Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
If you know me,
      You know
           I walk away a lot.
                Not to find my own path,
          Not always,
     Sometimes I leave because*
I want to be followed*.
Wrap me in a warm breeze
Take comfort that I can breathe

Is this a new sunrise
Or the calm in the storm
For some reason
I can see you clearly once more

I could laugh and mean it
I'm smiling content
Where this came from I don't know
But I don't want to let it disappear again

Let me curl up to you
And feel okay, relieved
Once again, I can breathe
I've been really depressed lately.
Right now I am so happy, I don't
know  why.  But  I  finally  broke
through, and I hope it lasts a while.
Everytime I feel okay about you,
you make your way back to me.
You left.
You left.
So why do you keep coming back,
only long enough to set me off balance?
My two A.M.,
my puppy, my Friday,
my love, my peace,
my everything.
My Best.
You built me up to let me down,
so must you return?
Must you kick me on the ground?
I miss you.
I love you.
I need you.
But stop coming around
and letting me hope
that this time you might
stay.
Again, you looked so good. Why am I no longer important?
I love you, and you say you love me... what game are you playing?
I'm crazy,
but what does that make me?
My breath is ragged
from my thoughts.
My thoughts.
My thoughts don't stop.
They jump and leap,
and make circles,
chasing each other.
My thoughts I do not keep --
they keep me.
Is this reason to applaud,
or reason to weep?
"Science has not yet taught us if madness is or is not the sublimity of intelligence." ~E. A. Poe
(Yes, this was an assignment.)

Also, I'm noticing that I'm apparently livin' up the whole repetition thing of late... Well okay then.
she spends her days
walking into walls
hoping to fall into arms that intercept her
rather than
fall
collapse
on the ground
bleed
get up
again
walk
crash
burn
fall
collapse
bleed
get up
again
but to ask for him
is too much of a burden on him
her thoughts are poison
home is a petri dish
to add
to spoil
with her infection
she is an infectious disease
or so she believes
her soul
has caught a black cancer
consuming what was once left
of her light
brilliance
joy
innocence
on occasion
sparks of joy
illuminate her life
but promptly burn out
no one gives her much to live for
there are a select few who give her
teases and tastes
of love
of hope
but so many years have gone by
and she's been left all this time without a meal
forget anorexia nervosa she's starved
of affection
of authenticity
and it's not her at fault
or it might be
either way it's herself she blames
she doesn't see who will miss her
yes
her funeral will be attended
and for a few weeks they might
talk and speculate
but all within a month
she knows
she'll be forgotten
the only brief
fleeting
memory
that she took her own life
she can't take the emptiness
despair
needs a reason to persist
but thinking
looking for one drives the inner pessimist
she can't find a reason to stay
how appropriate
because no one ever stayed
not even him
she now waits for a reason enough
to run from her latest hope
waits for it to backfire so she can say
she's done
book it and run
straight to her blade
only this time not take care to
hide
but forget to care and
die
**10/30 -- how appropriate that "[my] latest hope" hurt me like I'd been expecting not even a day after posting this
I want you
to tell me
you love me
Those three words
Would mean everything
To my poor
And ragged heart
Give it life
Restart it's beat
With three words
Short and sweet
I want you
To tell me
You love me
The same way
I love you
I want to be your light
       You aren't my light, you are the electricity that turns me on
I want to pretend that I can
       You don't have to pretend, I love you as you are, won't have you
          any other way

But
       So
I can't shine like your night sky
       You might not shine like stars but you are the only thing I see
I can't even fake a smile
       *
You don't have to fake a smile, just your hand in mine is all I need
A collaboration with one of the most amazing people I've come to know, done via text <3
The italics are him, the bold is me. (Title is also all him)
Does life come from life?
Or does life come from death?

We are born from life,
Yet the dead give life to the Earth.

So what came first?
The living or the dead?
Can anyone help me with the title? I definitely wouldn't mind title ideas if you have any.
Why do I let myself hope anymore,
When I already know what's in store?
**** me.
She cries late
                  every night
     Turns off all the
                           lights
         Sits in bed
bawls
             her eyes out
      in the dark
Cutting out pieces
      of her heart
No one can see
                          the scars
           of her sewing
back up her chest
       Soon she will be
             an empty shell
        Hopefully
                    putting her soul to rest
If her heart
                    is no longer there
It can't get broken,
              right?
If no one can see
                          the tears
Then she never cried,
                     right?
Next page