#original poems

[nixscriptum]

[elisabethel]

section of my poem titled "seesaw"

please do not repost without credit

[arseholism]

You are prone to disappearing

And I’m prone to letting go

You take your chance to run away

And I hold open the door

You’re apparently complicated

And I’m just a simple man

You ask me if you can leave me broken

Yes, of course you can

You are victim to your anxieties

You lack impulse control

I am the calm before your storm

A toy to soothe your tormented soul

You’re apparently just damaged

And I’m healed and I am fine

You ask me if you can run away from me

Yes, of course, you do it all the time

You are a slave to your obsessions

You live inside your own brain

I am helplessly in love with you

And with your love comes a world of pain

But apparently you love me too

And that’s why you always return

Then set fire to my weary heart

And watch me squirm, watch me burn

You are the madness to my sanity

I am the tether that holds you in place

You rebel against your own vanity

And I will love you till the end of days

We will play this game of hide and seek

I’ll watch you come back time after time

Because you can try to find love anywhere

You know you’ll never find a love like mine.

[12604]

maybe im a liar by default and maybe god loves violence.

maybe her tummy turns when she looks at photos of me and maybe my mother forgave me a long time ago.

maybe he thinks of me when he sees a flash of red or smells coffee. maybe my father found peace.

maybe the scars on my body will fade into something that looks more like age than affliction.

and maybe I’ll sit with the discomfort of attraction long enough to understand it’s not black and white.

maybe I’ll stop picking apart every emotion and thought I have and learn to live with the uptick in my heart beat and the sweat on my palms and maybe one day the truth will fall out of my mouth like rotted teeth.

december 31st (10pm), hands around my throat, knees pinning my thighs and death standing in the corner.

january 1st (6am), lying on my side tracing the vomit splatters on the walls with my eyes and feel a burn in my bones so deep I can’t see straight. I can’t swallow.

I mess up the dates and the times of my death all of the time. what I meant to say was,

july 15th (2pm), lemonade in hand, a twang in my arm. eyes fluttering. natural, happy.

or perhaps,

october 9th (12pm), boiling soup on the stove, coffee on, my mom said she was sorry about a half hour ago. my head throbs and the soup boils over.

no, maybe i died back in december when his anger exploded onto the walls around us like congealed grease on the countertop. head smashing into the towel rack, only saved by my weak stomach and affinity for bad timing.

or maybe im holding out for that october apology.

[seeingthrume]

my desire tonight

is for you

to kiss me

until i forget my name

[diaryofsheets]

[lilrabbitsechoes66]

Contradiction

The impossible thing about me

is that I am made entirely of opposites.

I want to be understood

without being exposed.

I crave intimacy

while fearing dependence.

I love deeply,

yet spend half my life

planning emotional escape routes.

Somewhere along the way,

survival taught me

that vulnerability and danger

often arrive wearing the same face.

So now I stand at the edge of connection,

wanting desperately to jump

and desperately to run.

And maybe that's the real tragedy.

Not that I've been hurt.

But that I've become a battlefield

where tenderness and self-preservation

fight for territory every day.

-𝕃ℝ 🖤