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Yvonne Nice Apr 15
I used to soar high in the sky
The blue jays and ravens jealous of me
"Follow me," I bellowed into the air "follow me and you shall never see despair!"
Most came, some went, and to those who were not fond of my kind
How untasteful and foolish I looked to those dull eyes
But as time came, and time went
While I soared mighty high in a distracted haze they started to fly ahead
They played their playful games, tweeting and trilling as they went
But by the time I realized it, they were nothing but specs ahead
"Wait for me," I cried "don’t you remember that i'm your leader?"
"Sure you are," said a wise old dove that rocketed by and straight ahead
"You may have been able to help them with their troubles and keep them flying straight," he cooed to me
"But look at yourself and ask yourself 'what about me'?"
My tired wings and aching joints screaming as I worked to match his speed
"They've all surpassed you," he called as he cocked his head, "now no one minds you much for you're all spent"
He them dashed off with the other birds, singing as he went
And there I was all alone, how hopeless could I get?
A single bird, without a flock, how shameful can I be?
Well, I guess they'll do better off without me
I slow my wings and gently glide
There’s no rush now that i've been left behind
How was I so foolish, just as the dull eyes thought so
I thought I was a boulder, but I was merely a stepping stone
Her call used to be as powerful as a lion, but is now only as meek as a mouse.
Yvonne Nice Apr 15
If it wasn't for my smile, would you think i'm ecstatic?
If it wasn't for my tears, would you think i'm miserable?
If it wasn't for my fists, would you think i'm furious?
If it wasn't for my scars, would you think I needed help?

Do I wear a smile too often?
Do I hide my tears in my pillows too much?
Do I keep my bloodied knuckles hidden under my glove too much?
Should I even show you the knife I use on myself?

Why am I like this?
What purpose do I serve?
Am I even important?
I doubt it

I’ll just hide
I’ll hide it all
I’ll keep it away
From all of you

Don’t try to help
I don’t deserve it
"For the only fool in life is the one who wrote this." - the author
Yvonne Nice Apr 15
Can I really control the pain?
The anger?
The sadness?

Sometimes, I think about how easy it would be to die
Right here, right now.
A rope, a razor, a knife, maybe even a gun if i’m lucky
Hell, I could probably find at least 10 ways to try to **** myself in this room

I see my depressed and drugged up friends and their scars
Their wounds from battles they lost
I guess the pills weren’t enough to stop the urge
I mean, what sane person doesn't want to die?

Test after test confirms my suspicions
My dread rising in my throat, like bile
I can’t hide it from myself anymore, it’s useless
I’ll hide it from others though, they cant see my pain

The fresh cuts seeping blood
My skin stinging and sore
My eyes, void of any more tears
Why don’t I just die already

My mask fools them
Sometimes I even fool myself, until I dig deep enough
I idiotically keep trying to hide the pain
Why do I even try

I’m tired, but I can’t sleep
I’m hungry, but I won’t let myself eat
I want to cut, so I let the blood flow
What the **** is wrong with me


Ì̶̛̮̘͖̦͚͇̉͑̿̂̈̔̈͊̐͊̚͘͝ ̸̢̢͈̦̞̱͓̯̼̗̘̗̯̯̼̓͌̀̊̈́̏̾̕͝d̶̛̺̞͇̭̤̫̈́̃̋̄̑̈́̆̕͠ợ̵̬͈̘̜̹̙̞͋̌̏̍̇͌͑̿̓͌͜­̲͉̯̞ṇ̵̨̢͇͇̪̣̖̼̯͈̰̈́̔̽́̈́̽͋̈̋̔̊̅̈́̅'̶̢̢̹̝̖̠̲̥͔͕͓̣̌̏̃͋̑̈́̌̄͂t̸̓̅̄͋̃͆͐̿­̡͈̮͚͇͔̳̐͜ͅ ̶̯̒̈́͐̔͒͑u̸̡̺̼̖͙͍̜̘̟̫̥͑̿́̏̉͐́̔͂̾͂͂̀̉n̵̹̟̖̰͔̜̼̖̥͒ͅd̷̨̠̙̹̤̼̥̫͓͓͛͠e̵͘­̦̻̥̣̤̠̱̥͖́̏̅̈̅̀͊͑̐́̽͛̚͜r̷̩̥̗͉͈̫̙̪͚̓͌̌̅̃̃̌͐̏̈͌́̅̃͜ͅs̷̙̻̝͌̔͐̿͐t̶̑̿͝­̛̫̈́̇̔̑̇͋̌̐͛͜a̶̫͚̲͛̊͆͆̃͗̇̈́ń̶̢̨̩̝̖̹͙͔̦̹̞̗̫͂͛̃͂́d̵͖͎̽̋́͑̈́̐̈̅̓̀͗̈́̾̕͝­̡̢͕̦͚͚̪̹̲
̶̳͚̫̣̲̱̦͚͖̓̿̐̒̕͜͝ͅ
̸͚̳̝̮͍͉͒̍̉͌̃͋̿̚İ̶̪̀̓͒͋̓͐͊͛̀̕͝ ̷̘̼̰̱̦̣͓͖̙̪̳͕̬͊́̒̅̒̕c̴̞̹͚̰͙̘͍̬̦̋͆̀̏̽́ȃ̴̛͉̯͇̬͇͈̱̳̺͈͇́̇̒̊͊̾̓̿̆̈́͜͝͝­n̸̡̨̬͉̣͚͓̱̜̺̙̠͎̈́̈́̌͛ͅ'̸̡̛̩̰̠͖̖̏́͂̈́̇́̋̅̇̑͘͘͜͝t̸̢͈͎̯̪̻̰̲̦̯̄̾̏ ̴̧̢̛̻̼̰̯̳̙̻̘͇͇̥̌͒̈́͘b̴̨̡̼̰̙̲͎̞̫̲̈́̍͑͊̓̕͝ͅr̵̡̲̺̖͕͙̘͉̦̥̜̒ͅi̴̡͈̮̺̤̦͂n̸­͇̫̟̞̞̲̻͕̻̺̬̜̱̾̌́̒̌̓̂͝ͅͅg̵̝̙̝̹̐ ̵̥̱̣͎͓̑̉̇̿̅͒͝ͅm̶̡̡̠̖̼̋̀̒̽̎̄̕͝y̷̧͍̻̗̦̱̭̺̣̫̟͔̦̱̬͒̈́̉̀͒͗̽̽͑̌͝ŝ̸̾̉͌̈́̕­̖͙̺̯̞̘̜͉͚͈̃̎ͅḙ̴̢͍̝̖̯͍̤̗̞̼́̏̉̈̓̀̓̋̀͊͝l̶̠͚̙̳̬̼̑̎̉͑̈́͐̀̾͌̑̓͆̚͜f̸́̾͛̓­̠̹̊͂̂̓̿ ̴͈̈̑͋̅͗̽̿̋͋̈́̚t̵̨̨̜͓͖̪̲̣̺̠̓ͅô̵̧͚̯̲͇̫̤̤̻̖̲͚̬̩̎͆̌̍̑̀̒̈́̾̔̑́̋͘ ̵̢̨̻͍̣̮̹͍̜̥̮̫̱̫͈̇̌̀͂̃̓̿̌̓̾̋͝͠͝ḓ̷̤̟̗͎͓̩̫̝͇̲̜̼͗̓̊̊̈̉̕ỏ̷͙͖̣̒͒́̓̏̇̓­̡̩ ̷̨̛͕̞̱͇̹̭̫͈͎͍͎̮̝͙̇̾̈́͐͆̿́̑̔̏͝͠ḯ̶̢͉͖̰̘̯̦̹͙̱̫̦̳̻̾̾̈́͌̔̂͌̽ͅṫ̴͌͑́͆̒̌͘­̥̽͊́̏͑̕
̷̟̼̱̊͑̋͆̾̑͛̈̏̒̊͜͜͝ͅͅ
̷̢̛̜̥̤̣̼̰̣͇͊̇̊̆̀̆̿̅͐͐ͅÌ̷̏̀͌̿̒̓́́̽͂̈́­͖̠̹͚̭̜͍̳̍ͅ ̶͖̗͋̔̿̅̍̚ĉ̸̡͚̜̳̫̮̮͎̖͈́̿͜ͅa̷̼̲͆̋̈͋̂̀̍́̈̅̀̄̚͠͝n̷͕̝͎̩͋́͂̈́̆̄͠'̷̦̋̆̽̄­͍͜t̶̛̛̤̯̮͈̬̬͙̪̹͓͊́̊͂̔ ̸̘̯̺̃͊̇́̅͌̽͜͝͠͝ḳ̴̨̻̖̟̻̠̺̟͎͙̼̃̔́̋̂̌̀̈́̿̕͝i̷̧̳̗͖͔̫͎͉̩̣̐́͜l̶̛̓̅̉̀̂͑͝­͉͈͌̌̀̈̆̉ļ̴̻̩͙̩̬̱͓̦̰͈͗̃̇̃͗ͅ ̵̧̡̧̤̟͔̲͕̘̜̤̹̥͓̃̈́̑̄̈́̍̍̀͆̐m̵̧̧͖̰̺͈̙͓̹͔͉̩̊̈́̊̌̿̃͒̆y̸̘̭͗̈͐͐̾͌͒͗̕s̷͒͒̚­̢̳̪̳̖͗̒̎̇̎́̎̔̀̍͝ͅę̶̛̗͈͇̜̫̗͔̟͂̇̑̋̑̀̀̏̔́̍͊͜͝ͅl̵̡̡͙̹̤͚̹̖͓̳͐͆̈́̾͊̒͋͠f­̸̯̘͂͊̕͝͠
Please
W̴̢̛̟͇̪̼̳̪͙̫̥͈̹͂̎͋̓h̷̜̹͕̞̺̐͌y̶̨̧̡̛̘̱͕̬̺̙̅͒͊̐͜ ̸̱̘͖͔̲̞͓̆͋̉̎͠c̷̡͇͚̻͎͉͔͖̲̕à̶̡͗͌̓͐̉́͂̏͊̉̄̊͝n̴̜̼̺̯͓̜̺̎͜'̷̥̬̣̝̣̎͗͛̏̉­̪̬̭̳̼̫͜ͅt̸̯̣̖̰̣̜̭̪̪̺͔̀̎̂͗̄͛̓̓̍̏̈̊̇̿͝ ̷̯͓̘̟̻̈́̈́̑͗̄̏̿̄̎̆͘I̵̢̧͓̥̖̻̥̦̳̝̙̱͚͎̺̓͝ ̸̘̰̎̉́̃͆̎̊̈̐͘̕j̵̪̜̾͂̀̏͊̃͒̒̌͠ú̸̖̭̱͈̩͚̘̯͂̀̽̃̊̈̑̾̋̉͜͝ṣ̷̛͋t̴̢͓̭̪̂͂͂­͖̺̮̬̫ ̵̤̣̋̐͒͘͜d̶͙͔̐̈́̐̊̾͗̉̀͝i̵̥̝̐͆̉̉͐͠é̶̜̂̇̂͆͆̇̈́̾͂̐̔͐̀͠
We only last as long as the winds of time allow for us, with nothing to spare.
Yvonne Nice Apr 15
The lion
Her sleek coat, georejus and full
Her powerful paws, silently gliding across the earth
Her entrancing eyes, able to steal hearts and souls
Her blinding teeth, killing in an instant
And yet, all she has to do is lay
Lay in the sun, in your regal beauty
Lay in the sun, surveying your kingdom
Lay in the sun, and below your mighty roar
If i’m lucky, I may be fit to be your afternoon snack
I am not but a servant unworthy of your gaze that blesses my life.
Yvonne Nice Apr 15
I am here
I exist
But at what cost?

I have a home
I have a family
But why do they care for me?

I have a school
I have work to do
Why am I so lethargic?

I have friends
I have dated
What do they see in me?

I am here
I exist
But what is my purpose?
Who am I truly under the mask of flesh?
Yvonne Nice Apr 15
He is an old friend
I know he is
But he won't leave
And I hate needing him
He’s a poison
To everything around him
But he does it well
He poisons you sweetly
With sugar and spice
And everything nice
Until he gets bored
Then he reveals his true eyes
And I know he's a cruel being
But I long for his touch
Feeling pain is better than nothing at all
Why do I need him So, if he is the fruit of my sorrow?
Yvonne Nice Apr 15
The Lady In Gold

She stood on my porch, the lady in gold
She stood there until I dared to open the door
She needed inside, but for what?

My lady in gold, she called towards me, but only pain could follow
My lady in gold, murmuring to herself, questioning her own philosophy
My lady in gold, wondering if I even cared enough about her to save her

And I, the heartless coward
And I, the spiritless shell of a man
And I, the miserable being killing the lady in gold

She held herself on a pedestal for the world to see
And when I doubted her, she fell from her self assumed grace
My lady in gold, now covered in soot from the earth below

Won't you join me once more?
Help me find her humanity.
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