Tag Archives: help

Submerged

How would I find you

If you’re rapidly sinking

In the depths of insincere oceans

And waiting to drown again?

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Song Outlines

I feel the walls are closing in
I feel the oxygen depleting
I gave you something I can’t get back…

~*~

Brainwashed with expectations

Far cry for help to stamp notions

Screaming feels like cacophonies

For God’s own personal melodies

Deluded with ornamented words

Burying knives in crashed worlds

Chromatic outlines left me in grey

Now I see why you fell in its fray.

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Amaurosis Fugax

Another place I find to escape the pain inside
You don’t know the chances, what if I should die?
A place inside my brain, another kind of pain
You don’t know the chances, I’m so blind!

~*~

there it goes again

the smile that never

means a damn thing

a laugh that holds a

flickering candle to

hopeless clamouring

cry for help embedded

at the patched bones

i call my fucking skin

the desire to be noticed

burns like the alimony

of another divorced sin

now i daresay apologies

because i will never have

a chance to fall and beget

the densities of bellicose

minds fracture skulls of

bereavement and regrets

as my tongue is relapsing

against scimitars again

don’t any of you even see?

i’m breaking and falling

like strands of deluded ice

spare me a fool’s fantasy

please look for me and peer

further and see the cryptic

cyanide, leave it unlocked

please look into my eyes and

sense my anguish before my

vision turns permanently black.

~*~

How deep can I go in the ground that I lay?
If I don’t find a way to see through the gray
That clouds my mind, this time I look to see
What’s between the lines!
I can’t see, I can’t see, I’m going blind…

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Say

Hey, how are you, by the way?

Okay, no more lies this time.

Say you’re not okay.

Say that nothing is fine.

Say everything’s going wrong.

Say your depression is returning.

Say you’re falling apart.

Say you messed up yet again.

Say all the problems you need to relay.

Say people are screwing you over.

Say you keep relapsing again and again.

Say you’re sorry for being a complete mess.

Say you don’t care if you’re being desperate.

Say that life doesn’t want you anymore.

Say you’re fucking giving up.

Say that you actually want to kill yourself again.

Say that this attempt is for good this time.

Say please, please, please you need help.

S a y  i t . . .

Say something…anything…just goddamn say something…

Say anything but—

Yeah, I’m good. I’m great. Never been better.

Fuck.

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grave mistake

“My fancy grew charnel. I talked ‘of worms, of tombs, of epitaphs.’ I was lost in reveries of death, and the idea of premature burial held continual possession of my brain.” ~The Premature Burial; Edgar Allan Poe

~*~

buried alive;

screaming my

strained lungs

out, i’m desperately

banging on

the casket door

blood is beginning

to seep from my

nails onto the glass

and onto the

plush coffin floor

buried alive;

i’m twisting and

writhing until

every part of my

postmortem

feels deathly sore

i don’t why i

even bothered

to try when i know

that help won’t come

and i’m secretly

enjoying all this horror.

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Blind Ears To See, Deaf Eyes To Hear, Mute Mouth To Speak

True friends lie underneath
These witty words I don’t believe
I can’t believe a damn thing they say anymore
Lie! Liar, you’ll pay for your sins
Now! Liar, I know all the places you’ve been
Forgiveness—this taste all but poisons my mouth…

~*~

We all have arbitrary problems

Whether it’s petty or magnanimous

The cryptic remains we wish to seal up

And bury inside a metal sarcophagus

But it could be easily exhumed

Or never even entombed, after all

And inevitably, sooner or later

I shall play the role of the coroner

When I’m contorted in a painful position

It gets to me, red sprites of confusion

To inject dopamine, a blush of adrenaline

But instead I’m simply a machine

Automatic in my messages underhand

Pretending that I could understand

What’s easy is difficult, I go into overdrive

The train of thought which never arrives

I wish I could spill out waves of clarity

Instead of letting the cobwebs gather

In my drying, decomposing mouth

Conflicted about platitudes I muttered

If only I could then convince myself

To cease listening to blaring smoke alarms

Remove the arrow lodged in my trachea

And ask why, it will do me no harm

But instead I end up feeling incompetent

In total oblivion from such a situation

I’m not a companion, but I’m merely a bench

A rusted statue, a broken monkey wrench

Seminal symptoms that cripple and debilitate

Responses taken from a mind that is surrogate

I wish I could confront, interfere, absolve dysthymia

But my tongue is affected by parasaethesia.

~*~

I scream but nothing, nothing will come out, you’ve gone too far
So tell me how does it feel, how does it feel to be like you?
I think your mouth should be quiet ’cause it never tells the truth
So tell me, so tell me why, why does it have to be this way?

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skulls are thicker than water

but i don’t need

some obnoxious

excrescences to

be my so-called

“dearest family”

for strangers have

been benignant and

have done so much

more to rescue me.

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“cry for help”

thanks,

but i don’t

need your

bullshit

to be my

saving grace.

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shattered

you didn’t

have to be

there to pick

up the pieces

of this mess

you didn’t

have to cut

your unstained

fingers on the

lethal shards

you didn’t

have to be

the witness to

my unmitigated

self-wreckage

you didn’t

have to do

a damn thing,

you didn’t

really have to…

but fuck, you

did it anyways

i’m glad…i’m glad.

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metal & skin (xxiv.)

one cut

a weaker beginning, but you’re just starting

three cuts

that’s the charm, as searing pain is settling

five cuts

is that all you can take? is that all you can take?

seven cuts

how much, how much more can you make?

ten cuts

easy, over, and out, it’s like riding a bike now

fifteen cuts

it’s all a distant, tranquilising blur somehow

twenty cuts

you have reached your own personal record

twenty-two cuts

and went past it; dare you break the accord?

twenty-six cuts

it’s a complete mess of blood and medicine

thirty cuts

too numb to give a fuck, you ceased caring

thirty-three cuts

your arm’s as pale as your cotton blanket

thirty-eight cuts

maybe you’ve crossed the line, but screw it

forty cuts

so indulged, and you just can’t fucking stop

forty-four cuts

because you know it will never be enough

forty-nine cuts

for it’s not really the quantity that matters

fifty cuts

but just how fucking far you dare to go deeper.

fifty-one cuts and counting…

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