Coughing like a cold start
Wheezing like a bag
Spitting through the back door
Have another ***
Doing the dying thing
Filling up an ash-tray
Feeding a fat face
Drinking cans of lager
Getting in a state
Doing the dying thing
Reading ****** papers
**** and bingo cards
Have another lager
Another pound of lard
Doing the dying thing
Sitting watching game shows
Rattling paper bags
Looking bored and farting
How the sofa sags
Doing the dying thing
Working for a *******
For very little pay
Yes boss and no boss
For eight hours a day
Doing the dying thing
Safely empty headed
Dull of thought and eye
Ignorant and vacant
There are many ways to die
Doing the dying thing
By Phil Roberts
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 8:27 PM UTC
Dear ex boyfriend. I am not your safety net to fall back on whenever girls don't want to talk to you. I have a life of my own to live.
Dear high school boys. I am not a doll for you to play with when you're bored then toss aside before someone notices. God forbid boys are seen playing with a doll right?
Dear mother. I am not your punching bag to verbally and physically abuse when you get irritated. Sorry for being born I guess.
Dear grandmother. I am not nor will I ever be the perfect christian girl you want me to be. The heart wants what it wants.
Dear self. I am not paper so don't cut me, I am not in court so don't judge me, I am not evil so don't hate me... Please?
May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 7:57 PM UTC
It hurts so badly.
I have cut, I have bled, I have broken bones, I have been through more deaths than anyone should.
But nothing has hurt this much.
Nothing has hurt more than loving you.
You are the reason I wake up every morning.
You're also the reason I cry all night long.
You told her I don't know what you're dealing with.
Little do you know, I worry about you more than anything.
I cry myself to sleep trying to figure out why I cant help you.
But you wouldn't know that because you've never asked.
That's okay though, you're my favorite cross to bare.
You're the only problem that I love to deal with.
Because I love you.
And nothing hurts more than loving you.
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 7:43 PM UTC
He makes me smile, when no one else can.
He makes me laugh when I'm in the middle of a breakdown.
He tells me about his problems, and I tell him mine.
I've told him all of my secrets.
It’s clear to me that he is someone I can trust.
He's different from all the rest.
He is so much more difficult than anyone else.
He puts up with my dumbness and numbness.
I've been mean to him, and he doesn't care.
Every day he lifts me up higher,
When I've been pushed down my whole life.
He is always there for me when I need him to be.
He sticks around even though he could do better.
He tells me that he loves me, he doesn't know why, but he does.
I say it back.
When I am with him butterflies flutter inside.
I get all girlish and I don't know why.
When he kisses me I feel sparks.
It’s hard to know what love really is at this age,
But if it is anything at all, I feel it.
With him I feel love.
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 11:42 AM UTC
Dear Idiot,
I love the way your smile makes you look like an elephant.
I love how when you dance you look ridiculous.
I love they way you embarrass yourself daily.
I love how you think we’re friends.
I love how hilarious it is when you try to act cool.
I love how you have no friends.
Haha.
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 7:47 AM UTC
I'm sick of missing you.
It's been over a month.
But I still long for you.
It's killing me inside.
I know I can't have you back.
I don't want you back.
I'm sick of dreaming.
Because every time I dream...
I dream of you.
I don't want to close my eyes anymore.
You're always there, with me or another.
I know these dreams can't come true.
I don't want them to.
I'm sick of the memories.
It's not that they're bad memories.
It's not that at all.
But they are of you.
And I don't want them anymore.
Jun 3, 2016
Jun 3, 2016 at 8:43 AM UTC
When she says she loves you,
That you'll always be her babygirl,
That she'll never leave your side,
She's probably lying.
Jan 19, 2016
Jan 19, 2016 at 9:49 AM UTC
I hate seeing you.
No, I don't hate seeing you.
I hate seeing you like this.
You've been depressed.
You've been hurting and struggling.
You've been crying.
You've been writhing in the agony your mind creates for you.
You're dying.
No, you're not dying.
But you want to be dead.
You think that being dead would be better.
Better than the pain.
Better than the not knowing what's wrong but it's not.
You're broken.
Wait, you're not broken.
But you think you are.
I just want to help you.
I just want to make everything better.
I want to take the pain away.
You think you're broken, and I'd break myself to fix you.
I hate seeing you.
Like this.
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 9:59 PM UTC
The first day I had a crush.
I asked you to the dance and you said yes.
We danced so awkwardly and far apart.
Hardly talked the whole night.
And what we did say was full of nervousness.
Then next day we were together.
Well you asked the night before,
But I didn't answer you right then.
"So is this gonna be a thing?"
Seven words that would start a life time.
Then we were in love.
Like no love I had ever felt before.
I wanted to be around you 24/7.
I'd miss you when we were apart.
We had planned our future together.
Soon we had fallen apart.
Six months seemed so short.
Plans for our future,
Were no longer for us.
They were for you. And for me.
The memories of us became torture.
I cried countless times.
Now we aren't we.
I am me, and you are you.
That's how it is.
No more tears, no more sadness.
Just memories.
The memories are no longer painful.
They're happy.
You can't stay bitter all you're life.
Nov 20, 2015
Nov 20, 2015 at 10:11 AM UTC
*Dear Who I could have called father,
I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you wanted me to. I’m sorry that I wasn’t good enough for you to call me your daughter. I’m sorry that you never wanted a kid to begin with. But that is not an excuse. What you did to my brother and I was unacceptable. You hurt us. Both physically and mentally. And you hurt our mothers. You didn’t want us so you left. You moved to Florida and forgot about us. Forgot about me. But I didn’t forget about you. You left a scar inside of me. Maybe if you had stayed around, not only around me, but on the earth, you could have been happy. Maybe if you had have gotten to know me, you’d have liked me. Maybe if you were still alive you’d have come back to us, to see what I have grown up to be. Maybe, just maybe, you’d be proud of me. But you weren’t. You left us. You left us hurting. My brother won’t even talk to me anymore because I’m just another reminder of you. And I cannot call you father.
Sincerely,
The one you could have loved.*
Nov 17, 2015
Nov 17, 2015 at 6:59 PM UTC