Betting Threats

Dead night
Dead morning
All I see are empty threats

Bright moon
Bright sun
All I keep making are bets

– Things are only short and to the point now a days. Or so it seems.

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Dancing Flee

Shriveling strangers, stumbling
With tiny fingers, fumbling
Words around, discovering
Places they have yet to rediscover

Shaking bodies, tripping
With small feet, slipping
Into gallows, ripping
Hearts outside of the suburbs

Worship they who not hides, but opens
Their wounds, jumping
Outside of their comfort zones instead of closing

Dance among the sheep who choose not to be herded
Flee to the scabs they call humans who show what they’re made of
Watch them scramble for rehydration

Hold onto the skin in which cascaded you
Covered you when you no longer sought shelter
Allow others to wrap their loving solidarity around you to shed some light onto your palms

Dysphoria at its finest.

You’re just sitting there glancing, looking through the old and the new and all of a sudden you can feel it.

Feel that feeling where your eyes are becoming flooded and you’re trying your best to figure out why and what’s causing the liquid to start surfacing.

You try to erase who you were because out of nowhere, you don’t even know who you are today or who you will be, but regardless, your shirt still feels tight.

You look down and it’s as though quicksand had started to absorb certain parts of you and your legs no longer can stand the test of your own strength.

Letting go of your muscles, your tears finally start falling and you see other people who appear to be struggling in similar ways, but that makes you feel worse.

Then, comparing yourself again, you look at your own self and you can’t seem to find anything worth holding on to, slipping.

Finally, you give up trying to fight, shake the weight that has just suddenly punched you with most of it’s wrath and just attempt to distract yourself until the next time.

You know you’ll make it through, but with each and every passing moment, it gets slightly harder.

Yawning Awareness

Something so small, simple yet so empowering, swiped over, flashed across my head
Inside screen, masking something and it wasn’t until my head hit my knee that I realized something

Hard, fast and strong diving towards meand hurt in me but I couldn’t stop until all of a sudden I grew tired, drained out of nowhere
So I passed out for what felt like 20 minutes, more like 5 minutes
Woke up and I was fine again

Was as though some force had struck my emotions and planted themselves in place of them, weighed me down, tied me into it’s anonymous chair and threw my own life at me

Swelling of Dwelling

When I was young, they tried to teach me
Attempted to implant techniques into my little brain, coping strategies regarding grieving
But what they failed to provide me with, was the knowledge of how to get over my past lives selves
All that matters then was my future instead of just being

So here I am, wallowing, swallowing whole my earliest memories
Wondering what I’d tell myself back them about what I know now

Most likely tell him that not dwelling
Only makes, creates more swelling
In your mind
That it’s okay from time to time to unwind
From everyone, everything including yourself
Instead of focusing on the version if you that’s on a shelf

– Somethings I wish I could tell my younger self // Lukas Owen

I Will Get There Someday.

Some days I’m okay being here
Stuck in this so called imprisonment of my own self inflicted emotional struggle

It could get easier, better even if only I stopped worrying, caring about what people think, who I’ll lose
Being myself has never been that easy, but not being myself needs to disappear disintegrate into something else

I sit here and I see others furthering, getting somewhere where I could have, should have, desire to have been earlier
Years ago, but  I wasn’t am not, may not be ready for a short, long, devastatingly time consuming while

I will get there, to a place, destination similar, close to the one in my head, drawn out but not entirely followed
And I will look back and not erase, but tell myself that I was someone, a person
Just not the person I wish I had been born as, come into this world being referred to as, by.

– One day I will be enough for me // I wasn’t always a man, by I have been for a while.//

Strengthened Insanity

There’s so much to do
Little strength, consumed
By the source, its assumed
That I’m just destined to break
Odd
Travel abroad
Inside my head, not on the road
If only you weren’t so far away
I think I’d be okay, you too
Hopefully one day
You’ll see the safe side of insanity because
I’d rather see it than sanity
Wouldn’t you?
Not sure, say it’s true
That you feel no value
Self worth, look me in the eyes
And show me your soul cries
To wither apart
Rather than mend
Me too, I feel you
A part of your struggle anyway

Although I don’t have much left to offer besides
A troubled soul and manic expressions
Lying truths in confessions
I shouldn’t expect much from you, it’s not your fault you need to escape
Take a break, before you break
More, tear into me
Rip me with your passion
Spit on me with everything you have

Just know that I’ll take it, soak you in like a salt lake
Quick sand, falling

I care about your life, maybe not as much as one could
Should, needs to
But I’d only be lying if I said I didn’t feel the need to fly into you rather than flee
But most days, fleeing is the most desirable option

Run away, will you look for me?
Walk into yourself, am I there?