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But surrounded by thorns
Against the world around
A rose, hidden within the daisies,
Away from the light,
Away from the world.
To search and find.
Broken CrownThe raging whispers are taking their hold
Gripping you harder, making you cold.
You’re losing, face the facts
All the strength you lack,
You’re mind has handed you down
There’s nothing left of you, a broken crown.
The voices, twisting your every thought.
We all know how hard you fought
Face it, darling, you’re as good as gone,
You’re is simply the dark at dawn.
Death Ends the WarWith a gleam in his eyes, and a whisper upon his lips
The dust now settled, the war laid to rest
A fight fought well, still lost in the end
The gleam slowly fading, last breath escaping
He cracks a grin, a smile for the parting
Using his last breath, his dying words slip out
His words in death are as few and snide as in prime
The last words of battle, his wounds wide and seeping,
'I still won'
Seventeenth YearThis year.
This is my year.
This is the year
We take our lives
We become our own
No blood or pain
We'll become our own.
It's been too long now.
Our seventeenth year,
We will take back
All we lost.
Our seventeenth year,
We will be free.
Death's HandFootsteps down a long, dark hallway
Creek Creek Creek
Not a whisper could be heard
Not a mouse could be found
As she lays comfortably in her majestic bed
Darkness tucks her in
And death lurks her dreams
Taking her hand, she turns and smiles
Welcoming death kindly
Thunder cracks in the sky!
Blinding light flashes through
The tall, mighty windows
She then questions deaths existence
"But I am just dreaming, you're not real"
Death does not move
nor does he speak
He simply grabs her warm hand
Slowly, her eyelids become drowsy
As if they weighed a million pounds
She closes them
Awaking the next morning
Believing it was all a dream
She opens the curtains
Sunlight pours into the vast room
Finding her slippers
She walks to the bathroom
Only to find a small piece of cloak
Identical to what death had worn in her dream
A message to the brokenYou drown yourself
in liquid sorrows,
letting the salty mess
burn your wounds,
and the sadness
to drip in your mouth,
consuming your words
and you say
you deserve the pain,
but I want to dry your face,
and whisper in your ear
how the clouds cry too,
while they hold such beauty,
and so do you.
Pretty metaphors are for pretty girlsI told you to stop
spewing pretty metaphors at me,
for with each elaborate comparison,
I feel a bit more
detached from this world
And maybe I don’t feel so strong at the moment,
but would you be
if you felt like the entire universe
was resting upon your shoulders,
and someone was just there saying:
But you’re stronger than the powerful beats
of a butterfly’s wings
And maybe I do need more confidence,
but would you exuberate it
when the part you hated most about yourself
were the freckles that have speckled your face for years,
and someone was just there muttering:
They’re not flaws,
but rather stars that form constellations
Yes, I can’t help but hate
all those unrealistic metaphors
you choose to pelt at me when I’m low,
yet the irony is,
I know that those beautiful words
are realistic in your eyes,
So I can’t hate you.
dark circlesi haven't slept well in 14 days
my eyes droop pretty colors
'50 shades of purple and grey,
they're bags and they're designer'
making jokes is how i cope
with chapped lips and constant chap-stick
it tastes like honey and mint
i laugh and say i'm addicted.
hooded lids and sleepy smiles
during lunch at subway
my friends ask if I'm okay
I say that I'm just tired.
but really when I see him with her
my heart sinks to the tiles
she's pretty and witty and sure as hell she can sing
and i'm just a loud bone-collector.
when I see her with him,
dancing and laughing and grinning,
the ring on her finger
laughs at my singularity.
for as much as i lie and as much as i try
my loneliness still creeps in,
because no matter how much they protest,
i'm still the lowly fifth-wheel.
walking behind them on sidewalks
that are wide, but built for four
smiles and laughs when they look back
but the frown creeps evermore.
pelvis peaks through paper-thin skin
and knuckles white and pale
my ribs are empty, my bo
Clear WristA clear wrist, barren of scars,
as opposed to skin sauntered in marks,
tells a trickier story than it's soiled and raw,
uncaring, unkempt counter part.
Bravery, I think it holds,
the strength to bare unimaginable loads
of pain and suffering through endless times,
and withstanding the agony of sleepless nights.
Some think it is fear, the reluctance to cut,
but I believe it opposite, it show courage and guts.
To bear your pain without a nick on your wrist,
is like a solider braving his terrain while being torn limb from limb.
Agonizing as it is, to hide your pain,
you do it so well, and no attention you'll gain.
At the end of the day, it's not cry for attention,
rather a cry for the victory that's silently mentioned.
Your scars are those not self inflicted,
and despite the gnawing intention,
to harm yourself and ease your pain,
the scars you earn are rightfully gained.
In a room of those who have jumped the gun,
and left traces of blood deep in their arms,
do not be tempted to do the sam
Stand Against SuicideI know the pain is perhaps unbearable,
But darling, please put down the blade.
Release your emotions through tears and smiles,
Rather than dreading these days.
Do it for the little girl, whose mother can’t be there,
Or for the boy whose father drank too much.
For the boy who can’t sit in elementary school,
Because the bruises from Daddy hurt to touch.
For the teenage girl lying face down in her bed,
Thinking, why can’t it all be done?
For the elderly man looking up at the stars,
Counting the days one by one.
Do it for the children who wonder, does it end?
For the ones who feel left on their own.
For the ones who think, maybe it wouldn’t be so hard
If I didn’t feel so left alone.
And finally, do it for one other person,
The person in front of these words.
Because you’ll never know how it gets better
When focusing on pain and hurt.
Live one more day, dear, for them and for you,
And I swear to you, problems will fade.
I know, for right now, it’s p
[transmissions of a dead girl]i am the
moon: i am
the silver pill
to weigh down
into leaden eyes--
i am the
of the dark.
the stars are
all dead in their
you'll be safe, dear,
as i am the moon,
with all of your
(i am good bye and yet,
you think only of romantic
i am the moon.
i am the crescent
and dead altogether,
i still die.
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