Oct 12 Kylie
A Choice
 Oct 12 Kylie
Depression, I guess, is a choice
But I guess that it's the prisoner's fault to rot behind bars.
I guess it's the 13-year-old girl's fault that she got viciously degraded by a man and still washes herself at 28, knowing she'll never feel clean again.
I guess it's the child's fault that he goes to bed crying every night because mommy is gone and daddy has taken his pain out on the only part of her left.
I guess it's the soldier's fault that he had to sit there while he watched life after life slowly slip away like ashes in the wind.
I guess it's the mother's fault that her child was born without a father
I guess it's the kid's fault that he was born in his own skin
I guess It is a choice
That we tear each other down till there is nothing left but the dust of insecurity and the ashes of despair
I guess it's a choice that we judge from no experience, saying that attention is the only goal.
When the only goal is to feel happy again.
I guess it's a choice.
That every time I lay down after an exhausting day of picking up the torn and ruined pieces of my mind, I cry.
I don't cry because of the pain in my mind, grinding what is left of my sanity to a pulp.
I cry because No one cares
I guess it's a choice
No one cares... until it's my bones on the floor of death with a rope around my neck as a sign screaming out that I'm emotionally unbalanced
Till my arms are filled up with scars and tears of joy when I bleed out all that I'm worth...
I guess it's a choice
That I am put before you
Like an object to be judged and priced
That my inner demons have conquered my angels and have stuffed them into the tiny cage in the back of my mind
While my mind is screaming out that I am human
Though I don't feel like it
The thoughts, scars, and tears have burned me so much I have to put a mask on before I leave the house.
That I have to make an excuse why I couldn't make it because of the simple fact that my arms burn with the ache of a blade.
That my brain is misunderstood in more ways than one.
That my life means no more than a grain of sand in the bottom of life's shoe, slowly washing away in the river of unjust and pain.
I guess it's my choice...
To live without a grain of happiness in a bowl of despair.
To always be on land but feel like drowning in a pool of misguided feelings and hopeless rage.
But I guess
This is my choice.
I guess I'm the prison to my own mind
I guess that I have locked the doors to my heart and have thrown the keys so far, that I can no longer see it.
I guess I have given up the river of hope to the ocean of self-harm and suicide.
It's not my choice, but the world's standards, abusers, and ignorance.

I didn’t have a choice.
This is about all the things people say are a choice or the things labeled as being your fault.
 Oct 2 Kylie
Nikki Danilov
So when you think people can save you...
by the lace of their fingertips
or the beating of their heart conjoined in yours...
maybe it's because the reality exists
that whey were not meant for you...
weren't meant to save you at all.
 Oct 2 Kylie
Roberta Day
the greatest motivator,
I've been slacking again.
the aftermath is a song
breathed through broken lips

hallelujah, hallelujah
let my lifesong sing to you...

a hoarse voice lifted
in defiance

she listens to his voice
finds humor in this resistance

she twines his hair around her finger
smiling like war

he is crumpled, broken
supported by a wall of rubble

and her arms are around him
possessive, waiting

his lungs rattle
willpower is all that sustains him

her fingers linger at the corner of his mouth
tracing the words on his lips

i want to sign your name
to the end of this day

Lord led my heart was true
let my lifesong sing to you

hallelujah, hallelujah
let my lifesong sing to you...

his voice trails off
his eyes drift closed

she lifts his frail form

the ground where he had lain
is stained crimson

her hands are dark
with his blood

his spirit, though
is finally at peace

voices in the walls
I hear in my dreams
choirs of faceless whispers
singing me to sleep
kiss on my shoulder
bestowed by lips that aren't there
soft and sumptuous name
borne on breath of midnight air
voices in the dark
the flicker of a flame
light to guide the lifeless
through the shadows of a day
In honor of Halloween, enjoy my spiritual children.
 Oct 2 Kylie
If I could drive in the rain forever
I would

I don’t love the sudden tiredness that casts down
Pouring upon my body as the clouds open

but driving is an inbetween
you aren’t supposed to be working
you don’t have to talk
you don’t have to think about school
just about driving

I’d want to stay here
In the moments of rainy day traffic
that keep me safe
That let me escape
from the world around me
Part 1 Down the Rabbit Hole:

He had faith in exceptions
He was optimistic
He “believed in six impossible things just before breakfast”
and had his cake.
He mused of the bunny farm
and fought the jabberwocky in his dreams.
These things failed him.
He woke up, and was crushed with the mice
In a snap of revelation
Under the weight of truth.
He was shattered, along with the coral corpses
Of the paperweight

Part 2 The Paper Weight:

A coral in the glass paperweight
A hummingbird shielded by twigs
The fragile illusion
A naive illusion
“The beautiful illusion”
Quoth Marlow, our dear friend Charlie.
Through the looking glass
His world, the Poet’s world,
was shattered,
Not by “a sea of trouble”
Nor by words of a mature revelation
but by Silence.

Part 3 The Horror, The Horror:

The wrath and sorrow of the composers
Were expressed
In the requiem of silence.
The conductor threw his hand open
In the final flight of the dove
For the poet, the dreamer,
Who, and whose ballads and odes
Were silenced on the battlefronts of the nouveau era.
No one followed when he chased the seagulls.
No one answered his pleads and screams of wrath and sorrow.
In the end, there was only silence
For the poet, and his poetry.
To this he whispered:
“The Horror, the Horror”
And then
Nothing more.
The Death of the Poet
By: Yidhna Yue Xing ****
Taking a break from HP. Thanks for all your support!
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