Suicidal Groove

Both are fatal together. It’s like drinking a glass full of venom.

Look what you’ve done.

Scars they’ve become. 

Pain formation. 

As the depression. 

Strikes and triggers. 

Straight lines you’ve written. 

All over your body to numb. 

My heart it dosen’t beat, it thumps. 

Afraid that I might again fuck up.

 

Anxieties. 

Slowly felt as night creeps. 

What should I do for my destiny? 

I don’t have an idea what I might be. 

Failure seems.

All I have been. 

Damaged permanently. 

Destroying me. 

Slowly and completely. 

A mind that seeks. 

Self hatred beliefs. 

 

I am confused. 

What should I do? 

I am dumb, a big fool. 

Everythings to prove. 

That I can’t escape the loop. 

Pretending that I would. 

But I really can’t, I should.

Escape from a move. 

Suicidal groove. 

I am chaos, is the truth. 

Digging deeper with fruits. 

That are already rotten in mood. 

 

Thoughts to ruin. 

Inner hell shooting. 

Brain confusing. 

Illusion booming.

Reality frightening. 

Painfully living. 

Hopelessly surviving. 

One day I might be ending. 

All of the losing. 

Lost wars deepening. 

Shadows of feelings. 

Negatively dealing. 

Totally Enganging.

Into cutting.

Towards one more; rushing.

Mark of the blade sweeping. 

Blood flowing. 

Relief gaining. 

Nerves bleeding. 

Suicidal grooving. 

 

I am confused. 

What should I do? 

I am dumb, a big fool. 

Everythings to prove. 

That I can’t escape the loop. 

Pretending that I would. 

But I really can’t, I should.

Escape from a move. 

Suicidal groove. 

Written by P.S 

The equation automatically fucks up your present. What is good then? Answer: NOTHING IS.

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Wide Eyes Open

Heath Ledger Quote (The Psychopath Joker). R.I.P Legend.

Dreams or nightmares.

Cold feet frightfully shapes.

Anxiety on top and at the base.

3 am phase.

Scaring away.

Thoughts to generate. 

Negative blames. 

In my name. 

Suicidal mind framed. 

Insomniac rate. 

Higher again. 

 

Wide eyes open. 

Surrounded by dark motions. 

Numb and frozen. 

Paralayzed in my bed woken. 

My will slowly broken.

Loud mind breaking emotions. 

 

Maybe the razor will put an end. 

These thoughts that I can’t defend. 

I want relief, please help! 

Failed functionality of antidepressants.

Poisoning my mind like a powerful venom. 

Hate begins to beat me; swollen.

Afraid from my own friends. 

As the demons denies me from them.

Remaining lonely without acceptance.

 

Whom should I tell?? 

Manifested mind yells. 

Remain inside your shell. 

Don’t ring up anyone’s bell. 

You’re not well. 

You won’t find peace inside this hell.

So don’t let. 

Anyone to enter your cell. 

Or else.

You will be a burden to them. 

You don’t deserve to excel. 

You’re a just a waste that fell. 

Out from nowhere to another shelf. 

 

Wide eyes open. 

Surrounded by dark motions. 

Numb and frozen. 

Paralayzed in my bed woken. 

My will slowly broken.

Loud mind breaking emotions. 

Written by P.S 

3 AM. Sleepless. Negative thoughts brainstorm.

 


 

 

Failures Yard

Whitechapel – Mark Of The Blade

Cold heart.

Feets apart. 

Woken up sharp. 

Terrified with the dark. 

Inside the past.

Voices mark. 

Failures yard. 

 

Snort the line. 

Prepare for the ride. 

Depressed by night. 

What to fight. 

Anxiety might. 

Leave me like. 

To surely hide. 

From my own life. 

 

Addicted again. 

What to blame. 

Your choices remain. 

Uncertain to shame. 

Falling from hate. 

Drug craves. 

Blades. Blades.

Mark yourself or fail. 

Another cut to relieve the pain. 

 

Cold heart.

Feets apart. 

Woken up sharp. 

Terrified with the dark. 

Inside the past.

Voices Mark. 

Failures yard. 

Files of depair.

No one to repair. 

None seems fair. 

Dont you dare. 

Feel & crave. 

Pick up the gear. 

 

Loose the mind. 

Trying to find. 

Whats hidden behind. 

Surely not shines. 

Not at all bright. 

Deep dark nights. 

Losing all the fights. 

 

Fully relapsed. 

Never felt that has,

Happiness brand. 

So kill the jazz. 

Stamp the batch. 

Leave a match. 

Self harm dance. 

 

Reduce all of it. 

Nothing seems to refine anything.

Cutting pieces. 

Left and deleted.

Will to get defeated. 

Again performed to feel it. 

Cold heart.

Feets apart. 

Woken up sharp. 

Terrified with the dark. 

Inside the past.

Voices Mark. 

Failures yard. 

Written by P.S 

 

 


The Devil Is Real.

Mental illnesses are demons inside.

The devil is real.

Believe it is the fear. 

Mind that generally tears. 

Self doubts to hear. 

Questioning yourself that you’re near. 

Wether you should be here? 

 

Absolutely confused. 

What should I do? 

Woken up tool. 

Anxiously looped. 

Tied like a cocoon.

Nightmares to move. 

Afraid to prove.

That my mind is cruel.

 

Mentally raped. 

Again and again. 

You are a waste. 

My mind playing games. 

Generating self hate. 

Devil is to shape. 

Negative gates. 

Opening today. 

Everyday. 

In my name. 

 

The devil is real.

Believe it is the fear. 

Mind that generally tears. 

Self doubts to hear. 

Questioning yourself that you’re near. 

Wether you should be here? 

 

Terrorised. 

Victimised. 

Hide. 

What a miserable life. 

Demonic guide. 

Scars of parallel lines. 

Triggering point. 

Losing the fight. 

Slowly I might. 

Give away my own light. 

Devil to sacrifice. 

Blood of mine. 

 

The devil is real.

Believe it is the fear. 

Mind that generally tears. 

Self doubts to hear. 

Questioning yourself that you’re near. 

Wether you should be here? 

Written by P.S 

This Fat That Hits

Scary Scales

I want to runaway.

From these hours turning me insane. 

Everytime I try to lookaway. 

Never seems to get it straight. 

Whatever opportunities I waste. 

Feeling worthless once again. 

What do I do? What Do I say. 

When everything is to complicate. 

Its my mistake. 

I’m just too late. 

 

Shattered glass. 

Broken dreams. 

My job is to never feel. 

Whatever is good inside of me. 

Beginning to be incomplete. 

Struggling daily with heat. 

Heat that beats. 

Inside the belief. 

Of failed misery. 

 

All I can say is I’m sorry.

It was my fucking tragedy. 

I must have bored you with my story.

What all remains with me. 

Gradually breaking down my own knees. 

So leave me please. 

I’m a wasted piece. 

Anxiously weak. 

Slowly to feel. 

Pain inside the shield. 

Where I wasn’t meant to be. 

Turning out to be nasty. 

 

I wish I didn’t exist. 

Where else I could simply be fit? 

I’m no perfectionist. 

An imperfecting gift.

I need to lose this shit. 

Or else I’ll simply quit. 

Fat hits. 

Loose or quit. 

This fat that hits. 

Totally restrict. 

Starve a bit. 

Loose or quit. 

Or simply exit. 

This fat that hits. 

Bullshit. 

Bloody shit. 

Where else I could simply fit? 

With this fat that hits. 

Written by P.S.