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Save me from myself.These thoughts.
They will not leave.
Just let me be,
don't bother me!
I think it's right
but then again,
I can't decide
please be my friend.
I can't trust this
I can't trust that.
What can I trust after that!
It's not real, it's not right,
I think I'm going to lose this fight.
If I can't trust this
and I can't trust that,
what makes me think
I'm not on the brink?
Could I change?
But I've lost hope.
I've lost you.
She left me.
And so did you.
It left my dictionary too long ago.
Just ask me.
Ask me please.
Ask me to trust.
Please help me, you really must!
I promise I will, I really will!
These thoughts are killing me.
Seeing White.She sits with her back against the wall,
She outlooks the stars from her window.
something sharp catches the light.
She looks at the moon.
A ghost of a smile graces her face.
She looks at the moon and raises her hand.
With her hand, she leaves a trace of her crimson ribbon,
and tries to tie it around the moon,
the very same,
so that she may take it with her to
Something.Stay away, Keep away,
is this just a game to you?
Can you just pick and choose
who you want to be and play
that wicked act that you do?
Stay away, Keep away,
Pushing people away gives you pain.
Laughing about it just makes it easier
because you love their misery
it plays that loud symphony.
But stay away, Keep away,
Easier to play the game.
Do you find joy in the way you've hurt them?
This Ignorance.Perhaps, she out of place,
cooped up in that tiny corner of hers,
that corner is her comfort,
isolated from the world.
You think her quiet, a loner,
you think she's mourning,
How right you were,
but you walked,
You were judgmental,
fast to get to a point
not even gathering your wits,
go talk to her.
She picks herself up
only to be smashed down,
smashed by people like you.
You settle for staring, bewildered
like watching a beast in a cage.
Oh, how naive you are,
just make up your mind.
She notices your staring,
she turns to grin,
you turn your back,
Soulless.They have sight
And they doth see
because they have eyes,
just leave them be.
Oh yes, they are,
but not going far.
They can listen
And they doth hear
because they have ears,
they know no fears.
Although having both
they do not use either,
because their kind of growth,
doth not involve neither.
Nothing but pasttimes.
Their minds are in ruins.
Wash, Rinse, Repeat.Get up.
Start the day.
Go to school,
First, second, break.
Third, fourth, lunch.
Fifth, six, walk home.
Go inside, change into pajamas,
Lay down and think,
for an hour. Or two.
Get up, do homework,
Write. Write. Write.
Draw. Draw. Draw.
Pack things away,
Till the next day.
Everyone's mask.I have a mask.
I bet you have one too.
It's not just me
It's a we.
Because no one is who
they say to be.
Others think they know what's wrong,
Others base it off a song
Underneath my mask I grin
And welcome you as our kin.
Another and another
they all come in,
more and more,
I think we won't win.
My mind pities me so,
yet tells me to go,
to pull off my mask and leave,
to just take off and weave
through the crowd
Absolutely ridiculous.You guys want to know what I think is absolutely ridiculous?
The fact that suicide/cutting/ whatever you want to call it, is made fun of across all of facebook, twitter, whatever.
Read this post that I found on Facebook.
A 15 year old girl named Amanda Todd committed suicide because she was being cyber bullied after a photo of her breasts was leaked on the internet. Now, she has a Facebook page that has received 170k+ fans in just 18 hours. My question is why? Why is this girl getting so much pity for committing suicide? By publicizing her death, you are pretty much glorifying suicide. People are going to see this and think "wow, she's getting a lot of attention. I bet the people who picked on her feel terrible now. Maybe I should kill myself, that would show everyone who ever made fun of me." Is that the message we want to put into the minds of impressionable youth? Shouldn't we be showing kids the people who have been bullied and persevered through the taunts and torment and have mad
A Letter to No OneThe clock ticked against silence,
Upon the cemetery of a room.
Deep sighs weave through the air,
Meager warmth in compressed despair.
Moths fall prey to a musty lampshade,
An opened window to Night’s gloom.
Thoughts dance like ripples on water,
And clouds on the hiding moon.
A lullaby plays from the gentle sound,
Made by scratching pen on paper.
One story told too many times,
Is voiced from words created.
Though this time revived from lies,
A phoenix forms the ugly truth.
The pen rolls from the wooden desk,
Having served its final use.
Old dusty dolls and teddy bears,
Watched helplessly through glassy eyes.
No star showed to twinkle hope,
Not one ray from the busy moon.
On the clock’s tick, a rope was hanging.
On the clock’s tock, a form was thrashing.
A tired, hoarse throat gasps for life,
Cut abruptly by the Reaper’s scythe.
Poems on the shelf with an unknown author.
Paintings on the wall left unsigned.
Just another heart trapped in horror,
An unfinished l
Always DefeatedI just run; faster than the wind. I can't stay. I won't.
All of this hurts
To remain standing, when all I am, is torn down.
Can you hear my screams?
Or just the silence
As I take a step into the unknown, will you hold my hand? Will you ever believe in me?
I keep trying but, all those words spoken, make me want to cry; to give up and to let go of all I know.
And you know the pain never stops. It's like a never ending empty void, which is sucking me in and I wonder when this will be done.
Will I be the one who won?
Or will I be the loser everyone knows me to be?
FriendlessThere's a little boy who walks to school,
Nobody knows his name.
No matter what he tries to do,
It is always the same.
He keeps up with all the trends,
He knows them inside out.
Each one he pulls off perfectly,
Even that selfie-photo pout.
Each week he brings a box of muffins,
Though nobody knows why.
He used to try and hand them out,
Now he doesn't even try.
He shares the muffins with the crows
and eats them one by one.
For consuming that much sugar,
He sure looks miserable when he's done.
He looks down at the empty box
and you see a little smile.
The crows fly off and he lies down;
They'll all be full for quite a while.
The same routine, every week,
I think so that he can pretend,
That in the year that he's been here,
He's made at least one friend.
Sunrises Pass Like MinutesA lover,not a stranger
is the composer of my pain
His brush, His fist
my blood, His paint
The canvas appears warped by not-so-silent screams
The agony is what leaves the stain
not the pigment
broken sentences like my broken cry
(even more like my broken flesh)
but even that can be reconstructed
with downcast eyes and foundation
Both His art and mine grace the same page
Distinguishing between them is easy
His are the color of passion; indigo, coal, crimson
If my work is done correctly,
His should be hidden
A testament to the facade of Beige 105
A new dawn is a newly worshiped portrait
24 hours just isn't enough for a new tarp to be woven
For wounds to ease
Time sprints too quickly
and as sunrises pass like minutes,
I fret He'll use the last of his paint
Would I be framed and be put on the wall?
Forever then, his muse.
It was never meant...We were never meant to be like thisso damn broken
I should have seen it
I should have been less selfish
I should have done something
Stopped this madness from causing so much trouble
You should have told me
You should have asked for help
You should have let me
Let me in
Let me fill you with trust and strength to win
We were supposed to be that cute couple,
holding hands and sweet kisses in the rain
A forever happily after without all this struggle
But our lives just went crashing down
I would stand tall
I would give my all in that fight
I would be with you through it all
Trough dream and nightmare
Trough everything you hold near
You would never ever have to be alone
You would fulfill all those dreams
You would know what true happiness feels like
Like something from above
Like a hand to hold and someone to love
I don't want any other girl to even look at you
They wouldn't care for you as I do
You are everything I ever wanted
I miss you everyday, like I'm haunted
So What Do I Do?If only I could read your mind
If only I could interpret you emotions
Understand what you're going through
See through your eyes
Hear through your ears
Feel through your heart
If only I knew how to help you
But I can't
And I don't
And it's killing me
So what do I do?
Thanks You Don't DeserveHere's a thanks you don't deserve
Time after time you got on my nerves
I hated you
But I loved you
Because I was supposed to
But I've learned from your failures
I've learned it's okay to shut you out
To hate you
To be better than you
I'm already more successful than you will ever be
You never saw it in me
You never encouraged me
Helped me up
But I always tried to go to you
Because you were my mother
But you're not anymore
You are no one
You're all no bodies to me
And as I feel this wonderful being
Tossing and turning inside of me
I will be better than you
I won't be resented the way I resent you
I will give my children opportunities
Everything you never gave to me
So now here is the thanks you don't deserve
Thank you for making me hate you
Because it has made me a stronger person than all of you
Autumnal InsomniaIt's an Autumn night. The cold comes cutting
Across the seas and the Isle is in winter's for-pang.
I am still at my desk in sweats and fevers, pacing
Over long due essays and the morning's march.
The space on the wall is screaming at me
From where the picture hanged upon the arch
Above the study door. My phone has not rang
In days. In no way could you call me free.
Is it late or early or both? I cannot see
Past the window's blank abyss and I delve
Into another long since read book and look to find
The clock is already far past twelve.
The creaking grows with roaring zephyrs
Of night-breath, the gate creaks in torment
And the dark and twisted line of the tree
Seems horrifying to me.
I close the curtain and shut the door
And pick my book up from off of the floor.
I look and see the clock is now past three
And it matter not in the least to me
And I pray to the Man of Galilee.
Lead-lined eyes and a slurring soul
And the hours awake take their toll
And I fall asleep.
How Cruel is the WorldA girl sits silently, wearing fishnet tights and a pair of shorts
She's got cuts you can see, but nobody looks
In the middle of class she picks and bleeds
The rest of them too stuck to their books
She wants to scream at them, "LOOK AT ME"
but she sits quietly as the blood stains her skin
She wipes away the blood with her flannel shirt
They think she's weird, but won't ask where she's been
so that girl went home, with pain in her heart
She tore off those tights with tears in her eyes
Ripped her skin apart
With blood all around the room
She died a silent death, one that came too soon
She was just a child, she didn't know
That there was a boy who saw her cuts and blood
But didn't have to courage to tell her so.
Mind.Darkness surrounds me,
Shadows surround you.
The present threatens me,
as the past did to you.
Your memories, you keep at bay,
but your thoughts just seem to fade away.
Your murdurous thirst is always there
and you seem to be grabbing at your hair.
My thoughts aren't right
my head's too tight,
I have to fight
just not take flight.
I want it to end
I want it to end
Please will somebody help me then?
It's not to late
Never to late
say it'll be alright
but we know it's not alright.
Because of your past,
you will certainly fade last.
You will not find a friend in this world.
We are not one
but one and the same.
Our minds have turned against us.
The Parlour IncidentOne day in July, I believe it was, I found myself sitting with several acquaintances in Christopher's parlour. It was one of those deliciously lazy afternoons which only the summer in her full glory can bring. The room had a wan, listless light to it, relaxing the other guests and myself as we languidly chatted over tea and crumpets. The air was also sluggishly heavy, dulling the senses to a slowly-blended calm engendered by the heat of St. Othniel's southerly climate.
At length, after much stimulating conversation, Christopher stood, producing a book of sheet music.
"What do you all say to a bit of music?" he asked.
"Certainly," I answered.
"Oh yes, please do darling!" Tabitha exclaimed, "he's quite the maestro."
Christopher laughed, shaking his head.
"Now, now love, I'd not go that far."
He strode over to the piano as the other guests urged him on. Ida entered the room bearing a merrily steaming teapot and more crumpets.
"More tea sirs?" she inquired, shooting sideways glances at her
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More