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invisibleits like i can disappear
no one will know i was here
into the shadows i fade
to live the remainder of my days
a lonely hearttake my heart
i dont want it
i wish to not feel
for my feelings ache for you
one thing i cannot have
releaseshe crys herself to sleep
almost every night
she tries to hold it back
she tries to put up a fight
but in the end shes lost
consuming her, the tears fall
what will be the cost
to let it be the end of it all
let it bleedi did something im not proud of
just asking it to take the pain away once more
another letter to myselfhard to breath
when i see your name
when i hear your laugh
i just go insane
trying to smile
when all i do is cry
trying to live
when i have no life
chapter 3: blood sweat and tears Catalina grasped at Demetri tightly as they ran. At this point, being alone was the last thing she wanted. Catalina knew that he would keep her safe the best he possibly could. Her head raced around, all these nightmareish creatures scurrying through the paths. Screams of dieing and frantic students could be heard along with the shrieks of whatever was in here with all of them, which could be anything now. Who knows what could be in this school. They took a right down one of the hallways and stopped dead in their tracks. At the end of this path, there was a creature laying in a position of a cat when it's sleeping, all curled in a little ball. Shards of glass and metal protruded from its skin. The akin where the metal was seemed to be rusted and decayed with encrusted blood along the edges. The glass wounds though, were alive, dripping with crimson blood. It looked as if they were new, not supposed to be there. ALmost as if someone was tyring to kill it, but obviously failed. Bo
trying to fly without her wingshead towards the sky
she closes her eyes
a better world appears
but when eyes lay closed
the truth gets exposed
and so do all of her fears
she tries so hard
happiness so far
always out of her reach
her heart so frail
and to no avail
the pain is still a leach
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
It's Okay to be ImperfectThe moon
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
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