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Damocles 12h
How many shades of gray can you count
Staring up at the rain clouds?
Would you be able to name them,
Give them a purposeful pallet in which to contrast against
Would they go well with marble or subway tile?
Could you see it defaulting a room to a “create-a-character” meh?

Could you assign them to moods?
Let each shade or shape of the clouds tell a story
Each one or color depicts a mental illness and how it cascades in the mind.
What depicts depression, is it the darkest gray or the lightest?
How would you label the spectrum?

What of the rain?
Could we categorize how it pours down?
If it’s by its sides is it sliding into indifference?
What about the dull droll of straight down,
Is that just melancholic, or simply a chance to shower outside?
Let the natural spritz renew with vigorous remiss
And chase away sorrow in cool or warm damp praise.

Whatever the case,
However, the time is spent in malaise
Remember the sun will return,
And so too will color.
It's a rainy day and bumming me out, so this is what my brain concoted
In beauty's embrace, majestic with grace

Soothing, yet a lingering sense of sadness filled up the place,

Unwanted thoughts wind up like a haphazardly tied lace

Been alone countless times won't deny

Maybe it'll be over soon, sighs

I did cry, but I won't pry, I must try and try and try, relentlessly, I don't know why?

Something tells me to do so, and no I won't ask any questions, I'm too tired.

My head feels heavy and it feels cold

Yes, I am a reckless fool, but let truth be told,

hold up, behold,

A free soul, got locked up, in a stronghold, due to freefall, did a reroll, felt an unease, faulty threshold, with a default,
Setting.

Yet I thrived on, not with violence, but with a smile on,
Dreams engulfed in darkness, yet persevered and fight on.
Emotions masked, I fight on, a battle of silence, I reckon

I'm a lost soul at a crossroad, with no hope, yet I try on,
I hold my head up high, a bit shy, but I try
To change the narrative, to rewrite my sky.

I see the highs, I see the lows,
Life's a cinematic film, beautifully composed.
It's real though, no retries, no cheats,
A mistake made, a life fades, "Scream!" echoes in the streets.

Skill issue, you say? Perhaps it's true,
The presence of another is a dream I pursue.

Alas, my fumbling technique never ceases to amuse,
Back to solitude, melancholy's muse.

Walking up the road less travelled by, devoid of any gleam,
A haunting daydream, or so it would seem.

No destination, no direction, just endless extremes,
A conflicted response, a ghastly gleam.

Alone through the time, a truth I've known,
Helplessness grips, a silent pathetic moan.

Guilty, vulnerable, yet a soul set free,
I hate to admit it, but I won't concede.

Heartbreaks, anxieties, failures persist,
Giving up is foolishness, not on my list.

Break me, bury me, all for your thrill,
My body may perish, but never will my will.

Intrusive thoughts roam around, Like I’m fallin’ off of a cliff
The desire to bounce back is sharper than you think
I'm not the one who's drowned here man,
I stand alone, like a “Poneglyph”
My spirit untouched, my soul unbound like a monolith

A rowdy spirit, scorned with disdain,
I'll mock you still, throughout the pain.

I choose my role and I define my fate,
Your words, your arrogance, I disrespectfully negate.

In defiance, I speak with a voice loud and clear,
"The path is treacherous, hearts break, I fear."

The soul’s burnin’, seeking a purpose anew,
To burn it all down, tired of feeling blue.

A voice echoes, a spiteful chill,
Fate falters frivolously front of a mortal's will,
The birth of a legend, just like the Hercules’ will

The poem concludes, a profound standstill,
A journey through emotions, in verses that I instill.
                                                                             -Asher Graves
This poem is a reflection of the silent wars we fight within—the chaotic harmony between vulnerability and resilience. It's about walking alone when no one understands, yet refusing to lay down even when everything screams “give up.” I wrote this during a moment of mental fog and emotional exhaustion, where the only clarity came from putting feelings into form.

The piece isn't polished with comfort. It’s jagged and heavy on purpose. Life doesn't come in neat stanzas, and neither does healing. You'll find scattered metaphors, anime references, poetic contradictions, and a stubborn flame that keeps burning—because even in brokenness, there's defiance. Even in solitude, there's meaning.

This is for anyone who’s felt like a background character in their own story, who’s laughed through tears and masked scars with smiles. You're not alone in your silence. This is me screaming back at the void, not to be heard—but to remind myself that I'm still here.

Keep fighting, even if it’s just to prove the silence wrong.

— Asher Graves
Soph 2d
I don’t know when I stopped feeling like myself
It hit me out of nowhere
Like a storm on a sunny day
I don’t know what caused it
But Suddenly, I couldn’t feel what I used to

Things I liked doing before
They didn’t make me happy
It was disappointing
Giving up the things I loved
But there was no other choice
What’s the point of doing something you 'love'
When you stopped loving it?

Every task, big or small
It felt like a chore
Pure emptiness inside me
No matter what I do
Even when I laughed sometimes
I was just playing pretend
My life felt like I was an actor on a stage
None of my emotions were what I truly felt

It began as the smallest whisper
But now is the loudest scream
inside my head
It’s taking over my life
Until I can’t take it anymore
And I‘m dead
Soph 2d
Counting the lines that trace my skin
Some red, some white,
Some deep, some light.
Each one a whisper:
I survived another night.

Sometimes,
I think they’re beautiful,
Other times,
I look at myself in disgust.
Maybe I should’ve never touched the blade.
Maybe I should’ve never learned
how quiet pain can be.  

The first one was nothing,
Just a scratch
“One small line won’t hurt,”
I said to myself
not knowing months later,
I still don't know what else will help
i cried out for help
my head bobbing up and down
as the waves threatened to pull me under
no one heard my pleas for rescue
my body grew tired
and i started sinking
water filled my lungs
and my vision began blackening
i floated at the bottom of the ocean
then suddenly
a rush of energy surged through my limbs
i swim to the surface
and fresh air never felt sweeter
before i know it
i'm at the shore
i flop onto the sand
and relax
with the knowledge
that no one will save you
save yourself
The black dog's whining starts inside your pain.
Your lashes flutter, closed against the light.
It drags you under, drowning you again.

My warm kisses trace your temple, all in vain,
To draw you back towards my voice, my sight.
The black dog's whining starts inside your pain.

Your skin's own scent captures sorrow's subtle stain,
A warmth receding in the morning light.
It drags you under, drowning you again. 

I smooth your hair back, feel the skin's soft grain,
Your beauty, a shadow, dim as fading starlight.
The black dog's whining starts inside your pain.

I hold you closer, though the fractures remain,
Your body present, spirit lost to white.
It drags you under, drowning you again.

I curl beside you, listening to the rain,
And breathe you in, preparing for the fight.
The black dog's whining starts inside your pain.
It drags you under, drowning you again.
Phia 4d
Pain is a powerful motivator
It motivates me
And my pen
To keep moving forward
Summer jackets
They're really useless
Only really used for fashion
They're so thin
Almost even see through
They're an unnecessary accessory
Something you add to your outfit
At the last second
Not to keep you warm
But because you thought your outfit
Was just a little boring

Summer jackets
Everyone has one
Even if it's at the back of your closet
You still own one
So easily forgettable
The zipper sometimes broken
Some stains
Some rips
Something you don't recognize
Oh look
A crumpled dollar
In the left pocket
Wonder how long that was in there
Some bottle caps
And maybe a dime
And some leaves

Summer jackets
Never useful
But sometimes it's nice
To find the surprises that lie inside of it
But too bad you won't ever see them
Because it's at the bottom of your closet
Along with everything else you forget about
All the unimportant things
one of my favorites
I’ve got
seven songs
on repeat.

They don’t ask me to talk.
They don’t tell me to cheer up.
They just play,
quietly,
loudly,
however I need them.

Vestige
whispers
like a ghost I once knew,
soft, aching—
it holds my breath in its careful hands
and never asks
why I’m fading.

Caramel drips down
slow and sweet,
like it knows my ribs
are tired of holding it all in.
It doesn’t try to fix me—
it just sits,
a quiet sadness
that understands.

When The Sun Sleeps
doesn’t sleep at all—
it screams,
loud, raw, honest.
It bleeds the things I buried
and somehow,
that noise feels more like home
than silence ever did.

Overflow crashes like a wave
right when I thought I was dry.
It drowns me—
but gently,
like rage that remembers
I’m still human.

To The Flowers
sounds like falling apart
and finally letting go.
It’s heavy,
but blooms in the dark,
grief growing
into something real.

Nero Forte fights for me
when I’m too tired to fight myself.
It’s chaos—pure,
relentless—
a storm I can scream into
and still
walk out of.

When It Rains
makes me feel fifteen and fragile,
but soft enough
to remind me
I’m not wrong
for feeling everything
too much.

These seven songs don’t save me.
They don’t have to.
They just stay—
and some nights,
that’s the only thing
that keeps me here.
The songs are Vestige by Mirrors, Caramel by Sleep Token, When the Sun sleeps by Underoath, Overflow by Polaris,  To the Flowers by While She Sleeps, Nero Forte by Slipknot and When it Rains by Paramore.
The Mind Olympics – thoughts going round
and round my once-stable mental state –
Where I transitioned from a season of declaring,
“I can cope with anything,” to now saying,
"I need anything to help me cope."

I am like a pristine canvas, pure and white;
yet, the moment a single black spot appears,
the harmony is shattered.

As the vibrant colours in my eyes fade away,
I find myself painted with the stain of hollow
anguish – empty victories fill my grasp, yet they
only amplify the weight of my own suffering.

Mental health is no laughing matter;
yet, in a cruel twist of irony, I find myself chuckling
at the absurdity of believing I am the sole bearer
of such heavy thoughts. All I yearn for, is someone
to truly listen to the whispers of my heart.

Can we please talk?
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