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creativity-when-depressed-part-two


highanxiety

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Evidence.

 

What more shall I try to do to capture you?

I set traps, I made the right moves...

 

Alas, alone I remain.

 

Evidence that I've become irrelevant.

Evidence that time has eroded my foundation.

 

Who are you? When all you've become is only a product of manipulation.

 

Evidence.

 

Under the sheets you'll find the ripped out emotion and sympathy. Maybe my heart strings need to be tuned. 

I miss you.

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Sour 

 

I've never been that sweet. 

I guess you could say I'm quite sour. 

 

Drag a branch over my taste buds.

The damp wood will awaken my misery. 

 

The seasons change much too slowly. 

I wish one moment for blazing sun and the next dreary rain.

 

I've never been that sweet. 

One could say - I prefer to be sour. 

 

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  • 2 weeks later...

Empathetic atmosphere nuclear nomination,

Another year gone by tell me what have I been writing?

Delighting my Christopher Columbus suffocation cloud,

Loud child, wild miles, think piles, of flies in sacked biles,

I'm in the room again, resonating my writing requirements,

Benefits to my ghosts, charging you to read another line,

Reading into the digestion, like the worms inside your intestines,

Another atom dead, another syllable, I am not unwinding,

Just grinding out another tight transformation,

Television station destined static channel manipulation,

I can already hear my ghoulish voice disappear, in the years,

And yet, here I am with you still, even after the fall of me.

 

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On 3/25/2018 at 10:28 AM, Abandonedalways said:

Evidence.

 

What more shall I try to do to capture you?

I set traps, I made the right moves...

 

Alas, alone I remain.

 

Evidence that I've become irrelevant.

Evidence that time has eroded my foundation.

 

Who are you? When all you've become is only a product of manipulation.

 

Evidence.

 

Under the sheets you'll find the ripped out emotion and sympathy. Maybe my heart strings need to be tuned. 

I miss you.

Great to see you back Abandoned once again showing your heart felt feelings through your words.  Hopefully I can get inspired to write again.  Missing someone can be so hurtful, especially someone close, especially if the separation does not have closure or unanswered questions.  Hang in there.

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I don't write poetry, but today, one came out of me.

 

I dipped my toe into the still waters of your soul.
'Just right,' I think.
This must be right.
Slowly now -
My foot is submerged,
My knee,
Now my thigh.
The warm water rises to my hips as I sink lower.
Still right.
It's still right.
The water feels good on my aching body.
My navel and then ribs feel the lukewarm current,
Before my breasts succumb to the waters.
Slowly still.
Sinking slowly still.
My chest and neck experience the aqueous touch,
And my chin,
And lips.
The small wake from my submerging body grazes my earlobes.
There's not much of me left.
My nose touches the surface,
And the waters start to feel cool.
All I can see is the endless expanse of your ocean.
A cloud appears in the once clear and glowing sky.
Was that always there?
My eyes reach the surface.
Why can't I breathe?
There are more clouds on the horizon.
Dark.
It's about to rain.
Was it always like that?
I can't remember.
I can't see anymore.
Your ocean has taken my eyes,
Only inches left.
I'm getting cold.
Rain drips on what remains of me.
Just the top of my head now,
With my hair floating aimlessly in the waves of my sinking body.
The ends of my once golden locks have finally been pulled under.
I am submerged in you.
The water is frigid now,
And rolling,
And tumbling,
Under the weight of the storm above.
I can't see,
And I can't breathe.
Where is the surface?
Which way is up?
My tired bones no longer feel the warmth,
As your waters have turned to ice.
I'm shaking,
And I'm shivering.
I'm getting tired now.
Will the storm ever stop?
I need the warmth again,
And I need the sun.
Where do I go from here?
It's hard to move now.
My once lively body is freezing into a sculpture,
Frozen in time and place,
Like the masterpiece of a narcissistic artist,
Whose deception betrayed his model.
Unable to escape the icy depths of your warm and inviting ocean,
Lodged forever amongst the feelings,
And memories,
And moments,
Of what was.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Assisting me in my contentment, my system religion,

On all of it's sides contorts the suggestion, investment,

Of a dying worm that will become breakfast, squirmy surgeon,

It's the burden of the selfish pyramid, interested friend,

For another chance to relax, all the bad things to happen,

My appetite for romance is like landing on a hand grenade,

My penance made from a life that I never seemed to agree on,

A miracle of death, a promise of misery, persuade divination,

I applaud the plight, this powerful conflict, desperately.

I will probably always wonder, will I be aloud in His kingdom.

 

 

 

Edited by glfinding
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This heretic examination offers several occurring witnesses,

Much like how Bethlehem burns today, I am not satisfied,

Dreary, I know, but I will plead to you my plausible deniability,

See, I am a nightmare, I confess my most important object,

That what I put into words becomes boredom to the world,

So the poison I reap only affects my introversion, isolate,

And maybe by the time I reach the psych ward again,

They will have my juice box ready, with a handful of antipsychotics,

Good night poem, good night screams in the night,

Who knows, maybe tomorrow will turn out alright.

 

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Drink Up, B*itch

Guilt trip
Guilt trip
Your age old cocktail
that you sip

And spit in my face
The words of hate
I know I'm your hell
As you wait at its gate

And you kick it down
My white picket fence
No chance for me
I was so dense

To believe that I was
Someone that you loved
But I am you believe
Someone you are above

Yes I am so small
We know only in mind
My body's a story
That I'll leave behind

As I prepare for my punishment
You'd prefer to give
And I know that it harms me
But I don't deserve to live

The life you have given
Including your control
That takes hold of me
And k*lls my soul

That no longer soars
But then there's something
That *I* can control
And then I can sing

A song so deceiving
A mask that I wear
As I whither away
And you won't really care

But you soon will grieve
Once I leave
In my skeleton corpse
I know it is warped

That road that you take
Hypocrite boulevard
Don't you worry now
I'll let down my guard

As your cocktail I'll sip
I'll choke on my dreams
As you continue your crap
Guilt trip
Guilt trip







 

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Half buried and forgotten, a disk of metal with the corroded profile of a sad man.  Even when passersby notice, he is left resting in the refuse of the world.  Such an insignificant thing that is not worth the effort to pick up.

In times past his kind were pure, gleaming copper- Valued.  Now his core is tainted with cheap zinc alloy.  His copper sheath a mere façade, he is a dim reflection of his sires.

They had real worth but he is relegated to the ‘take a penny, leave a penny’ tray.  A coin of nuisance who only exists to sate the whim of the tax man.  Nestled with other coins of value he waited his turn to shine despite the patina that dulled his surface to a flat reddish brown.

One day, his chance came.  Drug out of a pocket with wrinkled bills and shining silver coins, he fell victim to gravity and apathy.  An awkward moment when the fist is withdrawn and a few coins slip from the hand.  A shower of metal rings and bounces across the sidewalk.  With a curse, the hands owner grabs quarters, dimes, and nickels.  Coins of value.  The old penny rolled a bit further off the sidewalk into the dirt unseen, unlamented.

Left behind.

The seasons came and went.  Salt to melt winters ice attacked him.  Grit blasted him as mowers passed overhead.  His base metal no match for the elements he faded.

None saw, none cared.

 

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On 6.4.2018 at 4:19 PM, KidSurvivor2011 said:

"When the hope in my head is dead,

is when I know I've reached the end."

 

- KS

Anyone else thinking about hope?:)

....

Tell me, do you have hope?

Not really.

Do you know how to cope?

Nope.

Hope is like the skies, I guess
Blue with white cotton balls
Unceasingly existing
Constantly moving

(Though at night, I'm wondering)
Are you still here?

(Pink cotton balls are a signal of hope of great intensity)

Edited by Mikayla
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On 4/24/2018 at 3:50 AM, glfinding said:

Wow i really love that. I really do enjoy painters. I wish i could paint. 

Thanks! All I've felt like doing recently is painting, which, bizarrely, I haven't done in many years before this. No clue how the mind works sometimes.

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I am a master of my design,

A son of the sun exploding,

Well recieved is the image,

Of our desolate life eroding,

Suffering in our simple solace,

Surrendering my single year,

Meaning inside the molecules,

Miracle dust atmosphere,

Shedding my skin, from ash,

An exoskeleton of rebirth,

Eternity is for suckers,

Wasting your dream on Earth,

Your hole in the wall,

Is my sinister system,

Your fallen grace,

Citizen of your momentum,

And now there is nothing,

After all I have electrocuted,

My manipulation of electrons,

Personality wars executed,

The death of my poem,

Cycling my worldly words,

I face it's constitution,

Hurt me plenty.

 

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On 5/9/2018 at 1:25 PM, velvetpuddles said:

Thanks! All I've felt like doing recently is painting, which, bizarrely, I haven't done in many years before this. No clue how the mind works sometimes.

Ya I also find it strange too. Almost like a wave you have ride. Ive been telling my friends who paint to sell thier stuff on etsy. i have actually bought a couple off there. if you cant tell yet, i really like abstract art.

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Enough

You haven't noticed. Have You? It's just as well. Because then you can't stop me. Or I should say you won't stop me.

Progress is bliss.

There are a lot of Cans in this scenario. You choose the blind eye. Ok. I'll show you. You'll see without vision.

And then you will know.

You'll know how much I suffer. How much of it is rooted from you. How much this will hurt. Damn yes it's going to hurt.

The one thing you won't understand is why...you want to know why?

I can't control you, obviously. I can't control how you feel. I can't control how you react to me.  What I can control is what goes in my mouth. So before you continue to force feed me with your bulls*** and shove your spiteful guilt paté down my throat...just don't bother.

It wont stay down. I've had enough. And I will BE enough on my own FOR my own.

I'm cleaning house now. So go ahead and don't see. I'll wither to nothing.

And then I'll be free.

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  • 2 weeks later...

As the Earth rotates,

and sheds it's seasons,

I can feel the force,

pulling me into the sun,

 

The light yet begun,

many more lives, than me,

spreads across the sky,

revenge against it's time,

 

Now for us to fall short,

priding the damaged,

a land vicious and savage,

psychiatric bad manners,

 

A vertical loop, repeating,

probably on my way to Hell,

if I could only tell, the decay,

wait for me, and I will give you my soul,

 

Beholden to grand judgement,

my sin flies away, but not today,

remain to stay to the fellowship,

the connection of nerve signals,

 

The dark matter's meaninglessness,

avoiding the magnetic field,

shining this month of may,

may it all just hurry and fade away.

 

 

 

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I am not like the sun

I was not made to shine

Do not depend on me

I have limited time

I am not like the moon

In the darkness I live

Do not ask me for light

I have nothing to give

I am not like the sun

I am cold in your hand

Do not ask me for heat

I have none to command

I am not like a star

I'm no heavenly view

Do not ask me to stay

I have nothing for you

I am not like the sun

I am fading to black

And when I disappear

I am not coming back

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