LoveloveSomeone asked me what is loveis it good, is it badis it awesome, is it terribleI honestly didnt know how to answer them.I finally desided love is the most complicated of all emotionsLove is kindlove is harshlove is wonderfullove is terriblelove is a curelove is a sicknesslove is LOVElove is hatelove is meaningfullove is pointlesslove shows the best in peoplelove shows the worse in peoplelove makes us speak truthlove makes us lielove understands everythinglove confuses everyonelove builds your lifelove tears your heart downlove makes you smilelove makes you crylove makes us cuddlelove m
SuicideSuicide... they call it sinThey say it is a death in which no-one wins...They encourage you not to do it, they say it is wrong...But who is there to encourage you when you can't be strong.You feel like you have no-one, not even a friend.No shoulder to cry on, just one last letter to send.
tragedies - collab.you deserve all the cobweb dreams,fairytale hopes, and explosive lovein the world, but i know that iwill never be the oneto give them to you.you need notes that end with'ps - you're brighter thantwenty-seven silver stars'.i can't bring myselfto write them, though.it's not like you'd read them,anyway.i cut out paper hearts anddreams and gave them to you, butyou only ripped them up and said'these aren't good enough.'when i painted you a pictureof golden skies and sunshine smiles,you handed it back and told me'next time, paint realistically.'so i wrote you a storyfilled of starless nights andhopeless d
the speed addictthe speed addict knows if he stops moving,he will die. so when inertia takes holdhis heart falters and his head slams againsta future, lit by the dashboard. he hearshis veins stuttering like gears grinding outa staccato refrain, while the wheel spins andgoes numb. as his breath twists away from his grip,rasps a hollow plea, he slides on a railtowards impartial angels leaving rainbow sparksin his soaring wake, and meets blazing lights.the addict dies twice. one is nev
heart song.this is the songto your heart.listen.-part zero.oh, dearest,why are you locked insidea bathroom stall? no oneto hold you, tell you sweetlies and say you arebeautiful, say you areperfect? it's not the end ofthe world, not yet. if it was,wouldn't there befireworks?-part one.sleeping.your heart is not yetdead; please do notsay it is. if it was dead,it wouldn't hurt this much.your heart is only sleeping.-part two.when the only melody in your headis a break up song, and the only thingyour heart seems capable of doingis twisting itself into knots, and the onlything you want to do is hide a
DementiaThe old man sits with stooped back.The room is cold, just like his hands.Thoughts have wandered like small children.He wonders if he will see home again.Thoughts have wandered home again,with stooped backs and cold hands.The room sits with the old man.Like small children, he wonders if he will see cold.Back stooped with thoughts, he wanders.Like a child the small room sits, wondering.Home again is cold.The old man will see with his hands.Thoughts have wandered with stooped backs.The cold hands sit with the old man.He wonders if he will see like small children.The room is home again.
you can't feel through fabrictonight the rain becomes the earthfalling from hidden spaces in the sky and swollen cloudsi hear it make mud of dirt, and lovers of friendsand ask, quiet, where are you going but down?im not all there in the headyoure not all there in the head, my mother saysim not all there in the head i repeatsometimes im there in my toes and fingers and heart as welland now - in this downpour moment- i lie on the streetso warm that i think well thats where loves gotten tobut where is your shirt n? oh someplace elseand is that a light flickering in the house across the road? hide!i rush in soaken w
This PainTears roll down my face,As I cut myself,To release the pain.It hurts so much,But feels so good.The pain is draining from me,In drops of blood.As I watch my pain leave from me,I think,"How can this be,That I have so much painWhen I'm only merely 16?".Then I remember the past that I've had,Memories of yelling, slamming doors, all the awful scars.I've cried too much,I've hated so many,That I don't think people will ever get me.I come back from my world of thoughtsAnd realize that I've bled too much,It's all over the counter,It's becoming messy,But I don't care.I just want this pain out of me.I'm
Sunday in the Kitchendear mother,i ask you how far we are from heaven.hunched over the sunday paper like a patient gargoyle.your eyes blinking too often, and tongue snakingaround in your mouth, as if the answer is hidden between your teeth.dear mother,you hum holy bars in the kitchenette.say "hallelujah means praise yahweh, praise the lord"say "angels must rest on the tongue of that word"say "angels, oh angels hallelujah, hallelujah, rest in me"but you haven't slept in weeks.i hear you sob sigh into the night like a prayer.like your table lamp is the closest thing to heaven-gates.dear mother,sometimes i still wish i could pray with you
Let's Hate Age 11 We met in a room full of crowded people who knew my name they knew my face and they knew things I didn't Most people there knew his parents and that was about it; the knowledge ended there He said, Come with me and I said no I made friends with social rejects and I made enemies with people hard to avoid We kept in touch But only
Depressing PoemsSorry --What if she died?And at the funeral her parents told you,"You could have saved her from herself."How would that make you feel?And that night you went homeSat in your room aloneAnd killed yourselfJust to be with her again and tell her"I'm sorry."Friends --Why do people try to help me?Do they care?I guess they doBut all I do is hurt themEspecially SarahShe keeps trying to help meBut all I do is push her awayShe's my best friendWhy can't I just let her help?Emptiness --What if I died right now?How would you fell?Sad, depressed, torn apart?Or would you feel nothing,But an empty place that
when i look in the mirror.one.things you touch turn silent.hearts can be blacked, burnt, ashy - but you take the ashes and burn, burn, burn them until there's only a memory left, a memory that's all edges and icicles.you leave me cold, empty and i don't want to breathe anymore.two.'darling, you would do well to remember-you can't have a light at the end of the tunnelif you have no tunnel.darling, you would do well to remember -you are not empty. you are not empty.[it's still hurting, after all. it's still hurtingand you don't want to live,but you're not empty.]darling, you would do well to remember-they love you. they love you,they love
ocean burning.one.before she met you, she would reach for the sun while standing on the branches of trees, arms stretched towards the sunlight, reaching and waiting.now, happiness is like a summer memory in the dead of winter - still there, but fading too fast to hold onto. now, she sits on rooftops with you at night, and the two of you watch as the city lights go out one by one.two.sometimes, when you laughed, she was reminded of the wind rushing through trees in winter - melodic and beautiful, but still cold, unforgiving.the two of you watched the waves of the ocean take away the beach, piece by piece.you were the waves.she was the sand.t
Feeling Adventurous?Oh God...He's about to pass me,about to brush me,about to touch me,I'm about to die.He's about to move,about to look,about to smile,I'm about to die.He's a God.He's perfect.He's toxic,to me,he's high,he's light,he's lust,he's want,he's a fever,he's an ache,he's a healing,he's a break,all I want,are those lips,on mine,all the time,come to me,and let me be,just a little...But only if you're feeling it,the way I feel it too,all I want is you,come to me,let me be,just a litle crazy.Put my hands in your hair,put your hands on my waist,hold me close,pull me near,then I'll k
blowing bubbles.last night wewatched the clouds fall.and you said: you are beautiful.and i am afraidthat i might one dayactually believe youandsometimes i feel likei'm just this big bundleof problems and i havebeen searching andi can't find the answers.you told me that the answersare in blowing bubbles and tying shoe laces and chasingdreams, but honestly i justdon'tunderstand. i have triedto chase my dreams butthey only run away..you told me that you can'tstand how i sound when igive up and the hopeis knocked out of me andyou can't stand me wheni am busy counting the empty spaces in thewalls and
ObedicienciaO espaço que habita entre dois corpos torna-se legítimoapós uma onda desproporcionada de silêncio.E torna-se insustentável a falta de saúde de quem dialogade si para si às três da manhã quando do lado de fora da janelacaem pedras de gelo em forma de canção.O ar sabe a impasses do sol ao subirno esquálido frio da madrugada que dançao silêncio das árvores - pares no baile da alienação mental.Sugam-se as mãos dos semblantes numa luta de cravos e pombas brancas."Até quando poderei suportar a minha própria ausência?"*Cada palavra é como se fosse um grito exigido à força por alguémque ronda a dificuldade de quem outrora foi
esquecimento. VII A areia estava fria, molhada devido ao vaivém das ondas e da água salobra que fazia inveja aos pés enterrados, dormentes, já há muito desusados. Laura estendeu a mão ao chão salpicado de grãos mínimos de rocha e deixou as pequenas partículas deslizarem para fora da mão, criando um pequeno monte ao cair – o tempo passava, mais lento que nunca, mais mórbido e fraco que nunca. A rapariga olhou o horizonte. Uma ténue luz amarela alaranjada desistia, afogando-se nos mares longínquos que os seus olhos nunca conheceriam. As gaivotas palravam, nos ares adocicadamente azuis com uma ou duas pequenas nuvens brancas. Era um dia de fim de Primavera
a.desoras.são demais as horas em que perco a tentar achar-me quase como uma técnica imperfeita de quem desenha inúmeros esboços de uma perspectivarecosto-me na cadeira e fico horassem ver mais ninguém senão a ilusóriae dolorosa imagem do espelho imagináriotudo está ordeiramente arrumado e calmo do lado de láe o chão lambe-me os pés em movimentos transatlânticose intrauniversais em segundos-luz de cio socialmas saltam as farpas reflectoras do vidro com a minha face desgrenhada e sou insistentemente abolido do meu corpo laico e lacerado pelo ontemo lugar de passageiro sempre foi mais seguroe estou já estou cansada de guiar em co
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