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L Nov 2013
greetings once again
from me to my only friend,
within this card i do send
a note with an amend.
saying the fault was mine,
that i knew you weren't "fine",
and instead letting you cry,
i stayed away to wallow in my own brine.

this is me trying to save,
the friendship that i gave,
to you the street i paved,
for our feelings not to fray.
**to you i know i'm dull,
but i just wish for you to mull
over thoughts inside your skull,
and to sleep our memory will lull.
L Nov 2013
i just want to leave,
a few marks on my leg,
so that every time i look down,
i remember i wish i was dead.
L Nov 2013
i come from middle class,
i've been given everything i ever wanted,
my parents love me unconditionally,
they pay a college amount of money for my highschool,
they've supported me throughout my entire life,

and yet:
i cannot get even average grades,
i hate how i look in the nice clothes my mother buys,
i don't eat much of the home cooked meals laid in front of me,
i don't sleep well at night in my warm bed,
i'm still not cured even with medication,
i'm still not cured even with therapy,
i hurt the body my mother gave me,
i break my parents' hearts everyday,
i cannot see the light in life,
and one day i will leave.
L Nov 2013
no i am not
what my father was/is
and what my mother was/is,
i am not even a combination of
the two,
instead i am alien
to my family tree,
because everyone related
have done well in life.
L Nov 2013
crooked footsteps
fall and sink
into my mind's
dark abyss,
it is one filled with
cold thoughts that
are constantly choking
but never quite able
to wretch up the
potential of a good
thought.
L Nov 2013
arise my child,
from your stew,
bubbling and burning
and eating your way
through my stomach's lining.

arise and creep up into
my chest and lungs,
and nest there and
stop my breathing.

slither through my cold veins
and block my heart's valves,
stop my pulse,
i beg you,
i've raised you for
seventeen long years and
the only favor i ask of you now,
is to **** me.
L Nov 2013
i cannot close my mouth,
it's agape and creaking and
there's dust and dirt,
it floats inside but never
floats out.
my mouth is a chest,
wooden and old and
full of stories and
full of the past,
that can be salvaged randomly
on a hot summer day,
and brought back to life and
given a new meaning.
but instead my mouth is dry,
and collects dust over dust from the
already passed times,
and it groans and
its bottom has warped from
that one time the basement was flooded.
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