Now I lay me down to sleep
I want for nothing more than to bury thoughts deep
Escape the wretches the day has brought
The wars, the sadness, the world has wrought
If I pass away in peaceful sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake
No more days should I have to ache
For this world has kept me far too long
It is time to hear my mellow swan song
If my soul is pure enough before morning wake
I pray the Lord my soul to take.
The four corners to my bed,
Surround me with the utmost dread
I know there is nothing left for me
My soul is nothing more than a sad story
I'm sorry for whatever path my carriers must tread, to the
Four angels round my head;
Who should know that, in life, from my troubles I fled
A noble life is not one that I chose
But I'm ready for an ending, for angels, I suppose
One to watch and one to pray
So they will carry out my day
I will never see the morning light
I planned for dying on this night,
These angels will keep my suffering at bay, thankfully, there is
Two to bear my heavy soul away.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
There is no worse feeling
Than nothing at all.
It's scary,
It's dark,
and it's lonely.
And it's kind of like the night.
Kind of like I am the moon.
And I am suspended above everyone else,
Flying high above in the risers, looking down at the actors on the stage,
On the people in the town
Conversing, falling in love, having fun, simply being
And I am up here
And I am alone.
I am the light to guide everyone's night
But they still don't see me.
I am at least one of two constants in their lives
And they still forget that I am here.
I will fall, I will rise again, and I will continue this cycle
I will swallow my feelings because
I have to
Because the town will turn to shambles if I don't.
I am not sure if I am comfortable with being this constant for everyone
I do not know if this something I should be okay with
If I should be okay with being absolutely nothing but
Something that is there.
I have nobody, but I am still there.
I am still here, don't you remember me?
Why won't you remember me?
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 6:25 PM UTC
Do you ever want to die
Not only because sometimes
It just seems like where you need to go,
But to see how the world would change?
Who grieves, who adjusts, who comes forward,
What would be formed, what would cease to exist?
However, there's the reason to skirt around-
This minuscule grey area, that is,
At best, continuously evolving in certain situations-
And right there, as if waiting- the want to die
Simply because that's just what seems to be left
That would make me different,
I would have something to myself
I don't have to see if things get better before they get worse.
Well, speaking of my first list-
Out of the two reasons, the latter of which
I am forever curious about,
I am most scared of wanting the former.
Dec 15, 2014
Dec 15, 2014 at 10:52 PM UTC
you have a match doused in gasoline
held to the flames
destructive, powerful, filled with potential
but you can't let go
what if it explodes?
who will get hurt?
listen- find this person,
and for the love of god,
hold onto them
find someone who is not afraid to throw your match into the fire
to ignite the burn in your soul
who wants you to let go of it all,
to let go of the destructive match holding you back
find someone who is not afraid to soak your troubles
and toss them into the flames
find someone who loves you so much
that they will sacrifice their burns
so that they can help heal yours
find this person,
and for the love of god,
hold onto them
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 9:35 PM UTC
Your generation is defined by definitions.
'This generation', this new-fangled bunch of hooligans
Cut out and put in the oven,
Lives pre-formed, based on premonitions,
Put into the system and cranked out
Made up of numbers and tests that really define who you are.
'This generation' that you have given a set of rules
A set of molds to fit into
To pour their lives out and 'better the world'
Shaped with your all-knowing tools
Scissors that cut funding to the parts that maybe,
Perhaps, might make them an individual.
Because here, no, here we don't have room for individuality
But we sure have room for this assembly
Your freedom of religion, speech, and freedom to assemble
No room for that, for fear of immorality
We don't have time for originals, we don't have time for strays
I'm sorry that you've got ideas, Generation Y
But this is the generation of time constraints.
We've got technology to innovate, an ozone to fit
Communities to build and lives put at risk
But that's not as important as what's in the now
No, not as important as these tucks and nips
We've got to put you under the needle
Even after we swore, 'first do no harm',
But this isn't going to hurt, I swear
Well, maybe not on the outside.
Look here, Y, you'd be better off compliant
To fix our computers and drive our trucks
To turn off your TVs and just trust us
To read the chapter and finish the assignment
Because to us, you all learn the same,
To us you are still just a number
Even if you think you're out when you graduate.
So what, you graduated the system,
And it's done it's work on you
Have your daddy pick the college and your mama pick the sheets
Pack your bags, you're ready for the big world
And that's exactly what we made you think.
Generation Y, you are fitting into the molds we gave you
We tried to crank you out in groups of 300
And we did
You were never allowed to be original
And you weren't.
Generation Y, this cookie-cutter, uniform
'Glued to technology', uninterested
Group of 'stupid' teenagers
You were forced to unify
And forced into corrals, thereby,
Forced into lives we've blessed you with.
I swear, by my very intelligence
That we're good by you, good by the world
In evaluating what we need
Where we need people
Hopefully creating a society less-gnarled
Generation Y, you may hate the population
But you are the population
And you are what we told you to be.
Your lives were pre-formed from day one,
So, please,
Sit down, shut up, finish your definitions,
And stop asking why.
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 3:24 PM UTC
Empty hands and love wasted
Wasted, the state of being wasted
Drunk on love
Or high on life
Perhaps intoxicated with the idea
Breathing in the fumes of both
Hookah and happiness
Crushed up pills meant to calm anxiety
Only calm their mind
Not the body, not the syncopated motions
Not the actions in which they're partaking
Crushed up pills, crushed up souls,
Uppers and downers so that maybe
While their mind is numb,
Their body sure isn't,
Maybe for a moment they don't have to think
About what love actually is.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 3:05 PM UTC
Flames will fade too,
Burn bright and hot until a smolder
Until fleeting breaths of wind or water
Put out it's last embers.
And I, I am this fire
Ceaselessly burning,
Incandescence,
Flames twirling,
Dancing as if nobody had extinguished me yet
Until someone does.
Until the water is splashed
And my fire dies.
But as oxygen is to flame,
Willpower is to determination
And my embers will not be put out
I will burn what has given to me until incineration.
I ingest this wood, these obstacles,
As a hungry child
I engulf forests for breakfast
Because fire is natural
And you cannot tame what is wild.
You can douse the coals after my destruction
But I can rip through your town
I will sear your very existence
To the ground.
I can be put out, as if I was never there
But the grass around me
And what I have left in my path
Is not the same, nor will it ever be.
Oh yes, embers die, too, you know-
But keep in mind that while you may strike the box,
I'm sure that you never lit the match
With the intent to start a fire.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 9:16 PM UTC
I'm not inherently pretty
Not even naturally beautiful
I just know
How to use eyeliner and mascara
To trick you
In the most inherently pretty
And naturally beautiful way.
Sep 7, 2014
Sep 7, 2014 at 4:12 PM UTC
She'd started watching 1950's informational videos.
You were accepted for being outside the box
And she was everything except in it.
Class president kids used to be reviled
Elections were exciting, polls came in,
And now... now what was it?
Something she should be ashamed of.
Because she cannot dance in a short skirt in front of a crowd
But instead because she plays the music
For the girls in the short skirts
Band uniforms like shells she can hide inside
Because while it's not something the other kids love,
It's what she loves.
Tennis dresses like skin without makeup
Student council shirts that finally fit,
That she feels like she can finally fill out
Unlike the jeans that she can't.
Golf jersey tossed aside, brushes and pencils picked up
Volunteer work piled in
Piling into the plays and new experiences
And acceleration, constant growing,
Growing out of shells that she used to love
And gaining skins that she loves even more
Looking back and seeing that the girls in short skirts
On the sidelines, on the gym floors,
Had not shed anything yet
Had not grown.
They were walking, she was running
Toward the end of high school, toward a goal,
To see how high in the sky they could get,
To see how high in confidence and compassion she could reach
They shed clothes, she shed skin and shells
They were permanent, fearing change
She was evolving, embracing it.
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 8:22 PM UTC
To love as freely as a child again.
Like a child, afraid of going to school
Afraid to leave their mother and father
For fear that they won't be here when she comes home
Fear of cooties from the boys
Boys that eventually become an elementary crush
A crush that blossoms into middle school feelings
Feelings that will be brushed off by friends
Friends who leave her unattended at the most vulnerable times
Where vulnerability renders her temporarily blind
Temporarily stuck in a hopeless place she can't escape
A place so desperate she can't imagine life without it-
And to imagine- she isn't even done with freshman year.
To hope that the years will roll by fast enough
So fast she can't acknowledge that they go by
Can't acknowledge the feelings she's putting herself through
She's killing herself, and nobody seems to realize yet.
To feel as if whatever-God-is-out-there must,
To listen as if prayers were flooding in minute by minute
Prayers to end the pain,
Pain that she shares,
But cannot share because nobody will hear her
Her prayers drift by silent ears and go unnoticed
And when turned-off ears fail to hear her,
Her anger doesn't fail to boil up, to create something horrible,
Something horrible that has never really been her
Something she never realized she had
Until she realized something else.
To let anger and sadness take control in such a strong way,
Something else had to stop being in control-
To love as freely as a child again.
Not only to love others,
But herself.
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 9:32 PM UTC