Chaotic Massacres

riots of words ruining these dissolving brains


giving up doesn’t seem so bad.


too many suggestions,

fifty-fifty-some sounds so right

the others all wrong


these suggestion they are

pinning me in the side

could this be acupuncture…

            poundin ,pokin

            poundin, pokin

            poundin beliefs n opinions

universal, average, basic, ordinary

innovative, creative, unique, special

re-used ideas

into my mind,

while the world whirlpools its way around me,




            no justifications

            no judgments

            no justice!

it remains firing away at me





but then i’d be givin in right?

givin in to yet another tactic

another source of coercion coaxin me to be….

but nothing fulfills me

a pleasure so exotic, or yet so erotic

is lacking

a substance so relaxing, or maybe retracting

is lacking

nothing is working to

“fix me”

after countless equations have failed to equate to amount to my value

and ended up equaling nothing

is that what i’ve come   to amount to…


after massive  masses of madness have

done the do

who have i succumbed to?

all these

these damn


            will create

the person i grow to become. these

damn villains and heroes with no nametags

henceforth remaining unknown; all

trying to claim this prize

the       poundin, poking

            poundin, poking

pounding  beliefs and ideas into this rotting brain of mine


swimming at me like sperm to the


the fortunate one taken in

            will create

something, something no one is prepared for

something near two decades  too late to try and reverse


this chaotic massacre

this spree of shopping

no, this spree is for defense mechanisms

i am shopping for a set, to set my soul at ease

it is


trying to sort all these ideology advertisements

into categories

all these damn


strongly suggested


momma never told me something as simple as listening would be so hard.



throwing the towel in seems like a better preference

accepting the fate of the hands who catches me as I fall

            your filthy propaganda hasn’t won me over

yet, but it still is



poking its way against steel

useless you say?

exactly I reply

stop it

this block of clay just isn’t meant to be sculpted

into your ideal person

better yet the real

the tranquil and ever the same,







Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741