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Four in the morning with sighs and fear.You know, I really wish I had a more concerning and comprehendible problem, or so I believe people would find more worth their time. I wish I had severely broken a bone or had immense brain damage or even just couldn't read well because of dyslexia. But no, I simply have depression with a side of anxiety. And to top it off every night I fear that regret will resurface. Even during the day it pays unannounced visits. I can't just take anti-depressants or anxiety pills, talk to a counselor, or express my feelings through a positive activity. I've moved past the milligrams of medicine, the talks, and the fulfillment is never there even with things I like to do. My joys are dwindling; my bonds becoming unstable with others. I don't believe in myself anymore. Yet, I will wake the next day and continue to live because life is linear and consistent.
I want to forget. I can't forgive myself.
I want to forget what it was like to love someone else.
These days.So there is this guy who walks to work everyday, all dressed up in his nice suit. He is in his early thirties, in the middle class of society, lives alone, and doesn't have many friends. Each day is so routine that the weeks blend together and the months casually pass on by.
On one morning he leaves his apartment room to find a flower on his doormat. The flower was a daisy, wilting a bit on one side. Thinking nothing of it, he headed off to work. The next day, another flower. This intrigues him, but still ignores it and leaves for work yet again. Another day, another daisy. Whomever was doing this was persistent so he had a plan for tomorrow.
The following day he awoke earlier than he normally did and waited by his door. Upon hearing the scuffing of shoes, he quickly flung it open only to find a little girl standing there. She was dressed in rags and holding a daisy just like the others that were left on his doormat.
She was shocked, but stayed still with sweat dropping down her face.
These truths shall be told.Do you ever think of suicide? I do on occasion.
Not whether one would go through it or not, simply the idea or concept of it.
Debating on if this life is worth living. Searching for a meaning in what others have decided on being meaningless.
I've lost my path, or perhaps finally realized I never had one in the first place.
It is as if all I knew since being born was to walk straight in front of me, both blind and obedient, until one day when my vision was clear and could truly question with this new sight.
Why this? What does that accomplish? Who cares? Too many questions with few answers to suffice.
The days become worse than mundane. The color that objects and space had held has now bled away to leave them bleak and empty. Even a few shades of grey would liven things up, but no.
Pure white and outlines of black to indicate figures.
And time continues to move. I have always remembered the phrase "time waits for no man" and I couldn't have put it better myself. Time might seem to rush
Aches and pains.Sorrow is something one can not always avoid.
Woe is sometimes present on joyous days.
Sadness has reached pinnacles higher than both fear and doubt.
And now as our days continue to end on varying levels, the question of "how will I..?" must simply become "will I..?"
So, for you, is it a yes or a no?
You look surprised?Tired.
Tired of the days on today.
Nothing will change with mundane chain of events.
Yet each second yields a turn of these events.
Like a feeling.
Not to be confused with emotions. Unclassified, but clearly perceived.
Stealing command of the body from Mind. All too infuriating.
And now it is seen. This is an inevitability.
That’s it. I am done. I’ve said all that I wish.
Let us hope satisfaction has been met.
There is no need for a spontaneous freak out.
Sometimes, I just want to die.Membranes will tear leaving victims impaired.
No sight through the day. One shout in the night.
Aggravate and anticipate the every changing future.
Forever gripping to a thread of life.
No further questions, your grace.I'm wishing away this existence.
Heart in turmoil; diminished mind.
Waiting for the soul itself to perish.
And all the while I stand here silent.
Fading into the background of other lives.
Until I die.
Let's not keep those angels waiting.All right. I'm just going to type.
Here we go.
More and more through these days I feel. Reflect on the past as I try repelling present threats.
To be frank, I'm a wreck.
And to be reasonable, there are others far worse off.
It's tough yet not so bad. Perpetual fictional pain.
A flame kept at bay, but close enough to leave subtle burns.
Then you open your eyes to see it's you holding that match against your skin.
Because it feels like so much more with them closed, right?
The uncertainly following a clean slate is really getting to me.
No sense of purpose. Zero motivation.
Ambitions left behind one by one.
I'm starting to believe it started with leaving her behind.
I am also wondering if it matters more now than back then.
Eyes will shut with that match nearby.
Plunged into dark and the flames erupt.
They char this body; they warm this heart.
Tell it to someone who cares.I want to die.
That is what he thought. Four words imprinted on the wall of his mind that wouldn't be easily erased.
But death had not been accepted in this life just yet.
Oh no, he was still young and dimwitted to understand it.
The end; a beginning.
I want to die.
That is what I think.
I AmI am single,
but I am loved.
I am not a genius,
but I am intelligent.
I am not breathtaking,
but I have beauty.
I am not a saint,
but I am kind.
To the world,
I am not perfect.
But for someone,
Don't pick a fight with an Artist
Don't pick a fight with an artist
Wanna fight pussy?
Give me yar best shot
Or will you throw a paintbrush at me?
I'm so scared- not
Excuse me? What did you say?
What is a punch you ask?
Of course let me tell you:
A blow with the fist- it's quite a simple task
Are y' gonna cwyyy?
I dunno what you just said
Why don't you let me show you?
I'll f****** punch you and then- boom- you're dead!?
Pardon? What did you ask?
You need a clearer definition?
Of course, let me show you
I'll demonstrate- with out your permission
Ouch! Hey no fair
Dude you are so gay
You write poetry
I'll make you f****** pay!
Discúlpeme? What did you mutter?
I'm gay? Is that what you said?
Perhaps you need some assistance, let me help
I'll be gentle I promise- I did need new ink! In the colour red<
All Her Little ThingsStop hating her for the littlest things.
The things she can't prevent,
The things she can't save herself from..
Stop demanding her to do things,
Things she can't accomplish,
Things she can't imagine being done...
Stop lying to her,
Telling her you love her,
Want her, need her...
When all you've ever done is make her want to
Stop hating her for the littlest things.
The things she can't prevent,
The things she can't save herself from...
When those little things you've done
Take her down...
The little things won't matter anymore.
lung canceri will die with your name on my lips
because there is nothing else i'll need to say.
you are my coffin, my funeral pyre.
as my bones disintegrate, popping and snapping,
you will greedily swallow my ashes
until nothing is left of me but secondhand smoke.
i've danced with you, love, across hospital tile,
the scent of antiseptic cloying as valentine's chocolate.
you dipped me into unconsciousness,
and i willingly closed my eyes.
the intrusion of your scalpel teeth no longer scares me.
you, my rigor mortis soul mate, always take me under.
your tent of frostbitten shelter pulls me down, an anchor,
while i gag on pills too abstract to save me.
forgive me, lungs, of my cigarette abuse,
but i've found happiness in a reaper's cloak.
i find comfort in these carcinogens.
i've made my nest in a swaying tree,
my body destroyed by the nauseous rocking.
they smile at me with pity in their eyes,
scribbling nonsense on those jaw-like clipboards.
their crisp, stark white world still has faith in me,
you've been dead for a year, my deari met you on december 21st,
the longest night of the year.
you had solstice eyes: cold, dark, alluring.
i knew you were not meant to last,
powerful as a gale but fragile as
the tulip stems you snapped,
a sickening cycle of you,
an overwhelming tidal wave.
they say two wrongs will never make a right,
but i made so many bad choices that
i wound up back where I began.
it was too easy to love you,
but getting you to love me back was impossible.
i clawed at your chest until I struck blood,
until my nails split into shards.
you were born a phantom,
and i, your corpse.
holding onto you felt like drowning in quicksand;
i fought but always sank into your arms.
i breathed in dirt, breathed in dust, and
found my organs choked with you,
smothered by your existence.
you sucked out my breath
every time i kissed you.
i died every day with your hand
knotted in my hair.
You left on june 21st,
the longest day of the year.
i bit down sorrow and deconstructed
the labyrinth within me,
the one you hadn't th
.the sun did not
kiss my skin
yesterday, he slept
face around noon
and then went back
to bed; the
Mirror, MirrorMirror, mirror, on the wall,
Watch it crumble, break and fall.
Look at all the bloody glass,
How it reminds them of a severed past.
Watch a reflection slowly disappear,
Looking at all the shattered, crushed mirrors.
A breathless state of mind goes by,
Am I just alive or did I die?
Confused and in an awe,
Careless people unknown to what one saw.
Throat slit so one can't be unlocked,
Too bad the thoughts have become blocked.
Crimson splatters, dripping, breaking away,
Thou shall not know the feeling of all the pain.
Oh, Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Why did you crumble, break and fall?
Eye of the StormI believed I could make the wind blow,
and force the moon to shine at night,
create rainbows just by thinking,
and hold tea parties for fairies in July,
I was the queen of my own graceful lands.
Yet, I grew old and realized,
I am the kind of girl who'd trip and fall,
often for stepping on her own feet.
My crown of diamond and gold
now a rusted piece of bronze,
I lost my throne to treason, my kingdom to hate,
I became the eye of a hurricane,
loaded with mishaps I need to atone.
I felt the soft touches of angels,
and lost my own wings to demons who could crush stone.
Felt the scorching tears run so often,
I knew I must have hit bottom low.
I had nothing holy, no one to call dear,
but here I am, the starting point of my own storm.
I felt fear, clung to shadows,
encased my heart within marble walls,
and threw the keys that can unlock my soul.
So many chances I've lost with no love to seek,
and so many people I turned my back to.
I let the darkness gnaw through my bones.
A stranger walked up to me today...A man walked up to me and asked me for a cigarette… I told him I didn't smoke anymore, and he asked me why? ––I answered "because the person I used to smoke with, isn't around anymore", and he replied…"that's why I smoke."
A woman walked up to me and asked me for drugs, I replied "I have several in store…his eyes, his smile, his hands"…she whispered, "that's not a drug"…and I laughed as I said.. "if only you knew."
A child walked up to me today and asked me to play a game, I told them I was too tired to play games, i'd been playing for years, they replied…"then you must be a pro!", to which I said "yes…a pro at losing."
An old woman stared at me today, and I asked her…"is something wrong?" she answered "I was about to ask you the same question."
© Rocio Belinda Mendez
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^Nyx-Valentine arrived in our community and started whipping everyone into a frenzy with her relentless desire to bring the Artistic Nude and Fetish galleries to the fore. 9 years later, and it's safe to say that Nyx is not only a leader as a photographer in these galleries, but she has also established herself as a much saught after model. ^... Read More