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DecodeI prayed for three days that someone would come and listen
But the only ones who had came were the ones who were there before
Calling, leading me away to the water.
I didn't want to be led away,
My mind equated it to be going astray
It was a volatile explosion that sweetly snaked through my mind--
My first, my last, my only.
But I cling too tightly to the image and horror of a single living thing
I shriek if they pull my hands away
A child who could never defend
Fighting and fighting until I sucked you dry
Your bloodstained heart and smile left sinking red into the sheets.
I was wrong.
We both have to move on--
--whether that means by poet and song,
Or by the shade that covers a sleeping figure,
Or red string slowly unraveling.
So now I close my eyes and let them lead me away,
It's the only chance I have left
I will clench my hands and jaw and move on to create for myself a new world,
Whatever it takes in the end--
And when we stand face to face,
There will be no more regrets.
The Shadow of DoubtI had never known what to call you
But Erase seems as good a name as any--
You have taken me away from my love,
And replaced him with the shadow that lingers still.
Thank God it wasn't New Year's Eve
When you gripped me tightly again;
There would have been no prayer for the once-called 'us'
If your smile had shown on that night.
I will keep up my reckless fight,
Though I know I will not make it out alive.
You hold time in an iron grip
And no amount of begging will release me from it.
My heart may stop,
My blood may flow,
But I will cling to my last hope in the shadow of doubt
Until the blackness closes over me for a final time.
So I shall whisper your name against the tears that are falling.
Iztrivam; you will never break me.
A Metal ManYou alone question your artistry
Like an author who rewrites his first chapter
Onto infinity, because
Of one single sentence
But I wonder why you question so hard
As one night, you captured the essence of metal
And poured it out onto unwilling hands,
That were only trying to give you a rest
And a break, and something to look forward to--
But they never knew
You know what it's like
To have your veins filled with lead,
And I will never know.
Are your emotions just for show?
Are the gears turning in your chest
Simply a sign you're not real? you can't feel?
But you still are an artist--
Though I said you 'could have been',
I know for certain now.
Your own project, until everything runs dry.
marrowfireyou are an unwelcome bruise on the top of my spine
flashing your teeth and nails and shrieking
banshee-like, to say the words that you’ve always said
eating my lungs from the inside
and whispering the aftershocks
you are the blue in my veins that i see
once i’ve ripped myself open again,
without caring how much blood is on my shirt
i do my own cleaning anyway,
it’s hard to see the pain when you keep it closed inside
you are the one that sits beside me,
squeezing my hand and telling me it’s going to be alright
but inside you suffer the same way
and there’s no reason for you to be like me
or to ever want to touch me
because of what i’ve done to you
and what i’ve put you through in the name of lust
you are the bones that cry for release.
the tears that capture a demon’s attention,
the slow lick of a black tongue.
you are the seizure of my soul
and what drives me mad is
you are the thing that keeps me going
and what i crave when i stay awake
A Doomed Timelinedearest
i will still wear what i thought would protect us
and all the memories will still eat me.
but i guess i was always
in the worst of moods,
never trying, never working
unless it was in sheer greed
i know you won't see this, can't see this
won't and can't find the faint words behind my sickly smile
and the things that i once did
but believe me:
i am on a ghost train to hell
and i'll cover up the emotional wounds with physical scars
so maybe someone will take pity
cause i guess that's all i ever wanted
was stories to tuck me in to sleep at night
and a love that would last eternity
but i got a soap opera of epic proportions
someday i might find the key again.
saravlathe pattern of lipstick on the can
mutes the rush of ecstasy when i see the beautiful scars
on others' faces
so i linger on the bubbles that pop between my teeth
and bend myself lyrically towards a fistful of silence
without need for apologies
we all have our moments
but the music that plays on reminds me
it's all just a game:
you are capable of stopping.
PerfectI will give myself one more chance.
Live on a diet of thoughts and reason
The door will open--
And someday they will see someone to respect,
No longer a girl with the weight of the world
Hanging from her waistline
But a wasteline
A waste of space
Unless I can pull back my flesh
And live in a castle of skulls and bones.
I may never attain the height of kings and queens,
But I can attain their aura
And their prestige.
Black and blue and bloody
But I will smile.
I will mean something once more.
But what is triumph?For even the dead are buried alone,
With naught but a sinister song to leave them off
Drifting along the sea with roses in their sinking ship.
What is eternity?
Eternity is we (not you and me)
Painting canvases of yellow and green
Faeries dancing across our brow--
A fire in the night with feet moving fast.
Courage is to stand up and fight.
If anyone would dare to cry out against the stain
Of a bestial man (not a father, never real)
We might be able to give ourselves a voice. And a choice.
But until that day comes--
We will (wait under the stairs with fright on our faces)
Veils and black roses.
Exnosuas DonaxAn etude for the killer rings.
We are born to be enslaved in chains,
Eyes gliding over with the frost of yesterdays,
And depression is our ultimate goal:
A downfall, a crowd gathered for the final chime.
We set the world at their feet
And were trampled underneath,
Our cries evaporating into the nether
Obsidian filling our tongues and throats
And we are nothing, meant to be captured
The next day thrown away
Minds broken by the words that echo forever,
We promise to keep our hearts broken
And sink into eclipse.
Who needs us now?
Who cries for us now?
Who would die for us now?
We are the dead. The killer hastens,
Putting his mark down.
One hundred years we cry blood and tears
We will never escape.
Tell my brother I said hello.
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
In QuotationsYou are a precious stain
On the corners of my mind;
A bloody, tattered paper
Floating in the wind;
A crack in the window,
An angel on the staircase.
You haunt me in dreaming hours
When the night has long past birthed its day;
Your nails trace down my face
And leave pinpricks of embers.
You spot me shaking,
You try to hide a smile.
You're not a disaster,
But if you were it would be a tragedy
Worthy of Shakespeare;
Your lips haunt me
Like the concrete crevices that shifted to swallow me whole.
Your eyes aren't empty, nor is your soul.
But still you turn to face the moon set
While the sun rises ever high;
Are you aware of your wings
Will you try to fly--
Or am I too close to the edge
To let your words ignite?
Am I choking you
Or are you scared of yourself?
Come to terms with it--the darkness is here, shadows clear,
But you're a constant in the ocean tides.
You're fearing what's near, but they're just games in the end;
You can swallow your mind's lies.
I believe you; I will set forth no go
[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.
All Here For A ReasonI turned onto a shady, well-manicured driveway that, for all intents and purposes, looked harmless enough. Maple trees lined both sides of the street, and a parade of Canadian geese marched across the road to a wide duck pond with a flamboyant fountain. There were blooming crepe myrtles and rose-of-sharons, and as I grew closer to my destination, neatly trimmed gardens with neatly trimmed bushes.
I stopped to let the geese pass. They looked at me; one hissed. I honked my horn and moved around them.
At the end of the road sat a collection of grayish buildings and a number of signs directing me to the appropriate parking lot. "Welcome to Ten Creeks Hospital," said one of them. "Please enjoy your stay." I parked in the visitor's lot. Surely I wouldn't be staying.
I was shaking when I got out of my car. I had spent the morning getting high. One foot in front of the other, flip-flop noises, hot sidewalk. Mulberry and magnolia trees, freshly shaved grass. A bench and pan for smokers. A set o
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