Loving you is bending the corner of the page
only to have it kept between
my fingers forever more
for fear of having it lost.
- a collection of confessions vol. II
Fear starts to spread as the familiar rage begins to overtake me
If only people knew what was happening, if only they could see.
But no one recognizes the signs, the tremors in my body, the darkening eyes
No one sees the monster inside me; no one hears my desperate cries.
The monster is back, bloodthirsty as ever, desiring to cause even more pain
Every time he comes out, I lose more of myself, become more and more insane.
He takes over, binds me with his hate, and locks me away
I never know how long he’ll imprison me for, whether a few hours or a whole day.
Someone, anyone, I beg you, please, hear my cries, come and set me free
Just release these shackles; can’t you see that this is not who I want to be?
I try my hardest to win control, but his hatred crushes my will
For he’s stronger now; I can sense this time he has intent to kill.
The only thing I feel is the burn of his many cuts over my exposed veins
He said he just wants to help, and that this is the only way to stop the real pain.
In desperation to stop this pain, I believe him and his web of lies
As he holds the knife out to me, I realize he’s just helping, he’s truly quite wise.
With determination in my eyes, I take the knife from him and make a tighter fist
Like a skilled artist, I create new bloody designs that flow from my cut up wrists.
My blood drips down like gentle rain, and forms a dark puddle on the floor
In my head, I hear my monster sweetly whispering to me “that’s it, just a little more”.
Like a student desperate to please his master, I begin to slice faster and deeper
All this time, it’s felt like I was climbing a hill, but suddenly that hill seems steeper.
My arms burn, my legs become weak; I try to move but slip on something slick
I look around, see a red floor: I lost a lot of blood, and lost it too quick.
I feel tired, all I want to do is just lay here on the floor, and get some rest
As I start to drift away, I realize that maybe this cutting idea wasn’t the best.
I can feel the fire beginning to fade, replaced with an icy feeling that’s spreading fast
I feel betrayed, for I believed his lie that by doing this I would find peace at last.
Instead I feel nothing but regret, and an overwhelming sense of fear
For it’s finally dawned on me that I went too far, it’s too late, now my end is here.
My eyesight dims, breathing becomes labored, head begins to pound
With frantic eyes, I look for my monster for help, but he’s nowhere to be found.
He’s gone, no longer inside me; his lust finally satisfied after all these long years
I’m alone; no monster here, only a blood stained knife and a pool of red tears.
My strength is gone; I finally lost the fight against my depression and sorrow
I fall into the shadows of darkness, never again to wake to another tomorrow.
favorite thing ab chatgpt is that if it doesn’t know something it’ll just start fucking lying. like blatantly fucking lying.
my dad teaches english classes and he just got a final paper with this sentence: “In terms of style, both poets are known for their use of imagery, but O'Hara's tends to be more straightforward and concrete, while Stevens' is often more abstract and metaphorical — for example, in O'Hara's poem "The French / Window," he writes: "A cat walks along the garden wall / and the tree waves its branches / The French / windows are blah" (lines 1-4).”
the thing about “The French / Window” is that it is not a poem that exists. at all. like, it was literally just written by chatgpt then inexplicably named as a famous frank o’hara poem. and it’s so. fucking. funny. sooo basically heads up for finals season — those of you who use chatgpt, be warned, because you will quite literally be citing nonexistent texts and your professors will show it to their daughters and together they will laugh at you endlessly and you will deserve it
A mermaid found a swimming lad,
Picked him for her own,
Pressed her body to his body,
Laughed; and plunging down
Forgot in cruel happiness
That even lovers drown.
Hold your soul open for my welcoming.
Let the quiet of your spirit bathe me
With its clear and rippled coolness,
That, loose-limbed and weary, I find rest,
Outstretched upon your peace, as on a bed of ivory.
Let the flickering flame of your soul play all about me,
That into my limbs may come the keenness of fire,
The life and joy of tongues of flame,
And, going out from you, tightly strung and in tune,
I may rouse the blear-eyed world,
And pour into it the beauty which you have begotten.