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 Aug 2013 Abdul Othman
Otter
17.
 Aug 2013 Abdul Othman
Otter
17.
I can't remember a time when I was happy.
When I wanted to live. . .

I only remember the gut wrenching pain of being a disappointment.
a failure.
a loser.
nothing.

I looked to drugs.
I looked to alcohol.
I looked to the blood that dripped.

I wanted to feel nothing.
to no longer feel sorrow.
pain.
lost.
alone.

I just wanted hope.

Death looked welcoming.
So I tried jumping in.
but even death wouldn't take me.

I never wanted this.
When I grow up, I want to be kind.
I want to happy and peaceful
I want to speak softly and listen loudly.
I want to be a person my children look up to
I want to wander with purpose
I want to find things I'm not looking for
When I grow up, I want to be loved
I want to laugh
I want to live vigorously
I want growth. I crave growth.
I need my life to be more
I need to dream.
When I grow up, I need to be daring
I'm going to climb trees
I'm going to explore
I'm going to ask strangers about their day.
I'm going to embrace myself. Flaws and all.
I'll sing out loud when I know they can hear me
My life will be a metaphor for something that hasn't been invented yet
 Aug 2013 Abdul Othman
mlynn11
Show me
Your dark soul  
And
Light brown eyes

Tell me
The truth
That
I've grown to despise

Love me
With the heart
That
Likes to hide

Show me
Your dark soul  
And
Light brown eyes
There is a gentle thought that often springs
to life in me, because it speaks of you.
Its reasoning about love’s so sweet and true,
the heart is conquered, and accepts these things.
‘Who is this’ the mind enquires of the heart,
‘who comes here to ****** our intellect?
Is his power so great we must reject
every other intellectual art?
The heart replies ‘O, meditative mind
this is love’s messenger and newly sent
to bring me all Love’s words and desires.
His life, and all the strength that he can find,
from her sweet eyes are mercifully lent,
who feels compassion for our inner fires.’
 Aug 2013 Abdul Othman
Adam Prout
She is crying as he is yelling
He is crying as she is yelling
They don’t listen to one another

She wants red walls
He wants blue walls
They both don’t know how this began

She is in the bedroom crying
He is in the kitchen drinking
They both don’t want to see each other right now

She is sleeping alone
He is driving faster by the second
They both feel bad for what they said

She gets a call from the hospital
He lies on the operation table
They both feel a horrible pain

She is weeping over his casket
He can't feel pain anymore
They both miss each other greatly

She has a gun in her mouth
He lies in a box underground
They both will see each other soon

The walls are painted red
 Aug 2013 Abdul Othman
Michael
As tears fall from his chin
He looks down to see,
This life drip out of him
One drop at a time.

Colliding with his tears,
Down his body to the ground,
Collecting in the mud
His broken heart lies.

His world once vast,
So full of love and optimism,
Now is reduced to a slow painful fading.
One so agonizing, it tears him.

A warehouse once filled with stockpiles of hope,
Is abandoned now, only storing a frigid chill.
A chill that no blanket could heal,
No heart could survive.

It was that very chill that pierced his heart
By taking the form of hope, and lurking it’s way in.
His heart was instantly infected,
And it was more than he could bear.

It was just a splinter of hope,    
No louder than a whisper, no more dense then a midnight fog.
A faint breeze could have blown it away,
But it was powerful enough to make him collapse.

His legs beneath him buckle
Dropping him to his knees
When he lowers his eyes to the ground
He finds the hope lying there.

His heart which has felt so much,
Once bound by an infallible determination,
Now only feels the rain washing away the infection
And replacing it with regret and doubt.
As the beats become slower, the tears descend faster
He is slowly fading to gray.
The voices from within his soul
Cry to him as he screams out in agony;

“Why will this pain not subside?!”
This infection, this plague
It once looked so promising,
But it is now grabbing him by his throat.

Coughing, reaching, gasping
Each breath shorter than the last
He becomes weak and useless
As his face collides with the mud.

The sound of the rain is deafening,
There is no one around to comfort.
His blood becomes diluted, so that no one can see
The truth behind his gray eyes.

Gravity is pulling him down,
Sad, dreary eyes hung low.
As he fades away
He slowly pulls in one
last
breath

“Goodbye my Love.”
© 2009 Michael Plum

— The End —