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Literature Text
Shh.
Don't tell.
Shut up.
Sit there.
And don't
Say
Anything.
"Are you okay?"
No.
"I'm fine."
Turn off the light.
On again.
Off.
"What are you doing?"
Breaking.
Dying.
"Nothing."
Stare.
You can't fight the shadows.
They'll kill you if you tell.
Shut up.
Scream.
Rip your hair out.
Cover your eyes.
Uncover them.
Cover them again.
Lock the door.
But look
Now you're trapped.
Unlock it.
Lock it again.
"What's wrong?"
Everything.
"Nothing."
Don't take the medication.
It's poison.
Don't drink the water.
Don't eat your dinner.
Don't sleep.
You
Won't
Survive.
"I don't know you anymore. Who have you become?"
I am a nobody.
I am Schizophrenia.
I am death
Sorrow
Torture.
"... I don't know."
Don't tell.
Shut up.
Sit there.
And don't
Say
Anything.
"Are you okay?"
No.
"I'm fine."
Turn off the light.
On again.
Off.
"What are you doing?"
Breaking.
Dying.
"Nothing."
Stare.
You can't fight the shadows.
They'll kill you if you tell.
Shut up.
Scream.
Rip your hair out.
Cover your eyes.
Uncover them.
Cover them again.
Lock the door.
But look
Now you're trapped.
Unlock it.
Lock it again.
"What's wrong?"
Everything.
"Nothing."
Don't take the medication.
It's poison.
Don't drink the water.
Don't eat your dinner.
Don't sleep.
You
Won't
Survive.
"I don't know you anymore. Who have you become?"
I am a nobody.
I am Schizophrenia.
I am death
Sorrow
Torture.
"... I don't know."
Literature
R.I.P Words
Do you know what it feels like?
To feel something, but...
be unable to express what it is;
to be silent;
to fight it alone.
I know how much it hurts,
but I don't know how to show it.
Poetry used to be my refuge,
a place where I could be alone -
express all my emotions,
without being judged.
I'm losing it.
I can't connect to poetry.
Everything sounds so stupid...
Everything I write sounds stupid.
I have to erase all my feelings,
because they don't sound right.
The words aren't real.
They don't show what I feel
And maybe this will be the last.
Maybe I'm gone:
lost of all emotions.
I'm truly alone...
I used to have poetry.
Now I have not
Literature
Therapists, I don't like their taste.
i.
in 7th grade
i didn’t know depression
until she told me her name,
carving forever scratches
along my limbs like
little love notes on the bark
of a tree.
she stole my rings
and left me hollow.
ii.
i had only ever met anxiety
in passing, until one day
he handed me power and told me
to hurt someone else with it.
iii.
inexperienced,
with an uncontrollable
quivering in my fingers,
he whispered, “ to survive,
you must learn quickly.”
as i shoved the bevel of a needle
into a strangers arm.
iv.
so, if a therapist
could talk away my scars
like iodine disinfects,
guide the ships
through
Literature
Wonder.
Do you fear your own death?
Is it hard to conceive?
Draw in your last breath, then-
Your last breath will leave.
Isn't it strange to think,
That there's a timer above your head?
A countdown you can't see,
That finishes when you're dead.
Don't you ever wonder,
What it'll be like when you're gone?
I bet the world will keep on spinning.
There will be another dawn.
But the harsh reality behind it-
We're all going to die.
There's no reason to try to fight it
Not even to question why.
It makes me wish that I could have a little more to give,
Because I'm not afraid of how I'll die...
I'm afraid of how I'll
Live...
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© 2013 - 2024 MikkiMarie
Comments77
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I like the consistently short lines.its quite a short lived but hard hitting point that invokes sorrow and near fear. i also like the fact you say you are schizophrenia , not schizophrenic - it adds a nice touch of it being more than a label. Well done