41 posts
  • viocinth 2w

    Yooo what up everybody, ok trying to be american is not very appealing when i do it ��

    #Crazy #dark #writersnetwork #harm #sad #depressed #alone #original #poem

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    Shouldn't one know themselves better than anyone else
    shouldn't one know more rather than less
    in the mirror in front of me where i stand
    is a figure of a man that i don't understand
    he cries in a room warm and cozy
    he smiles in pain might he be crazy
    he looks at his reflection wandering into it
    his looks it seems he is disappointed by it
    he looks at his hands stitched with strings
    bleeding and aching and everything
    seems like his body is stiched on to him
    a frankstein's monster not even a sim
    a game if possible to change what he has within
    try as he might all he do is sin
    stitched to his body are the ideals of his kin

  • thegirlinwhitecoat 2w

    I do think about you. Everyday.
    I want you to know it's not in sweet adoration.
    It isn't love. It isn't​ the yearning.
    It's sheer disgust. The kind that sickens me each time.
    How ashamed was I; how thrilled you seemed.
    How mighty did you feel by belittling me?
    How peacefully did you sleep while I lay there weeping silently?
    You got away with the things you did, but your deeds, they stay with me.
    The memories never failing to haunt me.
    I do think about you. Every damn day.
    How much I wish to erase your existence from my life, I just know I can do nothing but spend my days remembering the beast that snatched and stole the human in me.


  • simranbhasin 8w

    Peering over the candle
    I passed my finger through the flame
    Wiping my tears away
    I smiled
    Because the fire did no harm
    But their words burnt me

  • downpour_words 10w

    sick until burnt
    burnt to please
    pleased to unwant
    unwant until sick

    you and cigrattee
    home my mind

    Damn you
    you'l be
    the death of me

    © @ka

  • violet_words 13w

    Throw away

    I bleed it out
    Digging deeper just to thorw it away

  • comacluster 18w

    The Brick Wall

    Brick by brick
    I unload a truck
    of my dreams and fantasies
    onto all of you.

    Everything is crafted
    carefully. Shrewdly, I
    watch all of you gasp
    as my mouth spins a story.

    I live a life of lies
    and overdramatic sighs.
    The sights are pleasant
    and everyone likes me.

    But I am tearing down.
    I cannot continue this
    Life is excessively wicked.
    Internally, I am sickened.

    Sweaty and tired, I have
    built a brick wall of lies
    around myself. Now I itch
    to get the hell out.

    It is the same brutal shout
    that the peanut crunching crowd
    shoves in to see. Except,
    there is not a person in my sight.

    The evil wall looms over me.
    The wall that I have made with
    my own sick mind - now I
    struggle to toss it out.

    I am the girl with the
    perfect life. None of you
    can see how I am
    effortlessly breaking inside.

    I don't want to do this
    anymore. The wall separates
    me. This is surreal. I can't survive if this is all that's real.

    Life behind the brick wall
    is harsh. Far lies the elusive truth.
    Nothing comes out of my mouth
    except the brick lies.

    The mortar is weak.
    I know it just needs a push
    and I'll be set free from
    the incomings of loathing.

    Calmly, I plan the destruction
    of my wall. I throw in
    little cracks and wait for
    the loud battle call.

    I don't know if it'll work.
    I can only hope.
    I hope the Athena breaks through
    before these lies break me.


  • comacluster 18w

    Twenty-ninth poem from my poetry collection 'The Brick Wall'.

    Yes, I stole the title from the great Sylvia Plath.

    #pod #poem #poetry #poet #sad #triggerwarning #selfharm #harm #drugs #drug #druguse #mirakee #mirakeeworld #readwriteunite #rwu #melancholy #depression #depressing #morbid

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    Fever 103°

    The great fire burns in my mind.
    My thoughts are entwined
    through the gates of hell.
    This is where my soul will sell.

    The drinks are set out.
    But tonight, I'll only be throwing them a pout.
    What I need is a white powder
    served up with some chowder.

    The great fire burns in my mind.
    I just need to unwind
    and let this fever run its course
    of addictive, unstopping force.

    The smoke rises from the ashes
    and my head crashes
    from inhaling that heavy scent
    of destruction from the fickle vent.

    The great fire burns in my mind.
    I am an animal made to grind
    and dance as the crystalline salts please.
    I'll give them a striptease.

    First, my eyes will close
    after I ingest the dose.
    Then, I'll shake my limbs
    and fly high on my wings.

    The great fire burns in my mind.
    I'll dance ill-timed.
    My body will be a mess
    until I pass out in the fever's caress.


  • comacluster 18w

    Twenty-fifth poem from my poetry collection 'The Brick Wall'.

    Warning/Author's Note: Things get nasty here...in a faintly sexual way. Proceed with caution.

    #pod #poem #poetry #poet #sad #triggerwarning #selfharm #harm #mirakee #mirakeeworld #readwriteunite #rwu #melancholy #depression #depressing #morbid #sexual #sensual #sensualverses

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    Sheet Music

    I shiver in your wake.
    You press all the right keys
    on my aching body.
    I shake.

    Your kisses caress my core
    as you go down on me
    and worship my soul.
    It calls for an encore.

    The rules to this sheet music
    and all utterly undefined.
    Your pianist fingers are free to wander; ah! So therapeutic.

    Your fingers are skilled
    even though you claim
    you haven't touched anyone
    before. But, oh! You've killed

    the painful separation of mine
    from a sweet, sensual release.
    I can almost love you
    and cross that thin line

    between lover and friend.
    A current sizzles through me.
    I grasp the cloth entwined
    between our sweaty limbs. This is my end.

    In the sombre darkness,
    you and I create
    the most beautiful symphony.
    I scream out to the blackness

    as I come down from the highs
    You don't stop, though.
    Bodies sliding messily.
    You create music on my thighs.


  • comacluster 18w

    Stuck In Time

    The place I live in
    is frozen in time.
    I am stuck in.
    Just can't go on like this.

    I look at your eyes -
    your shrouded eyes behind
    those ever present glass
    spectacles from days old.

    And I see emptiness.
    Your eyes have lost their
    exuberant sparkle.
    And I spot a strange emotion.

    What do you want?
    I can't go on. I'm
    stuck in time. My mind refuses to look at someone else.

    Some days mouth says, "Go."
    Then eyes whisper, "Stay."
    Whatever am I
    supposed to do, best friend?

    Are you even a friend?
    What are you? Stomping
    in my life like you own it.
    I fell down too long ago.

    Sometimes, when you
    think I am not looking,
    I can feel your eyes
    on the back of my neck.

    And it is strangely calming.
    Your eyes on my neck, like
    you're slowing baring my
    body down to it's skeleton.

    A shiver runs down my spine.
    I am chilled to the core.
    But then, it is your hands
    running on my arms.

    You smile and tell me
    how you're trying to warm me.
    I had forgotten that we were standing out in the cold.

    I return your smile,
    and look down. It is
    hopeless hoping
    for more. I would be a fool.

    The place I live in
    is frozen in time.
    I am stuck in.
    Just can't go on like this.

    You and I...
    We were doomed to be best friends. And
    is where this story ends.


  • comacluster 18w


    When I was seven
    Gravity befriended me
    for some brief seconds.
    I fell with the breeze.

    You see, I peered too
    far off the edge
    and down, down, I
    fell down like a clown.

    The light had been exciting.
    I had run to touch it;
    to cherish it with my
    little fingers. Fell off.

    The fence was absent.
    The balcony was in midst
    of a construction.
    With the edge gone, I fell.

    The air rushed through
    my lungs. I lunged
    for breath. The ground
    shouted, "You'll die!"

    I closed my eyes.
    0.02 seconds to impact.
    I closed my eyes tighter
    and I picked up speed.

    Fell. Fell. Fell.
    Hell. Hell. Hell.
    Heaven's bell...
    I could almost hear it.

    I was still...alive?
    I had been in the air for five
    seconds, had to be a dream!

    But sure, I was living.
    I could move around.
    Cushions creaked around
    my broken, little body.

    Someone had put their cushions
    out to dry. I was safe.
    Like a turtle, I closed
    my limbs around myself.

    And waited, waited, waited.


  • comacluster 18w

    Twenty-second poem from my poetry collection 'The Brick Wall'.

    Warning: Things get really dark here. Proceed with caution. This poem talks about a suicide attempt in action.

    #pod #poem #poetry #poet #sad #triggerwarning #suicide #suicidemention #selfharm #harm #mirakee #mirakeeworld #readwriteunite #rwu #melancholy #depression #depressing #morbid

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    Seconds Of Insulin

    I am a mechanical doll
    going down a macabre path.
    Can you stop me?

    Frigid air blasts on
    my porcelain face; I
    smile my last smile.

    The floor is cold
    and so are the vials.
    Everything is freezing.

    The house is empty.
    Not an eye is looking in my hapless direction; I set the needle.

    I hear the voices telling me,
    "Nothing is wrong with you."
    Then why am I doing this?

    The white serum mocks me.
    "Can you do it?"
    I can almost hear it scream.

    You bastard, I think
    haphazardly and glare
    at the fine injection.

    Of course, I can do it.
    This is the last step
    to my after life.

    Grabbing the instrument,
    I close my hollow eyes
    and stab my other arm.

    The pain is almost sweet.
    The needle pierces; effortless
    in my rage and I push the trigger.

    My eyes break open
    as I feel the cool liquid
    gushing through my veins.

    But it isn't enough.
    Soon, soon, I must pull
    the contraption out.

    The empty vial is thrown
    with an aimless shrug.
    A new one fills its space.

    On and on. I go on.
    Vial after vial. Drops
    of insulin stunning me.

    Everything goes hazy.
    I think I am falling?
    Someone is moaning.

    The wreckage of my life
    gathers itself in one
    hideous stench, and it roars.

    And what a roar it is.
    I am a wriggling fish
    drowning in the cold sea.

    Down and down and down.
    Darkness reigns over me.
    Seconds of insulin tick away.

    I am the mechanical doll
    who went down a macabre path.
    None of you could stop me.


  • comacluster 18w

    Nights In A Hospital Ward

    The bag of canéles
    that you left me
    is now an empty mess.
    The gooey custard
    still lingers on my tongue
    and I remember you.
    I'm sorry.
    I'm so sorry. And it's
    so bitter. But I
    haven't got much time.
    The truth hurts.
    I remember how you
    slammed the door
    on the way out. Quite a scene
    wasn't it, dear friend?
    The night air flows inside
    the sterile ward.
    The air flows like you flow
    away each day. I haven't got
    much of a say on your
    comings and goings.
    You all float and I am stuck
    here. I'll die here.
    But I'll die with your face
    engraved in my mind.
    I'm sorry it has to end like this.


  • comacluster 18w


    I see the world in two colours
    And White

    The world is a keyboard
    Black for sorrow
    And White for joy

    The world is a chessboard
    Black is advancing
    And White is losing

    The world is monotone
    There's no grey
    No silly in-between

    "But remember!" a voice
    cries out of the
    hazy, viscous darkness

    "The black keys make
    music too, and
    the white side wins too."

    "Without Black, the rhythm
    would never set, and without
    White, the lone Black is wasted."

    Perhaps, I think
    It is a fine balance
    between the Yin and the Yang

    After all, there's a thin line
    between losing control
    in both happiness and sadness


  • comacluster 18w

    Nineteenth poem from my poetry collection 'The Brick Wall'.

    'La Campanella' stands for the Little Bell in French. It's a classical piece composed by Paganini for the Violin and adapted by Listz for the Piano

    #pod #poem #poetry #poet #sad #triggerwarning #selfharm #harm #mirakee #mirakeeworld #readwriteunite #rwu #melancholy #depression #depressing #morbid #pianist #piano #music #musician

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    Lopsided Frowns

    The snapshot is an year old.
    La Campanella flows in the distance
    as my wandering eyes catch hold
    of the lone image.
    The boy smiles silently
    in the corner of the
    four sided piece of paper.
    The smile isn't a smile.
    It looks like a frown to me.
    The way the lips are twisted
    in some internal agony -
    too heavy on the right.
    The snapshot is an year old.
    The bed I'm sitting on
    is nineteen times older.
    And I am a little bolder
    than the day before.
    So, I ask. I whisper,
    "Why are you always wearing
    this lopsided frown of yours?"
    La Campanella ceases to flow
    suddenly, and I am answered
    with the same, damned frown.
    He turns around in his bench
    to face my questioning stare
    with his awful glare.
    "Because this is how I survive,"
    he tells me.
    "Because this is how we get it on -
    a half-frown to answer for the emptiness within."
    He's right. Better wear
    that lopsided frown.
    For it would be a sin
    to shout it all out.
    He turns back to the piano
    and plays where he left off
    the tune and we continue
    with our lopsided frowns.


  • comacluster 18w

    Eighteenth poem from my poetry collection 'The Brick Wall'.

    This is the first poem not with the speaker, the girl mentioned here. She's the spectator this time. This time, the narrator is her best friend, a boy, who is grappling with severe depression. This boy undergoes routine electroshock and that is why he is cursing the electricity and the dark; electroconvulsive therapy is a procedure that's performed on an unconscious person.

    In this poem, the girl and the boy have an informal, short session with their therapist and they are asked to pay for this extra time by playing a tune each. The rest is as what you will read just now.

    #pod #poem #poetry #poet #sad #triggerwarning #selfharm #harm #mirakee #mirakeeworld #readwriteunite #rwu #melancholy #depression #depressing #morbid #music #pianist #piano

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    Pianist On The Warpath

    Emerging from the dark
    of the electric room
    I take in the bright lights.
    They hurt my eyes.


    I'm led to the chamber
    where I'm a prime member
    of the Depression Community.
    There is a vacant chair.

    Everything's hazy.

    I sit. I fall
    onto the empty seat
    and take my place
    like I'm never meant to leave.


    The doctor is talking.
    The girl beside me
    is saying something.
    I can only think of the dark.

    Stupid me.

    It goes on for 15 minutes -
    me not talking or smiling.
    Always, always mumbling after the dark of the electric room.

    I'm afraid.

    To distract myself
    I look around Room 302.
    Large, airy. Soundproof?
    I catch sight of a piano.


    I don't get what happens
    but the girl stands up
    and waltzes to the old piano.
    She is cat-like.


    For four minutes
    she plays some modern tune.
    She can do better, I suppose.
    She doesn't tap the pedals.


    Soon I'm told that to pay
    the good doctor, I must play.
    Oh, so that's why she
    had been clicking those notes.

    Can I?

    With wobbly feet
    I sit on the black bench.
    Something snaps in my mind.
    Suddenly, I have a boost.

    Pianos do that to me.

    Bony hands tear open
    the book full of music.
    "Open, open the difficultest!"
    the voices in my head scream.

    Okay, then.

    I know the girl is
    giving me strange looks
    but I can hardly care.
    I clench my fists.

    Damn you.

    Skinny fingers land on
    the ivory keyboard.
    And I'm running, running...
    Ruining the silence.

    This is good.

    Electricity can't kill me.
    I'll show the bitch
    what's it's like to mess
    with me — an insane man.

    Oh well, yeah.

    And my fingers are dancing.
    And my feet are kicking.
    I am free.
    For these moments, at least.

    I'm free...

    There's a stake in your fat, black heart.
    And I never liked you.
    I'm dancing and stamping on you.
    I always knew it was you —
    the hole in my patchwork soul.

    Depression, Depression you bastard, I'm through.


  • comacluster 18w

    Seventeenth poem from my poetry collection 'The Brick Wall'.

    This couplet runs in an arithmetic progression, cause maths rocks, people.

    #pod #poem #poetry #poet #sad #triggerwarning #selfharm #harm #mirakee #mirakeeworld #readwriteunite #rwu #melancholy #depression #depressing #morbid

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    Happiness -
    a feeling,
    an upward frown;
    the same old misery
    of curving a straight line
    into a wicked parabola till infinity


  • comacluster 18w


    Sip by sip, my soul
    was slowly outpoured
    And made devoid
    of things called emotions

    Joy; she left me first
    we had a whirlwind romance
    lasting thirteen years
    Then my brain kicked her out

    Sorrow; she was my shadow
    like an over friendly ex
    she embraced me sometimes
    leaving a hole in her descent

    Hatred; she helped me wake
    from Sorrow's ashes
    She told me it's me
    against the useless world

    I cried, I screamed
    I smiled, I laughed
    Until it was all the same
    I became a wicked hollow

    Life makes no sense
    Going on just seems
    A waste of resources
    My head is a black hole

    Across the wasteland
    of my empty soul
    Joy, Sorrow and Hatred
    lie dead and ashen

    Going on on Nothing
    I am a mechanical automation
    See how I dance in flow
    Along with the other puppets

    Sip by sip, my soul
    was slowly outpoured
    And made devoid
    of things called emotions


  • comacluster 18w

    Fifteenth poem from my poetry collection 'The Brick Wall'.

    I know, this poem is very abstract but it has a theme.

    It's about electroconvulsive therapy, or plain, old electroshock in short.

    #pod #poem #poetry #poet #sad #triggerwarning #selfharm #harm #mirakee #mirakeeworld #readwriteunite #rwu #melancholy #depression #depressing #morbid #ect #electroconvulsivetherapy #electroshock

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    The Electric Snare

    It came upon me like a vulture
    while I lay there - a sculpture.

    Something in my mouth rested.
    A dose of electrons was ingested

    by my poor, broken head
    and the array of dancing light spread.

    Spectators watched my hands shake.
    I wriggled like a dead snake.

    By the roots of my hair
    I fell into the electric snare.


  • comacluster 18w

    After The Fall

    Could you see the real me
    As I tried to break free?
    Could you see my spree
    As I ran; the escapee?

    This body isn't me
    I ran away
    With a quick sway

    Can you see me float
    As you linger upon what I wrote?
    It is a simple enough note
    I it penned over a bowl of oat

    The body lies on the floor
    I am floating in the air
    Stop looking there

    (Yes, I died.
    Get over the shock.)


  • comacluster 18w


    Sick of trying to live
    What's the use of a fib?
    I want to die
    And that isn't a lie

    Sick of trying to survive
    I just want to dive
    Into the black waters
    And leave all matters

    Sick of waiting
    I am tired of hating
    Every passed by moment
    Death is a perpetual component

    ("She's sick.")
    I am sick
    I'll make you sick
    You don't want to stick.

    Trust me.