Writing Prompt

… … … … I did it again Please don’t be mad It’s just small scrapes Little wounds I promise I’m fine Don’t worry I wouldn’t do it again I’ll make you proud Till the next time I’ll say I did it again

she can’t breathe. the walls are closing in on her, the space growing tighter, and tighter and tighter. tick tock. tick tock. she looks up, the subtle sound of clockworks momentarily drawing her attention away from her entrapment. the clock reads: 0.54AM. she looks away, her eyes fixing on the door. she tries the handle: push, it refuses; pull, it refuses. push again, pull again, again, and again, and again. she’s trapped, between these four white walls, which inch closer and closer by the second. her head starts to spin. her pulse is racing… or maybe it’s slowing, or maybe it’s not beating at all? is she dead? she doesn’t want to go yet. she cant. not like this. she holds her hands out in front of her, palms open and facing upwards. one, two, three, four, five. breathe. six, seven, eight, nine, ten. ten fingers. tick tock. tick tock. how long has she been here, pleading to be let out? hours? days? weeks? months? she looks up at the clock. it reads: 0.54AM. that can’t be right. time can’t just stop. she keeps her gaze trained on the clock: the minute hand seems to bounce in one place. it is broken. it doesn’t change number, yet it keeps ticking, and ticking, and ticking. each tick a mocking reminder that she’s stuck here, wherever “here” is. a cage? a box locked away? a memory she can’t seem to escape from? a suitcase filled with old keepsakes that no longer serve use, waiting to be disposed of? she tries to scream, but no sound escapes, her voice stuck in her throat. she bangs on the walls; she bangs on the door. please, someone hear her. someone bring her back. she can’t breathe. tick tock. tick tock.

on the other side, i listen to her struggle, each bang on the door a knife twisting through my heart. twirl the key between my fingers, block her out, stop wishing to set her free. i’ve fallen too deep, and she’s starting to slip. i don’t have the strength to bandage another wound. my hands are shaking too much to glue together your broken pieces. forgive me, little one. maybe one day you’ll understand i kept you locked away in a cage to save you from man.

The sewage-brown bottles sat on the coffee table and floor, Some lying sideways, dripping a golden yellow substance, some standing upright, Surrounding him in a taunting way, Reminding him of who he’s become again.

His body has slumped on the worn, stained couch too many times, Intoxicated, impaired as the tv quietly plays, Barely able to understand what’s going on, As he’s on the brink of losing consciousness.

He knew his self-defeating tendencies are appalling, But there’s never help available for him, So, he waited, barely getting through his disappointing life, Desperate to muffle the pain he’s felt for years.

However, today is a special day, The day he comes home, Exaushted, yet proud of himself for getting help, Winning the harsh war against his addiction.

He walked inside his tiny home, Cleaning up the clutter of glass he left behind, Though it was difficult, As the bottles were giving him old, unsavory thoughts from before.

His mind recollected the dreadful memories against his will, The suffering the cruel world forced on him, The loneliness, the pain, the loss of hope, He couldn’t forget any of it; it was overwhelming him.

So, to calm his depressive thoughts, he walked into the kitchen, Hungry for a snack though most of his food was expired, But when he opened the fridge door, it was like a sick joke, As two, six-pack beer bottles were right there, staring at him…

The sewage-brown bottles sat on the coffee table and floor, Some lying sideways, dripping a golden yellow substance, some standing upright, Surrounding him in a taunting way, Reminding him of who he’s become again.

Darkness was once light Day was once night Dim was once bright

Life was once death the opposite one in the same Death was once life too

Enemies were once friends Strangers were once lovers You were once my everything

Adults were once kids Memories were once alive Love was once easy

Time falls too fast Moves quickening in a sickening manner

Once was once was once Everything is a never ending circle That we don’t realize we are trapped inside

“Hey, can we talk?”

I could save myself with those four words. Maybe, if I’m not too far gone already. I’m lonely to the point of pain, Bored out of my mind.

I just want to talk to somebody, anybody. I want to talk about something, anything. I don’t care who it is, I don’t care what we say. I just need to hear someone’s voice, Or even the three dots that mean somebody’s bothered to notice I exist.

I could ask you how you’re doing, Could ask about your break. Or what you think of the fact we’ve gotten a yet another snow day. Or how you did on that science test. Or what book your reading, if you even like reading. Or how you cope when you feel depressed. I could ask you what your favorite class is, Could ask what you want to be when you grow up. Or what your favorite hobby is. Or if you’re scared for the future. Or if you’ve gotten your score back on that math quiz. Or if you ever think about dying.

I could ask about anything, Just to hear you talk. I don’t even care if you ask about me, I don’t need to talk about myself, no. I just need to know you’re there, That you want to spend some of your precious time interacting with me.

And… well, if we talked enough… If you really wanted me to, I guess maybe I could talk about me. I could tell you that I’ve got this new book series I love. I could say the ads on Amazon music are driving me insane, I just want to chill to my depressing music in peace. I could tell you that I’m really worried about that math quiz. Maybe I could say I’m nervous about it because I consider my math grade to be my entire worth to this world. If we talked enough, and you actually wanted me to tell you, I could admit I’m scared for the future and that sometimes I kinda wanna die.

Or I could just tell you I’m bored, and that I want someone to talk to. Maybe not even that much, nothing that personal. I could simply complain about the weather. You could just tell me how your day has been. I don’t need to say a single word, You can do all the talking. I just want you to talk to me.

But I never reach out. I tell myself I’m lonely, Tell myself I want someone to talk to me, Tell myself I want to open up. And I really am lonely, But in a lot of ways that’s my own fault. I’m terrified that if I speak a single word, You’ll see all my pain and be hurt by it. I don’t want to hurt you. Not like I’ve already hurt everyone else. But… surely it can’t be that bad if I don’t really talk? Surely we’ll both win if I’m only listening to you talk?

“You” being somebody, anybody. We can talk about something, anything. It’s possible that I could save myself with these four words, But I think I’m too far gone already.

“Hey, can we talk?”

TW mental health (Im okay)

I just woke up and I’m feeling numb,

To my own thoughts I wont succumb.

My mind it races all the time,

The reason why? That I cant define.

I need to distract myself and fast,

Play some music and make it last.

Because things cant always feel like this,

But thats a thought I just dismiss…

Perhaps I need some time apart,

Self Isolation. Thats a start.

Because being alone seems effortless,

When compared to facing this emptyness,

That sinks into my chest.

Im always complaining, it’s mentally draining

A growing weakness I detest.

It’s easier to pretend Im okay,

Than to break and beg for you to stay.

Its easier to pretend Im strong,

Because I cannot explain whats wrong,

I cant bare this feeling, I dont belong…

I wear self sabotage like camouflage,

To protect me from unseen threats.

From my job to all my relationships,

I am left with many regrets.

But perhaps theres still a chance for me,

If I could just set my mind free.

Maybe call and talk to a friend,

Remind myself this darkness ends.

But instead I will just go to bed,

Because some things are best left unsaid…

the game has gone to overtime again.

the game has got our teeth aching, white-knuckled grip on nothing the game has us praying for a last-minute buzzer beater, a final act of god the game has the next shift hurting, yet we still believe ourselves to be divine the game has us all thinking it’s gonna be me i just know i’ll make sure of it

the game has gone to overtime again.

the game has that little black void searching for a white nylon lining the game has a heartbeat, something that thrums in each tape-to-tape pass the game has a life cycle, metamorphosed in three stages, four if we’re unlucky the game has always asked us the question in each and every thing

the game has gone to overtime again.

the game has all the time and space in the world but it is clearly not enough the game has us shivering, from cold or adrenaline we don’t care to know the game has us wishing it would just end so we can go home and cry the game has always been forever, something that asks do you desire this once more?

the game has gone to overtime again.

the game has us turning away from cameras, the men on the screen are not us the game has our friends wondering what happened, why we are the way we are the game has them remembering the fault of those who came before us the game has us wishing to play once more and innumerable times more

the game has gone to overtime again.

I build my pyre with weary hands,
A reckless dance on crumbling sands,
To watch my world in flames unfold,
Burning bright, then turning cold.

The embers spark, they rise, they scream,
Cons

His eyes showed no emotions, not even an ounce of devotion. He carried a lot of baggage, Due to the fact he felt average.

His time was near and dear, But only him and god could understand that type of fear.

His eyes you couldn’t read, due to them being overshadowed by the unforeseen deeds.

His eyes showed no emotions, not even when he took the potion. because he was now gone, not able to speak those true emotions.

-I did it again I gave in I made a mess on my skin Then wrote a poem about it

I thought that I was better I really, really did But I crack under pressure So I’ll atone for my sins

I won’t eat today And I won’t eat tomorrow But I’ll smile anyway And cover up my sorrow

I’m stoic that way And really, it makes sense I don’t deserve to eat After doing that nonsense

I’m useless I’m worthless I’m a stupid piece of trash I don’t deserve any good thing That I could ever ask

I know I shouldn’t do it But then again, I should I deserve every ounce of pain so-