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I drown what surrounds me in a sea of music,

                                             because as soon as I turn that music off,
I hear shouting and screaming                                                        ­    
                                       words such as "Idiotic"
are applied to me                        
                                                                ­                     and I hate it.
However...                                                 ­                     
      I choose not to hate
      thus
        I drown this world into an illusion
of what my music plays.
the shards of my shattered blood line
piercing into my lungs
tearing it open

letting me bleed my sadness out.

i bleed slowly;
                       i bleed,
                                    i bleed.

your vibrant persona is too much for me to handle,
it feels choking at times.

but nonetheless i am attracted
like a moth to a flame.
i know it is dangerous,
i know it will only end in my execution,
but i go in anyway
orchestrating my own death.

i plummet into your aura,
i take it in.

and a small part of me believes
that you even had the smallest inch of care for me.

but you don't.
it's someone else it always is.

it's always the 'it's not you it's me' crap;
or the 'i don't feel the same' torture.

nonetheless it breaks me,
and i break in silence.

the saddest part is i thought i had a chance with you.

joker.

what a joke.

it can't happen,
it will never happen.
and that is all there is for me.

there is no yes or inbetween.
it is always no,
a resounding no.

but it's not your fault.
i know i am an ogre,
a monster with two minuscule eyes,
with my pores oozing acid,
and my mouth spewing fire.

my fiery temper restricts all suitors,
i know i cannot be tamed.

maybe that is why.

i am boundless and limitless and that may be intimidating.
but
but i am human,

and every human has that one boundary and
that one
limitation.

that was meant to be you,
meant to be you for me.

but you have someone else,
someone prettier and better.

so be happy, because that's all i want;

but for now,

i bleed slowly;
i bleed,
i bleed.
i'm currently mending a broken heart by using the only means i know how... poetry.

Word of Advice: boys are torture
When a mirror shatters
someone cries
because they
think the
mirror broke
due to how
hideous they
look
but little do
they know
that the mirror
shattered
only
because
it gave up
trying to convince
them
of their
**beauty.
I just wish that every one knew that when we look in the mirror, it shows nothing else but the beauty of a person.
Such lamented memories
dance across the spine of
his intoxication,
as he breathes his last
for his broken heart stopped beating
when he poured his poisoned blood
into the vast sea
of despair
thus
his dejected heart refused to pump
intoxication
around his crippled soul.
Let the rhythm of our hearts
nurture the sweet blossom of love,
so that it may turn into bliss
dissolved from the night time air between us
and shower such rain which binds the growth of our love and roses
together.
You came like a car crash
I didn't see you coming
My mind couldn't believe this was happening
I was flying for a second
Then I was wallowing in pain on the ground
And the car which hit me was already gone
Melancholy's bitter touch took her breath away
and injected her windy harmony inside Depression's corpse,
Her rose bud lips paled into Autumn's dying flower,
a morose dissipation of colouring of which once lived in her lips.
Scarlet cheeks evaporated into Ivory chalk.
as its powder sprayed on her frail countenance,
Her eyes though
which once painted the delusion of happiness gave up too soon
and succumbed to Despondency's cruel embrace
excluding the small threads of faint, grey light
which may have been the possibility
of a better life.
Your blade kisses you like they never did
Your blade marks his love like they never did
Your blade is always there like they never were
Your blade proves you human like they never did
Your blade protects you like they never did
Yet your blade still hurts you like they always did
And your blade still leaves unpleasant memories like they have done too.
Ironic isn't it.
You come to your blade for relief
Yet the results are still the same
Except this time you're in control of the pain  you feel.
Even the most darkest of voids
Can dream about the most purest of lights.
Goodnight
I love autumn.
Why?
*Because it shows that dying can be beautiful.
I'm not the type of girl who chooses spring for flowers
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