread out into seconds, minutes, hours—
Vertigo combined with going up an elevator too fast, thrill;
With gravity pulling your body down, but you're somehow standing still.
A shortness of breath like being on a rollercoaster
And reaching the tip-top of a dip that never drops.
Anxiety is a hostage situation, I'm a hostage to my mind:
The trigger to the hammer to the gun with no bullet to find.
It's a pressure behind your eyes and ears,
Like during an airplane take off in coach:
The murmuring voices of people around you are static in your head—
And a wish for everything to end
idk i write about anxiety a lot so i thought i'd describe it or something