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Glass Bulletshow can you say you're shattered,
when you're the one that hit me,
when you're the one-
that shot me down-
and broke me apart:
a bullet without a spark
no catalyst to drive you forward,
you try to wound but end up broken in the process;
so i'm the one-
that cleans you up-
and tries to put you back together-
when all i want to do is throw you out
like shattered glass
a fallen hope,
a reality that doesn't exist,
you're lies within a barrel-
ready to fire at will-
but you're weak,
and a hopeless cause without a use
so i'll throw you to the ground,
and watch you break,
because even when you're the one who's destroyed;
i still get cut in the process
Mr MrWith words I cannot utter,
not even to silence.
You cross my mind,
and hold my heart.
With the pain it all brings,
I don't even notice.
You're the drug that I crave,
Addicted to the numbness.
The perfect melody,
a chorus stuck in my head.
I'm lost with you,
drowning in your fire.
You're all I wanna see,
Dreaming when I'm awake.
I need a way,
just to escape.
Bearing it AllAuthor John Green stated once that "Humans tend to measure time within the framework of important events…The event that we're counting…away from is the defining moment of these people's lives and it reshapes their relationship to the world so completely that it also reshapes their understanding of time." During my "before" I was a dancer; ballet, jazz, and tap. It was everything to me and my dream at the time was to someday dance on Broadway. During one of my classes, while doing battements, it suddenly felt as of my hip had popped out of its socket, causing me to fall to the ground. It didn't hurt at the time, but I still sat out for the rest of the class and went to the doctors the next day. The first trip to the doctors was quite uneventful. I was told that it was probably nothing more than a strained thigh and to just take it easy for two weeks, and if the pain is still there go back to the doctor. That was fine and I did as told, until one day in gym while playing DDR I somehow ma
001Maybe maybe this time when I tell you everything is alright, it can be the truth. Maybe I won't have to hide anymore. I really don't want to. I want to be well for you. I want to be alright. You deserve so much more than I can give you, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm not perfect like you deserve. And that I'm so messed up inside, and outside. That I can't be okay. I want to be okay, really I do. I want to be okay for you. I want to be that perfect girl for you. The one you spend forever with. But it's dark where I am, and your light isn't enough to help me see. And I know you're strong, but you're not strong enough to catch me. And I'm falling. Falling so deep. I want to get out. Really, I do. Can't you see?
Or are you okay with the lies? Can you really not see past the surface? That I'm cracked and broken into a million little pieces. Do you not care? Do you really think I'm okay? Do you believe the words that come out of my mouth? Can you not see they're tainted black? That it's
It Was LoveIt was pain, and it was sorrow, and it was everything he didn't want.
It was her un-shed tears, and her flustered cheeks, and quivering lips.
It was hope, and a future, and something unbelievable.
It was a hug, a kiss, an 'iloveyou' that broke him.
It was her, and it was him, and a maybe ever after.
It was being lost, but being found, and never having to worry.
It was rainy days, and cloud watching, and her always in his arms.
It was forever, and for never, and a fairy tale rolled into one.
UntitledThere once was a princess of silver and gold who sparkled in the sunlight and glowed with the moon. But that princess was gone. So long gone and never to be seen again. It was strange when it happened, almost like she left with the moon. The last sliver of her ever seen before she disappeared, but unlike the moon, she didn't return. She didn't slowly come back, piece by piece till she was whole again. No, she stayed hidden away, like clouds covering the sky. The princess became a broken doll of herself, her smile that was once so bright, was now razorblades. Her edges sharp and her eyes dull. She was skin and bones and broken smiles. She danced the night away in torn dresses and broken crowns. Her princes left and her knights turned dark. Her world was a big mess of kaleidoscope colors. Lines blurred till she couldn't tell what was real from what was fake. But everything was fake now. From the smile on her lips to the promises that left them. She lived for the night, but die
Selling the NewsThey tell you to be perfect.
But really it's all lies.
One wrong move and it's all your fault.
Don't try to make it right.
It still breaks in the end.
Paranoia is the new sin,
The savage beast within.
They make it sound like a prayer,
Like it's really all okay.
But you know the truth.
What they're hiding underneath their skin.
They tell you not to worry,
Everything is fine.
But something is still there,
The greater good doesn't exist,
It's all fiction,
Suspicion is the new religion.
CagedSomewhere dark, and damp, and cold.
A rotting corpse, a story told.
Shackles binding, keeping, killing.
An empty silence, no voice is filling.
Pretty words, stories, tales.
A closing darkness where death prevails.
Where once a man, stood, screamed, and raged.
His body left, alone, and caged.
A story on RepeatFor what it's worth,
It's not worth much.
We walk along,
Never anywhere to actually go.
We say things,
We never mean.
It's an endless cycle,
A story on repeat.
A sad tale,
Of our own invention.
One thousand to go.
Words we have spoken,
We speak again.
An Endless cycle,
A story on repeat.
And whispers in the wind.
An endless cycle,
A story on repeat.
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.
It's Okay to be ImperfectThe moon
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
I Thought I Needed FeminismI thought I needed feminism, when I was a little girl.
And I am very sad to admit, that this wasn't very long ago.
I thought when he held the door open for me, that he was making a big mistake.
That he was being a pompous ass, and he took my strength for a fake.
And when he offered to pay my tab, I still called him an ass.
Because I thought he assumed I was poor, and below middle class.
Or when his hard work earned him a promotion,
yet I did nothing, and the boss' ignorance to promote me, I believed was a sexist notion.
My friend really wanted feminism when she found her ex-dead drunk,
removed his clothes, and without his consent, had a pleasurable fuck.
When her parents bust into the room unexpected that night,
she said he raped her, and he was arrested without so much as a fight.
Perhaps feminism was there when I walked out into the street in pure nudity,
and shouted the my neighbors “You have no right to judge me!”
I didn't care about the children who were standing in th
These Faded KeysOf all the keys I click
As we speak each day,
It's the back arrow
That's faded most
These white letters
Would surely tell you,
I reply to everything -
But the key reading "enter"
Will be the one to explain
Why it still looks new
I want you to know
Just how much I care,
But I don't want to be close
Out of the fear of losing you
But please remember:
I dedicate these words to you,
Sharing them to the world
Rather than clicking away
At the faded key ~
Echoes we are like
in the middle
but not quite
what we truly
DethronedI have created Eden, through the strokes of my pen,
But it was made of promises, and angels
That were too fragile to hold the weight of our sins.
You were my goddess, on a throne made of dreams.
Which you were probably
They didn't glimmer and shine
like the diamonds decorating your rings.
They were the hopes of a man
So madly in love, but you poured poison into his heart
And so he rotted, each time you gifted him with a kiss.
All In Your HeadSoft spoken words at midnight, but she's not really there. Yet it continues, day after day, month after month. An endless cycle that you're bound to repeat no matter how many times you tell yourself she's gone.
Get it together.
Cherished memories that you can't seem to forget no matter how hard you try. And you try, so fucking hard. But at least when you pretend, the wounds don't hurt so bad. They don't burn and ache and make your vision go red.
Get it together.
So you focus on nothing, her, everything. It doesn't matter. You mutter to yourself, to her, to the shadows. And they respond, they shift, morph, drag you down until you're no more. They suffocate your lungs until you're filled with them. Filled with shadows and her.
Get it together.
Time passes faster, slower, sometimes it doesn't move at all. You're stuck until the next time because there is no in between. There's no stop, pause, no intake of breath. Nothing but a constant hum of silence and screaming. So
Bo.When Lindsay was born, Bo was there. Standing beside her mother, he was the first thing she ever saw. But he was not her father; her father stood on the other side.
Bo was there until the very moment she died.
The sun shone bright through the windows of her pink-laden room. She loved pink. And black.
“Because Bo is black,” she’d told her parents.
Her imaginary friend, they soon concluded.
“Bo is all black,” she described one night as her father tucked her in, “His skin and his hair and everything. He doesn’t talk a lot.”
Her father frowned.
“He sounds scary.”
“He’s not,” she insisted.
Bo sat on the bed and said nothing.
Her father kissed her good night and turned out the light.
“Why can’t Dad see you?” she asked.
“Are you real?”
“Are you real?” he replied.
“How do you know?”
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