i try to block out the noise
with more noise,
and yet I am still drowning in it all.
i am sinking, and god,
somebody please help me
(i am finally reaching, and still there is no one grasping my wrist and pulling me out)
i am ready to be told that
i am w o r t h y
of so much more
than the sadness that wraps it's claws
around the base of my neck, tugging.
dragging me down, down, down
“ i am ready ”
the words are uttered into the dark of my room when the thoughts turn ****** and red.
“ i am ready ”
and my heart beats a violent rhythm to these words and
i am ready, so please, if You are out there,
send help.
I AM READY ( to be more ).
Dec 14, 2015
Dec 14, 2015 at 11:56 AM UTC
if you search through the rubble,
you'll still find fragments of me
tainted by thoughts of you.
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 4:58 PM UTC
and i wonder when they'll realise
that there is a reason why
i am always three threads shy
from falling apart.
Jul 11, 2015
Jul 11, 2015 at 12:35 PM UTC
and i try, i try
to take in the aesthetic of life,
but i cannot see past the
parts tainted by the
filthy hands of society.
Jun 21, 2015
Jun 21, 2015 at 9:42 AM UTC
so tell me again
how this ends,
is it with your knife through my chest
or your gun to my head ?
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 3:59 PM UTC
there is beauty in a storm
(i promise to keep you warm).
darling, there is beauty in death
what are you so scared of ?
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 6:32 AM UTC
and i remember
how your eyes were so much
like stars;
all burnt out hope,
and dead-beat dreams.
Mar 2, 2015
Mar 2, 2015 at 10:26 AM UTC
with no direction or purpose,
we find ourselves
wallowing in pools of
self-pity.
we find ourselves longing
for those who whisper spurious words of affection.
after all it has always been better to have someone to hold
on those cold nights
than
being alone.
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 12:57 PM UTC
it starts in the winter,
with the darkness that swirls
in my head.
and its all a blur,
and i am nothing but a mess,
lying on the floor amongst the
shattered glass
of your tears.
Feb 10, 2015
Feb 10, 2015 at 12:52 PM UTC
and my words are not bound by
rhymes and other silly little things,
they are my thoughts,
raw
and scrambled.
they are my wounds that
i pick at with every word,
but they are my wounds that
heal with every sentence
the ink of my pen spits.
Jan 23, 2015
Jan 23, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC