I am the problem, It’s unfathomable. The truth makes it’s way, Just for it all to go down the drain. It is for the lack of affection I give, To mislead through the grief. For I am the problem, And you all, Were perfect.
everything is all right now it's okay everything is the way it's supposed to be
go to sleep you're good enough close your eyes
close your eyes take off your clothes you're good enough
take off your clothes i'm thinking of ending things yesterday i woke up on the phone
all the scarecrows and everything everything's ending.
i don't know if this is good, i'd appreciate feedbacfjsdf;osdlyesterday i woke up on the phone listening to the radio eysteday i fell asleep in the pool witheiswek it all in its right place Confused Yet?
Sorry if this is difficult and esoteric, thats the pointi don't know if this is good, i'd appreciate feedbacfjsdf;osdlyesterday i woke up on the phone listening to the radio eysteday i fell asleep in the pool witheiswek it all in its right place Confused Yet?
Sorry if this is difficult and esoteric, thats the point. Things are just somewhat difficult and lonely, and it's hard to articulate it. nevertheless, i try.
She keeps songs locked away in boxes like secrets. She will take them out like postcards to help her remember the feeling of a different time, a different person by her side. She likes the one that makes her eyes close to see the lights. She smiles at the one that makes her stand up on tiptoes, the one that helps her forget she doesn’t know what to do with her hands.
The tune will carry her.
Like it did the times when voices broke like a heart. When instruments’ strings would snap and hurt.
stop watching me stop waving don't stare from the windows i am not yours i'm not a show please just act like you don't know me strangers rather than enemies but don't try to get close to me neutrality doesn't have to make us buddies
i just want things to be easy i want to go to work and go to school without problems and have my stupid little crush without any stupid drama
I used to read your poems but lately you don't write you're silent and aloof you know that isn't right. You can't close a door once opened you can't abolish all your dreams you're a poet of the heart mustn't fall apart at the seams. Say what you can in words they speak the message true spoken from the heart the poems will see you through. A hermit's not your style a recluse, you are not never give up writing of things that you've been taught. I used to read your poems I'd read them once again if you would send them out (this one's from a poet friend)
i spent my life trying to please someone with a twisted disease i broke myself down and tucked my feelings away to become the person they wanted me to be i let myself be watched through the glass of a two sided mirror of a sociopath i wallowed my spirit away and begged for acceptance but there’s nothing in the world that i could do to let the narcissist know that i am human too
the only thing that can please a narcissist is being miserable
When we sleep I imagine that we go to the same place I picture you Your tattoos and red wine stained teeth You smell like ice cream and you taste like it too Everything that you love Looks like me It’s so real sometimes that when I reach out for you I can feel you reaching back In my dreams you say everything that I want to hear But you mean it I’d stay under these sheets forever just to believe it
I love him I tell myself I know that We will be together forever I don’t believe that We could be separated My thoughts tell me that He’s the love of my life Sometimes my heart lies and says I could live an eternity Without him Like my friends say “We’re perfect for each other” And you can’t tell me He’s not the one.
They said, "The most beautiful art is looking into someone's eyes when they talk about the things they love." And I said, "Or looking at someone you love. Or maybe, just maybe, by looking at the mirror is the most beautiful art anyone should appreciate."
Appreciation post for myself; for you and for everyone as well. You deserve more than the world has to offer.
He’d rather be angry than numb, and so the feeling boils within him. It swiftly moves through his body, poisoning all that it touches. The feeling settles, burrowing deep into his worn bones. The darkness surrounds him. When the sun rises, he does too.
I thought if I could swallow the stars I’d be as beautiful as the evening sky I tried one night with fireflies They burned my throat Their legs striking at soft flesh But my skin did not glow No moon crawled from my eye sockets I was left with corpses in my stomach I soon learned I would only ever be A cemetery