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Riot Feb 2016
i’m the kind of girl to fall in love with a serial killer

listen to his story while he eats his dinner

tell him not to hate himself for playing with his food

southe the heartache while waiting for the police to hear the news

i’d never try to escape

because that would hurt his feelings

and why would i want to leave?

i know a million people

myself included

who wear their heart on the same spot on their sleeve

he’s ****** up in the head

but thats ok

because i know i am to

so to the serial killer

if the police ever find me

don’t worry

i’ll stay with you
Riot Jan 2016
i’m younger than you’d ever guess
yet i feel older than time
my head is kicked around like a soccar ball
but trust me, i feel fine.
my parents used to abuse me physically but i didn’t mind
because the worst pain was emotional
ask the doctor who doesn’t know i’m dying
because depression is just a phrase people use to pass as hip
but when someone says it on a serious note you make like their hope
and dip
but me,
i’ve been seeing this since i was four years old
never could express my blessings because they were wrapped in the cold
but i’m fine
i still purge every once in a while
but i’m sharing
some thay counts for something
right?
i guess i’m growing,
i’m not a poet
but i occasionally rhyme
i’m not a sharer
but i guess this right here proves that statement to be a lie
Riot Jan 2016
people usually cut to show their demons where to play
i did the same on the inside

people usually cry to tell theirselves that they're broken
i do the same on the inside

people usually bury themselves in what they love
i do the same on the inside

while everyone else is messed up
cut
bruised
torn
broken
i'm the exact same thing
*on the inside
Riot Dec 2015
I screamed but you didnt hear me because the silence was too loud

I cried but you have your own tears  now
Riot Dec 2015
i used to cut myself
to heal your wounds
Riot Dec 2015
maybe i was right
maybe i was wrong
but i now have a new found passion
now that you're gone
Riot Nov 2015
his voice crawled up my staircase and into my skin
“i miss you”
he said in his fatherly tone as if he had been off to war
two seconds ago he was in his room watching the news and then he decided to miss me
out of the blue
the first words that pop into my mind are
“you don’t have the right to”
but i’m not that bold
so i just respond with, “ok”
because what else was i supposed to say
we see each other everyday
he’s my father for ***** sake
he’s my father
no that doesn’t sound right
he’s the man that contributed to my birth
and if i wasn’t so **** afraid of him i’d call him that
if i talked to him at all
because being forced to call the source of my anxiety “daddy”
my sanity begins to shrink and
i feel small
because i was raised not to talk to strangers
but what about the ones that pretend to be family
the ones whose eyes hold the secrets of insanity
the ones who taught me how to hide my depression before i could color in the lines
but you think you have the right
to miss me?
after tearing my childhood apart with your bare hands
denying me the freedom to have a problem
making me a rebel for being human
setting unstable examples
letting love be redefined by how quiet we pretend to be
while our minds scream for an actual example of a family
but after throwing me in the cold
you start to miss me
when you realize i’m freezing
you blame me for being to cold
i told myself over and over
not to talk to strangers
especially the ones
who miss me
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