I don't want to be here

One entry
No collabs
No word limit

Have fun. Good luck.

Sometimes thoughts and temptations
 Become too much
 Then words turn into actions
 You pull the blade across your wrist
 Put the gun to your head
 You lose all hope
 You start question yourself and your life 
You've completely lost touch with reality 
Your so consumed in this pain
 That you'll do whatever it takes to 
Make it go away 
And by the time someone tries to save you 
It's too late 
You can no longer be saved 
Little did they know 
That you died a long time 
Ago

.:Draining in the Drain:.

It’s as dark as one can get on this corner and
I’m once again into this placement of self-debasement
here laying on this street; head parallel with defeat
I’m just another anybody and I’m barely stirring
still hard to believe this is all occurring as
I’m laying here face down in this gutter
draining in the drain as I lay here & mutter
sounds emanate; passersby
perhaps they hear as I extrapolate  
this happens as my face is pressed hard
sub-sanity wielding gravity; this
this as I’ve jacked and flipped a losing card
forcing my face downward into this gutters gate
tears, they run; unable to separate
my drenched face, its tears tasting of salt
they are heavy, they are cold
just like the origins of my pain
dense and thick with much disdain
where at this instance
there’s a need for what's featured
for my feelings and thoughts
the need for them to become lucid
wanted is an ability to flow, I need to go
right now I need to get up and escape
flee while returning to what used to be me
but this; this is something my face cannot see
an ability to climb and face being free

(I Don't Want To Be Here Anymore)

Here we are again, having the same agrument the never ends.
About how you feel neglected and how i feel rejected.

Why do we continue like this, when our relationship is no longer filled with bliss.
Maybe , because my love for you is still there and I know you still care.

But is that enough? To continue with all of the bad stuff.
Or should we end it now, and just let this love die down.

You don't have to answer.

My bags are already at the door. I don't want to be here anymore.

Unsalvageable in the Atlantic; Two Years at the Bottom of the Ocean
(in full color here: http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poems/164271-unsalvageable-in-the-atlantic/)
 
   
 
¸.·´¯`·.´¯`·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸¸.·´¯`·.´¯`·.¸¸.·´¯`·.¸
     
my heart is an anchor            
to a derelict ship--        
...........|        
a spineless broken mast        
a rudderless silent tongue        
...........|        
plunged into murky        
near-arctic depths that            
stagnate and compress            
the virile life        
above sea level        
...........|        
...........|        
...........|        
...........|        
i just want for        
a little breathing room        
...........|        
...........|        
...........|        
...........|        
...........|        
i conjure i can            
hold my peace            
as well as|            
i hold my breath            
...........|        
...........|        
...........|        
...........|        
...........|        
so.........|        
i dispatched            
the best bits of me--            
the jetsam carried away            
by the drifting waves            
of your thoughts            
entrusting them          
to wash up|        
on the shores of your            
checkered mind        
...........|        
...........|        
...........|......        
../*...*...|...*...*\.        
........../.\..........        
.......................        
.\.................../        
.....................        
...\.............../        
..................        
......\........./        
..............        
..........\./        
...........*

I watch my loved ones tear each other down.
I cry as Shiane throws a shoe clear across the room.
As the dog whimpers,
Crying in pain.
I shake as I stand.
As I leave the room.
Anything to get away from my mother's shouts.
"What the fuck is wrong with you!?
Why the fuck would you do that?!
Are you fucking insane?!"
Why, yes, mommy dearest.
We're all completely bonkers.
Each one of use totally fucked up.
Just another day in this hell hole
This insane asylum I call home.

I don't want to be here.
I never really do.
I only stay
To make sure Robbie is okay,
As she shows the same signs of depression as I did.
To be sure Chris isn't bullied too badly in school,
Because I know middle school students can be so cruel.
To make sure Shiane doesn't finally snap,
And take a blade to her wrist one last time,
Cutting deeply enough that she'll never have to fight again.

No,  I don't want to stay here.
I'd give almost anything to leave.
To go off and live peacefully.
But the key word there is almost.

I stay here to be sure,
One hundred percent positive,
That when I DO leave,
I can visit.
And they'll all still be there waiting for me.

So for now I'll lock myself in my room.
Hide under my sheets.
Shaking and sobbing quietly.
Because no one wants to be here,
Especially not me.
But how could I ever leave?

I Hate Being Here.

I Hate Being Here,
Swallowing All My Fear.
Acting Like Everything's Okay....
I Hate Being Here,
Being Ignored All The Time,
I'm Tired Of Acting Like Everything Is Alright,
I Hate Being Here....
Swallowing All The Fear

Secret Theatre:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mJcA-DrZdsY

A candor that can't speak to questions carefully chosen,
Was standing in stampedes, suggesting "spare me the omen",
The deaf would sing for the enemy...despite our loving advances,
They dress their strings in accessories to hide how ugly a dance is…
Many dreaming of empty things, such mindless dummies would pander—
to a legacy I'm discrediting like some spineless, plundering cancer,
A puppet, armed to the teeth with greed—mouth full of nothing,
Ventriloquist kept his seat in deceit, while counting the money…
Thus, was harder to teach the seeds to amount to something,
When diligence left them weak and diseased, so doubtful and hungry…
It’s a secret theatre, and the audience looks oblivious,
Easier things would seem to work, but awfully crooked, hideous—
fingers seem to manipulate pretty people so perfectly…
Pulling their strings in rapid succession…
The vapid obsession of passive aggressive actors lamenting a passing of trends,
So masochistic and cavernous…just as master intended,
They surround themselves with sycophants and flattering friends—
who’d do anything to mask just how tragic it ends,
The Immaculate Deception...captivating Capulets with lasting impressions,
So passionate...tense, and manic depressive—all accurate except for a cast, if it questions—
a script it's been given...plots never thicken,
They just twist for the cynics who fit the description,
Critical of critics who'd ridicule a vision out of principle,
Insipid and minuscule...individual carbon copies—
If it’s literal, it’s a tool…if subliminal, Art embodies—
a hidden symbol of stars and masks…indivisible, its invisible part to cast—
is critical…to it’s larger act—like artifacts, seek to uncover the art…of “fact”,
If you want to tell a story—enshroud it in mysticism,
Deliver it deliberately, bound in its symbolism,
The cynicism surrounding—profound, in its gift to give ‘em—
when doubt, is just a prism to bounce a glib description—
of countless kids imprisoned on count of insignificance…
Fishing for dissidents, drowning in indecision—it’s how they’ve gotten their hooks in…
Fishing line and puppet strings—synonymous, but indifferent—
not autonomous, just indignant…
A synopsis from the witnesses who’d never take The Stand…
Civilized people always sympathize with evil, sticking to opinions that were previously approved...
Little ties that bind you can be reasonably improved,
Now, this safety net's a spider's web—Won't you stay for dinner?
You can take these steps to right your debts, and still won't pay for scissors,
Like these simple lies that blind you can't be…easily removed...
Greedily consumed by things we'd easily elude,
If we'd just cut the strings that keep us from believing we can choose...
But dance your little dance again...and don't forget to smile,
I'm done manning-up for mannequins—standing, hopeless in denial...

Copyright © 2014 Travis J Gibbs, The Ant1-Her0 Project

When I Hear "I Don't Want to be Here."

when i hear
"i dont wanna be here"

i see fear in tears of prisoners in cages and basements,
households and crack dens been around it so long no longer fills me with amazement
when i hear words upwards of concern everyday i wonder if i can take it
i see the cycle; it rivals everything in my world like a spiral, why not try to break it?

when i hear
i dont wanna be here

i see, a young boy cryin as his papa flips him off in the rear-view
a young man growin up on the beer-brew tryna steer through the storm and the tears
fool, dont take the rain as weakness its something we all gotta fear too
society we all adhere to
yet still he fears few
he dont wanna be in this place of danger
he dont want his kids raised around the faces of strangers
his kid thinkin just like him; that he might make it a banger
instantly fills his mind with anger,
shit just yesterday it looked like baby boy could have belonged in a manger
"god does the pain hurt"

so still to this day
when i hear
i dont wanna be here

i sneer
in disgust
of the shear ignorance and trust
i see in the peoples eyes belligerence, lookin like they about to bust
too late for recompense when your flesh done turned to dust
it was once said that the greatest evil is the evil that ignores, yeah the evil we refuse to crush
we become whores as such
we demand more, if not as much
so the next time you go to bitch,
think about the poorest people in the world; those who money never touched
shit i say their just as much if not more rich
your mouth got the tape when it should get the stitch
i say everything you own, its a crutch on a perfectly good leg
im about to take what you have and make it mine like a bootleg
as if you didnt know i was hoodmade
if i see you makin a poor persons life worse who already dont want to be here, see here
you'll see me comin from a good ways
fuck runnin and gunnin and fuck hittin and splittin
before you leave your bathroom to take a piss i want you to look both ways
you'll never feel safe cuz i'll keep comin back for more like broke Lay's
you'll always here about my business like OJ's
they might just find it was me when they smell my lingerin weed when i toke jays, after i kill i gotta chill, and god damn it the smoke stays

(sounds of people coughing)

im okay, yo but my throat aches
but i am okay just so we clear...
i just dont want to be here  

My mind tells me no
but my emotions tell me yes
shall i or shall i not?
the question runs through millions of
kids every minute of the day.

The Harder Side of Fuck All.

It's the scum and the shit of the deep underground pit
that comes first and foremost their thirst
of the fuck-end of human decency and intellect.

You try to speak but you're suffocated by the steaming heap
of the scum and the shit of the deep underground pit.
Hip-gangsta' wannabes with their illiterate raps and their poser-pride

Flinging their shit to the side, it continues to fester
the scum and the shit of the deep underground pit.
Fuck your opinions and your blunt force fuck-ended faggotry.

The Scum and the Shit of the Deep Underground Pit
and the harder side of poetry, the softer side of everything else.
We took our leave, but we couldn't fuck it off completely

Nostalgia takes effect, forcefulness helps us comprehend
what the fuck happened to the once great and respected
home of intellectual discussion and hard earned recognition

It's now the Deep Underground Pit of the Scum and the Shit.