My Generalized Anxiety and a bunch of short separate poems about me not having pleasant days.
My Generalized Anxiety and a bunch of short separate poems about me not having pleasant days. mentalhealth stories
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badwriting
badwriting Community member
Autoplay OFF   •   a month ago
Anxiety The word slips from my lips like a snake from a crack, oily and slippery, ready to attack. Oh Ik I said psychopath, and I'm only using that term because I've been told, "You're not good at feelings" I'm not saying psychopaths are mentally fucked, they're not. ...ok I think I'm going over bored with being worried I might offend people.

My Generalized Anxiety and a bunch of short separate poems about me not having pleasant days.

"Anxiety..."

The word slips from my lips like a snake from a crack, oily and slippery, ready to attack. Springing up from nowhere widening my eyes, gasping for breath, gripping at my thighs. (I HATE SNAKES THIS PICTURES DISTURBS ME EW) (One poem)

"Generalized Anxiety" is what the doctor said. I can't get my shaking breath and quaking limbs out of my head. (Second poem)

Broken shattered cracked a mess a mentally fucked psychopath at best (Poem 3)

A polar plunge in a pacific sea

I'm begging you brain, shut up give me peace

You've wrapped me in white, a straight-jacket of snow

Numbing my feelings and making me cold (Poem 4)

Snip, snip, snippity snap

The sound that paper skin makes

Relieving some, granting feeling to others

As we lie in a numb wake, watching

ever-growing numbers (poem...6 I think?)

Cracking my bones, palms covered in sweat, heat flashes like thunder, I can't take a breath. (7)

I stood in silence, watching the clock.

Then hung the cord

And tied the knot.

'My skin is thin like paper. So fragile, so easy to cut. And the ink that rises from the slits smells as sweet as the sensation was.' (This was a tough one to re-read, hope ya'll are having a good day.)

My skin, like their's, is thin like paper, each insult burning in. But even throwing away my lunches doesn't fix the uneasy spin. (Poem 8)

"So sad was I on April day, that I decided to wash away." -Moonstone (Poem nine)

Silence.

Silence. We granted it.

Silence. We granted it. Pain?

Silence. We granted it. Pain? We handled it.

Silence. We granted it. Pain? We handled it. Flowers of poison?

Silence. We granted it. Pain? We handled it. Flowers of poison? So many we grew.

Death till we part?

That's rather old news.

CUTTING IS NOT THE ONLY FORM OF SELF HARM PEOPLE, AND SELF HARM DOESN'T AUTOMATICALLY MEAN SUICIDE, BUT PLEASE. GET. HELP! Please... talk to someone. Don't pull an Pluma, please.

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