Shattered Heart

We thought it was LOVE

When we busted the facade

I learn it was lusted affair

I only wanted to win your affection

Yet you pin me as imperfection

I rush the the threshold, pausing at the gate

Heart rate pounding, your hate rising

This angry tide consuming, pushing me further

I want off this insane ride of yours


Our luck is fucked

I look down at my phone, silent now

The shattered screen, like my busted heart

All bucked up, cracked

You did a number on me

Your mean love made my spirit lean


Cleaning you out of me

Rattle my beans

As I battle the poison

You breed in me

The greed of your kisses

I piss myself when you hit me

Now I hiss your name in vain

I wouldn't play your game

So now I drop my cape

Tape my busted heart


Heal best as I can

Peel off the exhaustion

I cannot rest

My chest constricting

Anxiety at head lights behind me

I asked for kindness, not blindness

Rightfully, that would be love


What was our marriage

What was our dream

I scream at the greyness

Smashing the madness

The badness, ripping your hooks out

Now I look at my cracked screen

Reminding myself what is left of my heart

The Mess You Left Behind


Unsure how to process,

I am living on the edge of forgotteness,

While today, taking out the trash,

Nearly gave me whiplash,

To the past I found myself agazed,

Upon the rough, unforgettable haze,

Containing the choices you have made,

And how I just try my best to wade,

Through the pain,

That left a permanent stain,

And through the disappointment,

That took my enjoyment,

The person that lived in that room,

The one that lacked a broom,

That person was not you,

At least not the one I ever knew,

Having kept that aspect of you separate from my mind,

It was easier to have your role clearly be defined,

But now there's another person that's been along for the ride,

And it takes strength to learn to coincide.

View mittens4444's Full Portfolio

Buzzcut Boy


It's not you,

It's not me,

It's not him

It's the world that has been

sucking us back in

to the dark void it's yet to fill

devouring our rainbows and

any shade and trace of light

and everything we hold dear


It's not you

It's not me

It might be

the words of a madman that

have devoured me piece by piece

ever since

until I suffocate and dissolve

into the nothingness I feel

at 3 a.m.


And I'm sorry if you knew this only now.


It's not you

It's not him

It's the constant fear

that has built a home

out of the shanties of my heart

Pulling the strings,

the triggers

on its whim


And I'm sorry but it's already won the war, I believe


It's not you

It's not me

It's not him

It's the inevitability I cannot escape

And so in silence, I shall

roam this world and carry

the memories of us,

your buzzcut and my smile,

and the glow I basked on with

in that April afternoon.


Forget about me.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem about how depression affects love.




She got enough sleep last night.
Curling under the covers by half past nine.
Waking an hour after sun rise.
She wasn’t woken up in the gloom.
No baby brother rose her at dusk
no young adult sister stumbled in at half five with her keys in her hand, knocking hard at the door
slurring her words because ‘she forgot the time’
She’s out the door by twenty to nine.
It’s a two minute walk from her street to the gate
past the garden gnomes knocked over by the wind
past next door’s cat who shit on the bins.
Her late departure agitates her even though she’s never late
as she breezes past the students milling out the front
sneaking a cigarette to spark fire in their lungs
setting themselves alight to hope the smoke brings fun.
Her limbs are heavy
but it’s not from exhaustion
because her eyelids aren’t heavy they’re pinned open wide
breathing slow and difficult, pacing like the tide
as it crashes down on the beach and ravages the sand
as the wind picks up her hair and blows it in her face.
First lesson is something that’s the same
the same old lesson for the same old day
where the voices drill into her head like machines
brain clicks and whirrs, a little out of time with the rest
as they whine
about the homework they’ve just been set.
It’s a quick familiar routine
break is in the library
lunch is in toilet
bent over a sink
splashing her face in order to erase
the sleepiness that’s settled even though
she got enough sleep.
She’s got wild eyes that spark and fury
but the spark’s put out like a match dropped in the rain
when the droplets hiss on the smoldering wood
and crumble it into black ash on the pavement.
She’s cigarette smoke
pale grey
the color of the sky in the early morning
when you can taste rain in the air
and feel the cold in your bones
when the damp sticks to your hand, your hair
she’s blown away into the wind and then she’s not there.
Because she hates to admit she’s lost in the world
not just in the maze of the building
when her skin and her surroundings aren’t quite so clear
she has to have blind trust in people
and a blind trust in the solidness of the walls
that she slumps against when her knees give way
not from exhaustion though because she’s
not tired
she’s just cold, and a little sick, bent over the toilet seat
not going to vomit because she’s not ill
just breathing shallowly as her pulse pounds
keeping her head together until she jumps and bumps her knees on the toilet seat
when the bell rings and lunch is over and it’s time to face them again
and by them she means anyone with eyes
the eyes that can see her with sympathy and swim with pity
she doesn’t need
because she’s
just tired
she’s not tired
because she got enough sleep last night
Curling under the covers by half past nine.
Waking an hour after sun rise.
There must be more than this’
is the thought that ripples through her mind
a disappointed stone sinking in a stagnant pond
as she stares at herself in the mirror
practicing her smile
mouthing the words
I’m just tired.’


Author's Notes/Comments: 

This one is a bit more relatable :(

View persephonelikescats's Full Portfolio

Solitary night

Solitary night
tears of dissatisfaction
choking on memories
a torrent as the dark presses in
Searching, seeking
the long-awaited slumber
of each miserable, useless regret of yesterday
Yet, afraid to face the uncertainty of tomorrow



Daniel Bravo

Bernardo Herrera

You are walking through the hallway, but it seems to get bigger with every step you take.

You look down to the floor, thinking maybe that will make it easier. But it doesn’t. So you start walking faster. A weird feeling starts to invade your mind, and all of the sudden it starts to invade your body. First, your hands get sweaty, your heart starts racing and your legs get heavier.

You hear a girl asking if you are alright. You look up and realize she is as beautiful as her voice. You want to look casual, like those people on the movies. But you only end up emitting unrecognizable sounds that make you feel even worse. She leaves, and you keep thinking about how you always scare them away.

The thoughts start to flood your mind with such force you lose grip of reality. You can only think about the exams getting closer, everything you have to study and every homework you have to do. And now you are worried about scaring other girls away. Great. Because even when you are weird, you want to be loved. Then you tell yourself you are not weird, just a little broken.

You finally get to the classroom, everyone is already sitting and the class is about to start. You look at the clock and realize those five minutes felt like an hour.

You sit down, not at the front, but just close enough to the entrance to get out as quickly as possible. The teacher asks you something you barely hear. He repeats the question but your mind is elsewhere and math is the last thing you are thinking about. He tells you to go wash you face. You really wonder how washing your face will put out the raging inferno going on your mind. But you just get up and get to the restroom as instructed.

You wash your face because you don’t have anything to lose, you know it doesn’t work, but you do it anyway. Even when the water is cold, you feel like you are burning up. You realize the door is moving, some is about to come in, you think about the guys that flushed your face down the toilet the last time. They’re not, it’s just one guy, your typical average Joe, so calm and steady. He looks at you and reaches out to you just asking if you are OK. You storm out without a word, you would have loved his help, but you know he could do nothing, nobody knows what it’s like to be afraid of your own mind.


Now it’s 6 o’clock in the afternoon, almost everybody has left school, but you stay there, your back to the wall, eyes on the ground, because it doesn’t matter to you being here or being home or being anywhere, there’s no shelter, there’s no home, there’s nowhere to run if the problem is on your mind, you believe that since that day you heard it on TV.

View bernardoherrera's Full Portfolio

The Off Grid Life

the off-grid life.

untied from the shackles of strife,

2017, the modern existence,

getting on the property ladder, how does anyone have a chance?
20, 25 or 30, forced to work to pay every bill,

going to work all hours, struggling to find a way, a life against our will,

needing the money from any form of work, mostly unprogressive, unhappy 
life passing by, frustrating, anger, decreasing self-worth, causing individuals to be snappy

unfulfilled, potentials are not met, working a job all day, unable to progress,

money is the key factor, for bills to be met, let me digress.

often they still aren't causing pain and suffering, stress and depression,

homelessness is rife through the country, a feeling of regression,

a feeling of being stuck, how to retrain and improve your careers?
speak to friends or family and the same conversation, doubts, and fears
if only another option was available,

one that was accepted and not just for the vulnerable,

the homeless, the people with nothing,

but how is this existence different? it is truly crushing,

once you can see that your life is consumed with working for money,

the soul has passed, your energy too, it can get so hard it's not even funny,

but who understands? in the face of consumerism, higher purchase, loans, and debt,

who is living a life, truly satisfied, and their dreams are met?

Not all people living off-grid are rich in cash!
but they aim for other needs; security in food & energy, it's worth a bash,


a growing transition for many people too,

it's not just for the hippies, the spiritual, it's for people like me and you,

think about it for a moment or two...

who would you be without your car, house and your possessions?
is that person you portray the real you? or do you blend in so people don't ask questions?
are you honest with your family and friends?

or do you sit behind a desk wishing it would end?
there is a wealth of knowledge of old traditions,

from a time when they lived without these conditions,

the conditions of social media, advertising, marketing ads or vlogs

when screen time didn't consume every waking hour, and children were fascinated with tadpoles transforming into frogs.

hours spent outside, climbing trees, playing at the park,

not allowed home unless it was tea time or had gotten dark.


a shift is happening, ecotherapy, wild schooling, bushcraft, and hikes,

forest schooling, homeschooling, people walking and out on their bikes,

scientists are noticing the effects on children's behaviors, reduced health issues,

ADHD,  also a boost in self-awareness, positivity, confidence and mental health issues

is it easier to sit a child down to hours in front of the tv, or ipad?

than it is to spend a few hours playing down the park with dad?

or baking a cake with mum, the importance of these skills are being misplaced,

in this consumerism world, with employees a number, in a life so fast-paced.


Off-grid living, the communities hidden away,

all they want is a parcel of land to look after their needs, but hey,

that's not possible, 'cause where will the local council get their tax,

with the community, living off the land, growing food and chopping wood with an axe,

the need and usage of government-owned services would become minute,

living simply and within your skills of the land, renewables used, an abundance of fruit,

food preserved in many forms, jams and chutneys, frozen meat,

enough food to last year-round to survive through winter, or in the heat,

the food produced off the land, tending the garden, and grown for nutrition,

the most important for life and health also said to aid in remission.

off grid homesteaders, don't need to take the flack,

with health as the focus, working outdoors to provide, lowering the need for prozac,
comments from shallow minded people need not be said,

the power of community, working together, I want to spread,

to include children in the transition, of conserving nature and our wildlife,


the tranquil setting amongst the seasons, watching the stars, that's my type of nightlife.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is my first time sharing my poetry, (after a few friends encouraged me that I should) please be kind and send your thoughts.

Also all words are opinions of myself in the modern world that we live in. 

This is not meant to cause offense, harm, upset to anyone, and if it does please understand that is not my intention.


Many thanks,

The Lobby

I'm stuck writing in this lobby

Here to distract myself from stepping out

As if things in life will approach me

While I'm just blending in

Positioned to be perfectly spotted

Yet appearing unaware

Perhaps this is why the world

Continues to grow distant


This is supposed to be my attempt

At keeping off the phone


The Phone


That filthy whore-

Demanding my attention endlessly

She wraps her gentle white glow

Around my primal brain

Red heels and waxed legs

Disguised as a stream of information

An endless flow

Rages rivers of dopamine

I chase endlessly the carrot she holds before me

And when my body taps out

I am left sunken and numb

The river dries

Until the next late night




Forward We March

Forward We March

By jfarrell


My third day of work was Wembley,

I don’t know how many were there;

Being part of a crowd of several thousand,

It may be normal for some;

I get nervous with just one other person present.


Like the Roman Legion of old,

We marched several paces forward; then stopped.

Several paces forward, then wait for several minutes;

Then forward we march…


The building to our right,

I don’t know if it was flats or hotel;

People looking out of windows,

To watch an army of fans march.


And the one wierdo, naked,

Watching us with binoculars;

Same crazy people live among us.




Author's Notes/Comments: 

me, at wembly? madness

View suicideslug's Full Portfolio