Red Coloured Paint (I.A.P.G. Impulse, Action, Pleasure, Guilt)

Impulse (Noun)

A strong and unreflective urge or desire to act.

Action (Noun)

The fact or process of doing something; typically to achieve an Aim.

Pleasure (Noun)

A feeling of happy satisfaction or  enjoyment.

Guilt (Noun)

The fact of having committed something wrong or have implied failure, offence or crime.

Credits: SATI_TheMystique.

Red Coloured Paint (I.A.P.G)
1 – Where will you go?

How will you cope?

When there’s just a fan and a sight of a rope.

And it turns to only one of your remaining last hope.

You start writing suicide notes.

In guilt, when the pain is more.

Earlier than before.
2 – What will you ask for?

Fucking end it all.

With a final call.

A call to make you shock.

A shock to make you knock.

A knock to make you empty like a rock.

An empty rock to make you small.

So small to make you end the pain cause.

A pain cause to build your walls.

With those walls, your mind mauls.

Bloody body is hauled.

Depression knot.

Anxiety clot.

Self harm mock.

Insomniac brawl.
3 – How will you stop?

How will you solve?

How ill, will you fall?

Ravaging dissolve.

Impulse – A Loop, a ball.

A vicious weavement of thoughts.

An Agent Of Chaos.

Action – An arousing pod.

Pleasure – A seductive boss.

Guilt – The splash of the sauce.

Drip – drip.

A releived grin.

Across my chin.

Just lose it.

And stains fill.

Blood on my nail prints.

This man who’s accusative.

Shine of the sedative, palliative.

Mind repetitive.

Screaming,”rule of 10 hits.

You fat bitch!!!

Why did you ingested?”.
Old nightmares haunts with a butcher’s knife.

A rope appearing nearer and nearer with that dreadful smile.

I might kill myself tonight.

Because nothings alright.

So I’ll become the sacrifice.


To vice.
4 – It’s no more a game.

When scars begin to fade.

The urges make you vulnerable in shame.

Night time makes,

To lose my shades.

A tool innate.

A tool intricate.

Chugging down liquor generates. 

Unlimited wage.

Of severe self hate.

Precision of my mistakes.

Played, replayed.

Mind Slaved.

Human brain.

Impulse – You can’t wait.

Action – Objection is sustained.

Pleasure – Draining the pain.

Guilt – And the devil rapes.

Time to time, again and again.

Until he mutilates. 

Until I suffocate.

5 – In depth.

My blade lies beside my bed.

A bleeding fest.

Cheek bones bruised red.

From rapid punching of myself.

Only exhaustion left.

Something begins to fade my present.

From the torment.

As many, and when I make more dents.

On my ugly flesh.

Borderline refreshed.

Necessary evil exponent.

Impulse – Self Harm Savage.

Mental Mallet.

Action – Depression Valid.

Tool – kit, Solid.

Pleasure – Annihilation Jotted.

Areas Spotted.

Guilt – Emotions Distraughted.

Visions Distorted.


Written By P.S


The World Broke Us(Title by Rocky Toppo)

Hypocrisy is not realising.
Blades & cigarettes for anxities.

1-Suggestively confusing.Actively blaming.Void to nothing.Trying to break & using.Insecurities.

Dependant, burden physically. 

Why relationships are meant to be.

To just Adjust with the society.

Turning psychotic blindly.

Innocence of variety.

Suppressed to prove beauty.

Why can’t I be me???
2-Say it please.

For once I cared in need.

That too is being questioned simply.

Expressions & emotions? Used to be.

Now all dirty and filthy.

Why are you so close to hurt me?

I myself is an enemy, of me. isolation not dependancy.

Cuze I care no more about my very ill body.

A cutting duty.

Fire please.

Self destructive needs.

The world is breaking us apart indeed.

Fuck life, Fuck society.

Leave me alone please.

I don’t want your sympathy.

Neither your words of relief.

It all just piles up more to my own disease.

Which will develop practically.

Shaped by society.

Adressing the the pariahs as greedy.

Seeking attention freak.

Mess with me.

Hate me.

Kick the shit out of me.

Whatever you feel extreme.

Take it out on me. 
3-But I won’t Mind

The self destructive choice.

Gently implied.

Phisophically died.

Looser & shy.

Silently denied.

Whispering voice.

Bleeding lines

Broken by the world, from the inside.
4-Another deep cut.

What the fuck.

You messed up.

Despite being positioned.

Taking precautions.

Still a dominating depression.

Deal the dumb.

Lifeless-Ness begun.

A sensitive one.

Died with black luck.

And choosing to carelessly self destruct.

I D G A F.
5-The world broke us,

With nice people for just.

To sympathise our dust.

We don’t need a new bus.

Arrived with anti – religious Narcs.

All we want is to die fast.

You just made messy. 

lately to cut sharp.

Just accepting the dark.

Dark progression…final death destination. Pressuring depression, Isolation is better than dependancy, broken Empath. Borderlines are Assholes. We surely hate ourselves. Do not depend or defend. Because it’s soon to end, the will to test.

Written by P.S (PATIENT Stan)