Tag:

Poetry

step into my shoes

by system 2/16/2021

written by system

You can feel it. The overwhelming dread of it all, the persistent paranoia; draped upon your shoulders like a cloak. It seems to swallow you whole. It’s what makes you sit down in the shower, wailing into your folded arms as the painfully hot water falls onto your back. It’s the tactile hallucinations of someone standing right behind you, watching you. It makes you feel like you’re delusional, like you can’t tell anybody or even begin to explain any of it. They wouldn’t understand. It’s the same thing that forces you to battle yourself into staying awake as long as possible so that you can avoid another round of your parasomnia.

2/16/2021 0 comment

Coping Skills Fun & Interesting General Poetry & Art

coping mechanism

by system 2/15/2021

written by system

one of my biggest coping mechanisms is songwriting, so I thought I might share something I’m working on. it can be read like poetry I guess, it communicates a lot of the feelings I have about my recent abuser. even though its in present tense, the song is referring to past events. im no longer in contact with my abuser and am on complete social lockdown.

verse a
euphoria
it’s so possesing
can’t stop myself
from obsessing
you hold me close
just to bruise me
why is your love
so confusing

pre-chorus
i’m supposed to feel safe here
but everything’s so cold
you get me so high but
you push me down so low

chorus
you’re heroin
and i wanna get sober
you plague my mind
after the rush is over
like little needles in my veins
my blood burns and my skin stings

2/15/2021 4 comments

General Poetry & Art

My Mind

by imtryinghere 10/12/2019

written by imtryinghere

My mind is like a maze.

Trying to think positive, but always go to the negatives.

I need to escape this pain, this hurt, these thoughts.

”Kill yourself.”

“Cut yourself”

I’m in class, then boom…

It hits me, all of a sudden I want to die.

At night my thoughts races, for seconds, minutes, and hours.

They don’t stop until midnight.

Six hours until you have to wake up, yet you still can’t fall asleep.

You wake up to your alarm, wondering how you even fell asleep with your mind so active at night.

You then have to go to school just to do it all over again.

When will my mind stop?

10/12/2019 0 comment

General Poetry & Art

Miguel De Unamuno – An Eternal Elegy

by Taf Taf 9/23/2018

written by Taf Taf

Miguel De Unamuno – An Eternal Elegy

Oh Time, Time,

relentless tyrant!

Oh terrible mystery!

The past does not return,

it never comes back again,

ancient history!

Yes, ancient, but always the same,

terrifying!

Always present…

. . . . . . . . . . . .

When consciousness is deprived

of the passage of time,

what is it that remains?

What happens to light if the mirror is broken?

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Fierce Saturn,

oh Time, Time!

Lord of the world,

executioner of your children,

supreme cause of our bondage!

–

Once again the complaint,

once again the eternal song

that never ends,

how all is lost and nothing remains,

that time is passing

irreparably!

Irreparably, irreparably, do you hear?

Irreparably!

Yes, irreparably, and never forget it!

Life? Life is constantly dying,

it is like the river

in which the same water

never returns again

and yet is always the same.

In the crystal of the flowing liquids

the waving poplars on the river bank

are reflected

and the trembling image is never reflected

by the same water.

–

What is the past? Nothing!

The future you dream is also nothing

and the passing moment

is a mysterious transition to emptiness;

to emptiness once again!

It is a torrent that flows

from nothingness to nothingness.

The moment you touch it

all tender hope,

as if by magic or enchantment,

becomes a memory,

a memory that grows fainter

and is finally lost;

is lost forever.

Oh Time, Time!

Repeat, oh my soul, yes repeat once again

the same old song,

the sad litany,

the never ending dirge,

the same old elegy

of how time passes

and is never the same again.

–

The ”Alas!” of the one who is suffering

this ancient grief

is always the same,

the same old lament;

repeating it gives consolation,

an unceasing rosary, like the rain

again and again, a hundred times…

Oh Time, Time,

relentless tyrant!

Oh terrible mystery!

Rigid torture rack of the human spirit!

How limited words are…!

Language is never enough to describe

our thirst for eternity;

it is too limited…

A terrible thirst,

a thirst that constantly weakens the soul

that contemplates the ocean,

– the immense ocean! –

which never satisfies our thirst;

it only fills our vision,

an immense ocean of bitter waves!

–

Images? They disturb the profound

nakedness of our lament,

embellishments that drown out

the single note that is deep and strong…

But, yes, images, different chords

that calm the melodic theme…

. . . . . . . . . . . .

It is the elegy that silence intones,

silence, language of the eternal,

while eternity exists

as the slave of time…

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Did you destroy your watch? Not enough!

Lay down and go to sleep… that is best;

immersed forever

in a profound sleep

you will have conquered time,

your implacable enemy!

Yesterday, today and tomorrow!

A chain of grief

with links of anxiety…

You grip the horse’s mane

with tense hands

refusing to let go

and it runs faster and faster,

a runaway horse;

the tighter you hold on

the more maddening is its passage!

–

Don’t mutter out of one side of your mouth,

fierce Saturn!

Enough now, that’s enough of your hours,

implacable enemy!

Stop this interminable drudgery

once and for all!

I want to escape from time;

exhausted, I want to finally

dissolve myself into the eternal

where yesterday, today and tomorrow

are only one moment

disconnected from the passage of time;

where a tender memory

is linked with hope

and merges with it;

where the never-quiescent waters

of the passing rivers

remain forever in a quiet lake;

where the soul can finally be

immersed in a bath of consolation

where Saturn dies;

where time is defeated.

(Fransisco Goya – Saturn Devouring His Son, 1819-1823)

* In ancient Greek and Roman mythology, Saturn (or Cronus/Kronos) was a titan (the titans predated the Greek/Roman gods) who castrated and overthrown his own father (Caelus/Uranus) and then he was eating his own children, because of a prophecy that he would be overthrown by one of them. This mythological figure’s meaning was later examined and analyzed by many (including Freud and Jung).

Some information about Cronus/Saturn:

https://www.tripsavvy.com/greek-mythology-kronos-1525980

Father Time: Chronos and Kronos

http://www.theoi.com/Titan/TitanKronos.html

https://www.theworldwonders.com/mythology/myths-legends3-cronus.html

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cronus

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saturn_(mythology)

https://www.pantagruelista.com/blogeng/cronus-myth

https://en.wikiversity.org/wiki/Classical_Mythology/Freudian_psychology

http://iws.collin.edu/mbailey/jungianarchetypes.htm

9/23/2018 0 comment

General Poetry & Art

Constantine P. Cavafy – The City

by Taf Taf 9/22/2018

written by Taf Taf

You said: ”I’ll go to another country, go to another shore,

find another city better than this one.

Whatever I try to do is fated to turn out wrong

and my heart lies buried as though it were something dead.

How long can I let my mind moulder in this place?

Wherever I turn, wherever I happen to look,

I see the black ruins of my life, here,

where I’ve spent so many years, wasted them, destroyed them totally.”

–

You won’t find a new country, won’t find another shore.

This city will always pursue you. You will walk

the same streets, grow old in the same neighborhoods,

will turn gray in the same houses.

You will always end up in this city. Don’t hope for things elsewhere:

there is no ship for you, there is no road.

As you’ve wasted your life here, in this small corner,

you’ve destroyed it everywhere else in the world.

Translated by Edmund Keeley/Philip Sherrard.

9/22/2018 0 comment

General Poetry & Art

Federico García Lorca – Suicide

by Taf Taf 9/9/2018

written by Taf Taf

(Maybe it was because you hadn’t

mastered Geometry)

–

The lad was going blank.

It was ten in the morning.

–

His heart was growing full

of broken wings and rag flowers.

–

He noticed there remained

just one word on his lips.

–

And when he took off his gloves

a soft ash fell from his hands.

–

A tower showed through the balcony door.

He felt he was balcony and tower.

–

No doubt he saw how the clock,

stopped in its case, surveyed him.

–

He saw his shadow quiet and prone

on the white silk divan.

–

And the stiff, geometrical youth

smashed the mirror with a hatchet.

–

When it broke, a great burst of shadow

flooded the illusory room.

A video based on this poem:

And some information about Federico García Lorca:

https://www.poetsgraves.co.uk/lorca.htm

9/9/2018 1 comment

Coping Skills Fun & Interesting General Poetry & Art

Constantine P. Cavafy – Ithaka

by Taf Taf 9/8/2018

written by Taf Taf

This poem is based on the ancient Greek epic poem Odyssey, which is attributed to the legendary author Homer. Quick summary of the Odyssey: there was a war between the ancient Greeks and the Trojans (Troy was – and still is – located at nowadays North-western Turkey), the Greeks laid siege on the city of Troy for 10 years and they destroyed it (there’s another ancient epic poem, Aeneid by the Roman author Virgil, that picks up the story after the destruction of Troy, but let’s stick to Homer’s Odyssey for now). After that, one of the Greek kings named Odysseus (in Latin: Ulysses) set out for Ithaka, his birthplace and kingdom. On his journey home (which lasted, according to the poem, 10 years) he had many adventures and misadventures.

And, for the film buffs, a good adaptation of the Odyssey is this one:

https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0118414/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Odyssey_(miniseries)

Anyway, I posted this poem because we can see it as a representation of life itself. And I can’t decide if it’s optimistic or pessimistic…

At first glance, it seems very optimistic: keep trying and fighting to reach your goals, whatever they are. Its meaning is similar to the phrase ”the chase is better than the catch”. But the final lyrics of the poem make me think of it as pessimistic and a little bit ironic:

And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.

Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,

you will have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

These lyrics are implying that it was all for nothing, that every effort was fruitless and meaningless. And that’s why I can’t decide… I might say that the interpretation of Cavafy’s poem depends on someone’s views on life…

9/8/2018 0 comment

General Poetry & Art

Paul Durcan – Thinking About Suicide

by Taf Taf 9/1/2018

written by Taf Taf

Although I may never commit suicide

I spend parts of each day thinking about suicide –

Thinking about how I lack the courage to do it.

–

I wake in the mourning with 60 per cent depression.

That’s how it remains for the whole day,

Except for the odd occasion in a year

–

In the doorway or on the street I meet by chance

For a few minutes a woman passing-by

Who has the time to stop and talk for three minutes

–

Or five minutes or even sometimes seven or eight minutes,

Who rocks back on her heels in her pink, hooped skirt

With laughter, no matter what the topic.

–

Depression and despair are two different states

Of mind, not having a lot in common.

Although I have 60 per cent depression, I do not despair.

–

I do not see eye to eye with Samuel Beckett

Who disapproved of suicide and who promulgated

The doctrine of ”going on” for the sake of ”going on”.

–

Estranged from my family, if I do not soon

Take my own life, others will take it from me –

Hooded males with knives in their tracksuits

–

Or medics in their scrubs prancing corridors

Or cowpat-faced ward sisters smirking

Or ice-cold proprietors of old peoples’s homes.

–

How is it that you do not see it, Samuel,

That I do not want to go on for the sake of going on –

Seeing the same old, tired-out impressionist paintings again and again?

–

Men are such po-faced bores.

Each one of them an editor-in-chief.

I wand to stand still by the water’s edge.

–

I want to hold a woman’s hand for the last time.

I want to fill my pockets with Palaeozoic stones.

I want to open my eyes.

From the collection Praise In Which I Live And Move And Have My Being (2012).

9/1/2018 2 comments

General Poetry & Art

Kostis Palamas – Agora (The Market Place)

by Taf Taf 8/29/2018

written by Taf Taf

Just as dry summers pant for the first rain,

so thou art thirsty for a happy home

and for a life remote, like hermit’s prayer,

a corner of forgetting and of love.

–

And thirsty for the ship upon the sea

that ever onward sails with birds and sea-things,

filling its life with our great planet’s light.

But unto thee both ship and home said: ”No!

–

Look neither for the happiness remote

that never moves, nor for the life that ever finds

in each new land and harbor a new soul!

–

Only the panting of a toiling slave

for thee! Drag in the market place thy body’s

nakedness, strange to the strangers and thine own!”

From the poetry collection ”Life Immovable” (or ”The Motionless Life”), published in 1904. Translation by Aristides Phoutrides.

8/29/2018 1 comment

Coping Skills General Poetry & Art

Miguel De Unamuno – Poems

by Taf Taf 8/7/2018

written by Taf Taf

Muerte (Death)

To die to sleep… to sleep… perchance to dream.

(Hamlet, act iii, scene iv)

You are the dream of a God; when you awake

will you return to the womb where you were born?

Will you then be what you were before?

Will your death be a new birth?

–

Is this dream absent during wakefulness?

Luckily here the mystery assists us;

as a remedy of our sad life

our fate remains an inviolable secret.

–

Let your future remain hidden under the fog

and walk calmly as you take your last step;

the less light there is, the more certain you can be.

–

Is our sunset the dawn of another world?

Dream on, my soul, in your obscure path:

” To die to sleep… to sleep… perchance to dream.”

The Immortality of the Crab (Inmortalidad del Cangrejo)*

The deepest problem:

of the immortality of the crab,

is that a soul it has,

a little soul in fact…

–

That if the crab dies

entirely in its totality

with it we all die

for all of eternity

* The title of the poem is based on the Spanish phrase pensar en la inmortalidad del gangrejo (thinking about the immortality of the crab), which means that someone is daydreaming, is lost in thought, is pondering. There’s a similar phrase in Portuguese: pensar na morte da bezerra.

To Destiny (Al Destino)

When I struggle, calmness overwhelms me

hiding your secrets from me, Destiny;

don’t let me falter in my path, because

without questioning I obey you blindly.

–

Don’t give me time to complain or beg;

spur me on without stopping,

and, like a sleepless pilgrim, let me

carry with me the fire from my hearth.

–

I want to win my peace through war;

I want to conquer the impossible dream;

don’t let me rest from trying to shed light

–

on the enigma within your heart,

and when I return to the bosom of the earth

let me deserve an ever-lasting peace.

Miguel De Unamuno is probably the most important Spanish philosopher, novelist and poet of the 20th century. His most famous works are: The Tragic Sense of Life (1912), Poesias (Poems – 1907), Our Lord Don Quixote (1914), Saint Emmanuel the Good, Martyr (1930), Aunt Tula (1921), Cancionero (Songbook – 1953, published after his death). He was born in Bilbao (1864) and died in Salamanca (1936).

8/7/2018 1 comment

General Poetry & Art

George Vizyenos – The Dream

by Taf Taf 8/1/2018

written by Taf Taf

George Vizyenos – The Dream

(Translated by Timothy Adès)

Last night I saw all in my sleep
a river deep:
God let it not come true!
Silent as night beside the flood,
moon-pale, there stood
a young man whom I knew.

– – –

With force the stormwind striving
and smiting
near drove him from the living;
waves sucked his feet with kisses,
inviting
him down to their embraces.

– – –

Not by the storm I thought him
mistreated,
despairing wretch forsaken.
To snatch him safe I speeded,
nor caught him:
abruptly he was taken.

– – –

I stooped towards the river,
him to discover:
my own pale corpse I knew!
Last night I saw all in my sleep
a river deep:
God let it not come true!

George Vizyenos (or Georgios Vizyinos) was one of the best Greek novelists and poets. Some of his books translated in English (if anyone wants to read them) are: My Mother’s Sin And Other Stories, The Only Journey Of His Life, Who Was My Brother’s Killer? and Moskov Selim . Although he is famous in Greece for his novels, he also wrote essays on psychology and philosophy. He studied in Germany and he was a student of the famous psychologist Wilhelm Wundt. His ending was a tragic one: he ended up in an insane asylum in Athens, where he died in 1896. He was 47 years old.

8/1/2018 2 comments

Poetry & Art

Poetry

by WanderingDreamer91 7/27/2018

written by WanderingDreamer91

My Poetry (WanderingDreamer91)

A. Untitled (Night)

(Old: 2006-2010 (14-19); High School Teen on GaiaOnline)

The full moon at night,

what a beautiful sight,

the stars dance in twilight,

piercing the darkness with all it’s might.

B. Dirge/Requiem

(August 13, 2017 (Sunday) (26); Facebook/My Puns-Rhymes Computer Document)

(Note: I guess I didn’t have a poetry document or didn’t feel like using one for some reason, I don’t know, I found this again by chance. :p I was even wondering about sharing some, but meh…)

Topic: A dirge/requiem poem I created

(Light)
(A parting for loved ones and animals)
Now your time has come to pass,
but alas,
our memories of you shall not be crass,
so lay your weary soul beneath the grass,
for mortality too shall be surpassed.

3. Another Dirge/Requiem

(Dark)

(July 27, 2018 (Friday) (27) (Just Now))

When you bleed the red,

you’ll soon be dead,

the voices will be out of your head,

as you lie in your eternal bed.

(The first two lines were something I actually came up a long time ago,like around the second poem at most, for pretty much no reason at all. :p And then I cam up with two more lines to finish it as more of a poem…)

Author’s Note

Sigh… I’ve been wanting to make all sorts of posts about stuff like, discussing Petscop, Yume Nikki, Jordan Under(neath), anime about social anxiety (Hikikomori/NEET) like Welcome to the NHK, Watamote, and maybe even a bit of Kotoura-san, and overall lots of depressing and somewhat depressing stuff…

But I just feel so drained all the time, and I guess this site is about more personal stuff, and the rules to say to only post once a day for the most part, so… yeah. 🙁

I guess I kind of have a short description of many of these type of things on my profile if anyone wants to check that out, but yeah…

I suppose I could make a thread asking people about what mental/personality disorders they might have or even personality tests in general and educating people who either don’t know of them or maybe even don’t know what they are when it comes to them, but yeah. :p

Anyways, I hope you’ll enjoy the poems. <3 I tried to remember as many as I could, I probably got a lot more saved somewhere like in a pretty old Facebook note, or even on paper in some folder I have at home, stuff like that. :p

Edit: Oh yeah, so like, I figured talking about these animes and games or whatever, could like, add atmospshere to this site though, with certain things to talk about that these stories bring up, and all the art, official or fan-made, I feel like if I put them down, it would really liven the place up.

You could be scrolling through the site and you see like this gallery of stuff that your depressive state of mind makes you feel, and seeing how it makes other people feel and stuff…

Well, I guess that’s tied to the poetry and art stuff if not the fun and interesting category, but yeah. :p

I had Oyasumi Punpun anyway to talk about because that thing is something else, it’s a whole new experience altogether… but yeah, enjoy. :p

7/27/2018 3 comments

Chronic Pain Poetry & Art Rants

The Solipsist

by WanderingDreamer91 7/21/2018

written by WanderingDreamer91

Introduction

Here’s a poem I made on Facebook on June 1st, when I really needed to vent. :p
(It’s a bit dark and sadomasochistic, instead of just plain masochistic, I hope that’s okay…)

Not that anyone cares, most people just ghost me…

People usually ignore me or hate me, I’m not sure if anyone is at fault when people leave me or don’t want to talk to me and I’m not sure if I should even care…

I just want to be myself… people are too different from me…

I might make a full post about myself later, but right now I’m kind of lazy. :p

Anyways, here’s the post. Enjoy. <3

(June 1, 2018 (Friday) (26))
https://www.facebook.com/MatthewHyder/posts/1240919879344364

Topic: The Solipsist
(Poem by me)

I’m pure evil in reality, yet pure good in the imaginary.
Death is the only freedom I know,
The more I suffer, the more my hatred grows and grows.
Everything I do is to make myself feel free,
In the end, I just want to be me.

Life often doesn’t even seem real,
What does it take just to be able to feel?
When the world ends and burns to the ground,
I’ll be happy knowing there’s no more deafening sounds.

7/21/2018 3 comments

General Poetry & Art

Strange days,when you’re a stranger…

by Taf Taf 6/17/2018

written by Taf Taf

Will the doors of our perception ever be cleansed?

6/17/2018 3 comments

Coping Skills General Poetry & Art

To clipped-wings

by Taf Taf 5/26/2018

written by Taf Taf

Hey,you know that you’re not a burden…In fact,you’re one the nicest persons I’ve ever talked to.I keep thinking of you and I admire and respect you.I don’t think that anyone has something mean or bad to say about you (well,at least here in the SP). Now,since you like poetry,I’d like to do something for you… I’ll give you a poem (and I hope you’ll like it) written by one of the greatest poets who ever lived…This is ”The Guest House” ,by Jalaluddin Rumi (translated by Coleman Barks):

The Guest House

This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.

This was also turned into a song by Coldplay and narrated by Coleman Barks:

5/26/2018 3 comments

General Poetry & Art

A tribute to Kostas Karyotakis

by Taf Taf 2/6/2018

written by Taf Taf

I liked literature,poetry, and history since I was a little boy.Even though I never went to a college or a university,I continued to read-that kept me going for a long time.I came across Karyotakis’ poetry when I was young-oddly enough,they taught us his poems at school-and I was immediately hooked.Karyotakis is one of the most famous and the most important Greek poets.He wrote about alienation,depression,melancholy,anxiety,pessimism,and death,amongst other things.He committed suicide in 1928.I found on the internet some of his poems translated into English and I would like to post some of them here.If you like poetry,I suggest you should look out for his work,especially if you like Yeats,Leopardi,Baudelaire,Rimbaud,Fitzgerald,Eliot,Byron,Verlaine,and Edgar Allan Poe. (If there are any copyright issues-I don’t think so-I would like the moderators of this site to inform me and I’ll take down this post.)

We are some disjointed guitars…

We are some disjointed guitars.
When the wind blows through
discordant lines and sounds awaken
in the chainlike strings that dangle.

We are some incredible antennae
rising like fingers into chaos,
on their tips the infinite resounds
but soon to crash all broken down.

We are some diffused senses,
with no hope to assemble.
In our nerves the whole of nature tangled.

In our body, in our memory tormented.
Repulsed by things and poetry
is the envied refuge.

Nostalgia

From the depth of good times
our loves greet us bitterly

You’re not in love, you say, and you don’t remember.
And if your heart has filled and you shed the tears
that you couldn’t shed like you did at first,
you’re not in love and you don’t remember, even though you cry.

Suddenly you’ll see two blue eyes
– how long it’s been! – that you caressed one night;
as though inside yourself you hear
an old unhappiness stirring and waking up.

These memories of time past
will begin their danse macabre;
and like then, your bitter tear will
well up on your eyelid and fall.

The eyes suspended – pale suns –
the light that thaws the frozen heart,
the dead loves that begin to stir,
the old sorrows that again ignite. . . .

Dummies

As if we never came in this land.
As if we still remain in inexistence.
Darkness around and nor a shimmer.
Men in the imagination of the others.

Created by paper and hesitation
dummies in the two blind hands of destiny,
we dance, we accept the deception,
lifelessly, looking passively at the stars.

Distant is for us every delight now.
Hope and youth abstract meanings.
Nobody else knows that we’re here
despite of him that steps over us while he passes.

So many years have passed, time has passed
and if the deep sorrow wasn’t in the body
and if our true pain wasn’t in the soul
telling that we still exist.

Imaginary suicides

They turn the key in the door, take out
their old, well-hidden letters,
read them quietly, then drag
their feet a final time.

Their life has been a tragedy, they say.
God! people’s frightful laughter,
and the tears, the sweat, nostalgia
of the skies, the landscape’s solitude.

They stand there by the window, gazing at
the trees, the children, all of nature,
at the marble-workers hammering away,
the sun that wants to set forever.

It’s over. Here’s the note —
appropriately short, profound, and simple,
full of indifference and forgiveness
for whoever’s going to weep and read it.

They look in the mirror, look at the time,
ask if it’s madness maybe, a mistake.
“It’s over now” they murmur;
deep down, of course, they’re going to put it off.

2/6/2018 1 comment

Coping Skills General My Suicide Note Poetry & Art Rants Stories of Loss

I wrote this on the morning of September 29th.

by Shootmeup 10/1/2016

written by Shootmeup

Junk fucked grunge and grime and became punk in time followed by this dope laced rhyme is blue lips and rolled back eyes with a rope tied tight you might find the right side of life when every body is done crying at your funeral they go back home and do the same thing as you but they don’t understand the point of view you had and why you choose to tie ropes to rocks and throw those hopes over the beam tied real tight so you could kick the chair from under your feet in the same place under that bridge you used to sit and think now that you’re gone they really do carry on the daily lives of ghosts with no hope to show them selves to anybody they’re just like you forgotten and transparent rotting the grand carriage to the afterlife hanging from the rafters like the end couldn’t come faster and after you died they buried the idea of a life that choked so slow and decided to let go.

10/1/2016 4 comments

Poetry & Art

Love.

by xx 3/23/2016

written by xx

I’ve never been in love, and I’m not very loved, and I don’t think I’ll ever fall in love.

I’d really like to, one day. But I don’t know if I’m capable. I don’t think I’m capable. I don’t expect it, and I have no hope for it in my life.

Nevertheless, I still think about love, a lot, even though I probably can’t love, and I can’t be loved.

This is a very well-known poem, but every once in a while, when I feel breakable and like I really want to be held, even just to pretend that that is what love feels like, it pops into my head, and that familiar ache intensifies just a little before I allow myself to daydream a bit about what will never be.

I just wanted to share it with someone since it was in my head tonight, and since I’ve got no one right now, I want to share it here, with all of you. How unlucky for you. 😛

i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is youhere is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

–e.e. cummings

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s just…so beautiful to me. It haunts me. I’d even get this tattooed on me, even though I’ve never felt like this before and I probably can’t really comprehend the feeling in this. But this is one of the things that when it haunts me, I welcome it. (I’m a disgusting romantic haha.)

If any of you have any poems that haunt you, I’d like to hear them, please.

Thanks for reading, and take care.

3/23/2016 11 comments

General

Poetry is my outlet currently

by Skior 3/17/2016

written by Skior

I’ve started writing poetry about how i feel from day to day, I would like it if i could get some advice on what i wrote

Thanks

Beauty,
It is so lovely
The deeper we sink into depression
It sooner blossoms in our fears and our desperation
It tears our hearts and makes them bleed
But it is a new start, a new beginning
No matter how deep the pain flows
In the deepest veins it courses
It travels, It spreads
Yet still, is the light in our dark and gloomy life
Every life is sad and lonely
the people who learn to accept it live happier
Live longer
Live better
Life is acceptance
And accepting that the beauty is ever fading
Makes beauty ever lovely

also ignore the accidental pun in the title

3/17/2016 2 comments

General

Self-Hate and Lovely Death

by Lorelei X 2/9/2016

written by Lorelei X

I want to overdose and die

I want death

So badly

I almost crave it.

How do I stop these thoughts? All I seem to think about is death. Suicide. Being pain free. Am I wrong for that? Am I being selfish? Don’t I have a say in my life? Yes… I am being selfish. And, yes, I am wrong.

Where has the time gone? I’m losing track of everything and I can’t seem to grip onto something and stay focused and keep moving with life. I feel so stuck and out of place and away from myself, from the world, from reality. I’m so lost and angry and horribly sad and I want nothing more than for all of my emotions to go away, to be eliminated. I want my life to be over. I have everything to lose and I’m okay with losing it. But then again I’m not. Then again I have my loves that I don’t want to hurt. Even though I’ve already hurt them. All I seem to do is hurt; myself and those around me. I don’t necessarily want to leave them… if only they could leave with me. If we could all end our pain together… that would be paradise.

I am so cold

Waiting for some warmth

Waiting for a breakthrough

I am empty and I am broken

Or maybe it’s all in my head

Maybe everything isn’t as bad as it seems

Maybe I’m just the problem

Yeah…

I ~~think~~ know I’m the problem.

I’m always the problem.

I absolutely hate myself. I want to die. I want to be killed. I pray to God that I die in my sleep.

There’s always a lose/lose in my life, never a win, especially for the people around me. I benefit no one and nothing. I hate me and all that I am. I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I fucking hate myself. I just want to be dead already. I can’t even cry at this point… I feel like I’m in shock. This depression is me. I don’t like me. I don’t like me at all. I look in the mirror with disgust and confusion. God, I just want to die. Please, God, Please. Let me get an incurable disease and die. Let everyone around me be okay with my death and wish me luck, hope that I go to Heaven. Not that I deserve it. Because I don’t. I deserve nothing. But death. I don’t deserve the bitter sweet gift of life when all I do is misuse it and hurt others. I’m a failure. I’m ashamed of myself. There is nothing more that I can do or say. I am a complete failure, all that I feel for myself is hate and disgust and shame. So, why not kill myself? Then those around me would move on and be with people that won’t hurt them or let them down or waste their time.

“I’m nobody. Who are you? Are you nobody too?” –E.D.

2/9/2016 6 comments

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