Tag: dark poetry

  • TURN INWARD

    The will to go on
    slowly fades.

    Trapped inside your body.

    The void deepens—
    obsidian.

    Demons closing in,
    tasting the win.

    And you—
    blade in hand—
    turn inward.

  • JUST ENOUGH

    I stayed standing
    Not steady—
    Just enough
    to pass as strength.

    Bending quietly.

    Hands shaking.

    Mind slipping—
    just enough to lose hold.

    No one noticed
    how close I was.

  • INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS

    I take my intrusive thoughts
    out for walks—
    like they belong to me.

    They don’t leave.
    They don’t quiet.

    I try to sleep them off,
    but they follow me there too.

    Every night,
    the same loop—

    no exit.

  • I REMEMBER


    I remember every word 
    that cut me open.

    I remember every fire 
    that left more 
    than it burned.

    I remember the void 
    that kept growing 
    until there was nothing else.

    I remember the storm 
    that almost took me—

    almost.

    I remember every hit, 
    every mark. 
    every scar—

    inside 
    and out.

  • IN MY TRENCHES

    In my trenches–
    this haunted house
    eats me whole.

    Ghosts of memory
    wander.

    Whispers in the walls.

    My mind—
    a forbidden dungeon
    no one enters.


    Something inside
    won’t stay still.

    Dead eyes.

    On the floor again.

  • Daffodils and daisies
    were meant to bloom—

    nothing did.

    abandoned.

    what remains?

  • BUILT IN RUIN

    Holding roses,
    bleeding out on the floor—

    the witching hour waits,
    voices at the door.

    my love,
    built in ruin,

    wounded.

    there’s blood in the water—

    and still
    I ruin more.

  • between silence and survival.

    the night knows—
    and that’s enough.

  • MY GRIEF TAUGHT ME DISCIPLINE

    My grief taught me discipline.

    Not the clean, motivational kind—
    the quiet, brutal kind.
    that holds you together
    when everything you love comes undone.

    The discipline of surviving
    what should have broken you.

    Grief carved the truth in front of me—
    the pause before collapse.
    Tears taught me
    what words never could.

    My peace arrived—
    honest, not gentle.

    Now I honour the scars that taught me—
    the ones that closed without permission,
    that carried wisdom into my skin
    and proved I was worth healing.

    I let go of what no longer serves me.
    I stand in the truth of my heart
    and the marrow of my soul.

  • LOOK / SEARCH / YEARN


    LOOK FOR


    A horizon
    that doesn’t fade
    when you reach it.

    A purpose
    that survives the quiet.

    A reason
    not to burn it all down.

    Something that holds
    when you lean—
    And doesn’t give.

    SEARCH FOR


    A place
    where you don’t perform.

    A landing
    that doesn’t collapse.

    A room inside you
    that doesn’t echo.

    A truth
    that survives the storm—
    Not gentle,
    but still yours.
     
    YEARN FOR


    A home
    that doesn’t bruise.

    Warmth
    that doesn’t leave.

    Something
    that doesn’t shrink you
    or ask you to betray yourself.

    Yearn for the self
    that stops asking.

    The one that stands—
    Unflinching,
    unchosen by fear.

    The one that takes the throne
    without apology—
    After everything
    it bled to keep.

  • UNEARTHED

    Deep with rage
    the soul rots between the bones.

    Voices fade.
    Words disappear.

    Sleep comes—
    never gently.

    Standing alone in the forest,
    the ground underneath
    swallowing me whole.

    I escape morning
    After night
    has unearthed my bones. 

  • REVIVAL

    Regrowth is not gentle.
    I died at midnight—

    A slow bleed,
    crying spells,
    fractures beneath the surface.

    Learning to grow
    in the soil of last year’s failures—
    they are lessons,
    not a death sentence.

    I shed the stories that kept me small,
    shut the doors that fed the dark.
    I make peace with sunlight,
    and the quiet pull of moonlit nights.

    I embrace the changes—

    soft,
    loud,
    necessary.

    I hold the tender moments.

    I love—despite the madness.

    Revival.

  • WEIGHT

    Bring me back from the dead—


    pull me under
    with the weight of your sins.

    I’ll tend to your wounds

    and carry your name
    long after—
    it breaks me.

  • You can’t outrun what lives in your bones
    – Jacqueline Lente Poetry