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StarvedThere was a soft un-tucked tethering in her brain,
a wallowing that gave sound to the bitter symphony silencing her elusive twitches, which no one seemed to notice. She breathed in stale air, and tasted remorse. Not for anyone she knew, but herself.
And the thing was, she didn't know herself anymore.
It was just past 10:00, too early to sleep and too late to grumble down the streets, her bag tossed over her shoulder, still shaking without her fix. The nearest gas station was closed and it was over an hour walk to the closest open one. Cigarettes were the closest thing to speed, and she wasn't close enough to get that deal anyway. All the pill-dealers knocked out on their recent swing of high-indulged habits. This wasn't enough.
Luckily, for her, there was a brand new cartridge in her purse.
A set of steel, sharp shattered razor blades.
Close enough to a speed induced high as she could get,
and far more dangerous.
She took a round about, spun on her heel, and let the light from the post
Boyfriends who were never thereMy worst fear was saying I love you,
knowing that someone has the power to take those words and twist them into something sinister and bold.
And when I crossed over that bridge, I feared for you leaving.
It is 3 months after I stopped being afraid,
and the worst thing has become of us.
You don't care if I leave or if I stay.
So we sit on opposite sides of the town,
with everything to say but no words being exchanged,
and I worry for the love you once said you had,
and the promises you gave me.
I've done everything you asked me to.
But you still don't love me.
Spontaneous MeThere is this thing in the center of my spine, sucking secretly, the life from me.
It harbors, hollowing the bone, and while I dream at night,
I dream of that winter gray water tower, on Senseny Rd.
You gave me my power, pushing it up and out, my stomach and my throat. I gagged on a prison before you opened its cells.
I didn't know what this was. A rebound, relapse. Something to relax.
I was 300 miles away,
in the dark,
in the rain.
He drove up, parked the Cherokee, and yelled me by name.
I shivered off my outer layer,
the part you gave me,
and asked when he reached for my shoulder,
why he was touching me.
He pursed, growled, and bit.
And you were no where to be found.
Four days later,
I got a stronger taste,
ice cold in April,
and you didn't warm
I pushed out the power, grounded myself on you.
You who taught me to be patient,
quiet, and loving.
The exact opposite of everything
I am a birdi've been chasing stars for four years counting,
the harbor pulling me in before i even knew what the ocean looked like.
now that i'm here, all i want is to chase the Appalachian mountains,
climb the mighty trees.
they say God lives in the woods, and his song is heard through the wind.
so i write my prayers at night, singing back, play it for me, please.
i am a pigeon,
i am a goose,
my chin held up high, my neck baring blows.
i am a raven,
breathing heavily at night, words leak down the pages.
i stretch my wings, form a shape of a triangle
where secrets etch the surface,
midnight sea claiming lives too bold.
i am a seagull, screaming with the howling wind; hear my call.
i fight in flight,
with the stars in the sky, blown up against the night air, brushed up gracefully in dark contrast, silver against black, the frosty clouds provide the obvious.
i am a bird, singing for the morning,
breathing for the night.
Kid with a sob storyyou were sixteen and you used to call me kid, like i was the one who needed to grow up, not you.
well now i'm eighteen, and you're nineteen and i guarantee that i'm way ahead of you on every aspect.
so when you got engaged to the same girl i was so jealous of the first time, and i realized you were an actual human being with actual feelings, i didn't get angry, i got numb with content.
you were sixteen when you took the best year of my life,
lonely girl at fourteen, heartbroken for a year, and ready to give up everything important to someone who certainly didn't deserve it.
i look back, read the words i screamed at night and realize,
shit could have been so much worse.
and i realize, you were sixteen, barely past being a kid, yourself.
well now i'm eighteen, and you're nineteen and you're probably playing tricks for steady living, and i'm busting my ass seven days a week,
clean, honest, minimum wage, two jobs, at eighteen.
call me a kid.
Visibleit is sad to say
in the least that it is 2:00
in the morning and
i still don't know your
name, but the color of your
eyes and the deep soul
drives me up the wall at night
and i have nightmares.
PassageI don't know if I am weak for forcing myself to forget, and say good-bye, or if I am strong enough for staying alive.
There is a silent rule in my family that when bad things occur, we just don't talk about it. If you can give me a reason other than the emotional capacity of my family is at level 0, I'll consider it. Other than that though, we stay silent. I think this is the reason I became a vulture for trauma.
I've heard there are ways the brain automatically deals with trauma. And usually, people who experience trauma in their lives, the ones who deal with it unsuccessfully, end up with some other mental illness.
Somehow I ended up with an on again off again suicidal, angry depression harboring in my rib-cage.
Regardless, the first stage of trauma I ever went through was when I was barely two years old. My mom's boyfriend, Robert, an abusive fucker, beat the hell out of her constantly. I don't know what demons he possessed, but they were strong enough to persuade him that hitting h
FallingWhen we broke up the first time
I compared you to every boy I'd ever deemed important.
Why you were better than every one.
Why you were worse than every one.
When the second time came around,
I stopped asking questions,
and just reflected on how different you are now
You don't see you the way I do,
just like I don't see me the same way.
You've grown so much,
that same insecure devoid of emotion boy,
hiding through distractions,
same as me.
I stopped being so insecure,
stopped blaming everyone else,
stopped being afraid of feeling
and stopped hiding.
You were my revelation
to all the lies, and all the secrets I held in.
And I don't know,
but I hope that anger you hold means the same thing.
NightAm I destined to share the same fate,
turning wheels, rocket to the moon dreaming?
She kissed the space below my wrist,
a tribute, to remember her when she's gone.
I breathed in that soft scent,
floral shampoo, but not hers.
She wants me to stick around long enough
to indulge in her own shampoo,
this one borrowed.
If I have to wake up every morning
wishing she were here for a
lifetime of her being there,
I hope I make the cut.
I am night, casually running my fingers through
golden hair in my dreams.
I am most alive when it is 2:00 am
and you aren't here.
Tell me what it takes to be there,
300 miles away.
I am a bird, feathers outstretched towards
home, head north till the sun breaks the sky above.
No more level with earth sunsets,
no more ocean water ricocheting my dreams.
Wait on me;
when you're sleeping,
know I am night.
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.
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
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
education is for foolsListen to someone else for a change. Stop being so selfish. So they pulled the cord too soon and we're making way for a crash landing, but how many times do I have to tell you to stop worrying about what's gonna happen later, and start thinking about right now? Maybe you'll land with your face in the dirt or maybe you'll land, arms out, feet first, and headstrong like all the rest. If you keep trying to fix what isn't broken, you're going to end up with more bruises than you bargained.
Well hey, you've always looked pretty with scars. Pay attention here though.
Sometimes we don't always need constant reminders of who we are. Because we change each day, and I know I'm just shoving fucked up words to make you feel alive that you won't even remember tomorrow morning, but hear me out for just one second. Your body is breaking down and you're just drowning in your own attempt to breathe. Calm down. You've got one more month to go.
Did you ever think that maybe he is suffering too? Not every
[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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