Some people lack heart
some poems lack poetry
some loves lack love

You fenced off your eyes
with a charcoal black,
then stranded in snow
and an endless depression,
you painted your death-mask
in venetian ceruse,
hoping that it would be enough
to appease your critics;
to keep away from the sun,
to slip through the seams of time,
and to a place where
the evenings do not seem so long.

You gave your sanity
to a useless drug
and kept your identity
to the picture
within his wallet.
I hope you know your bravery is noticed.
I hope that for once
you can find peace
amongst this constant state of war.

every day is a constant battle but im always looking for just one reason to get out of bed in the morning

i dont usually find it

there is two much and still not enough and i cant say im isolated but its almost worse being alone in a room full of your friends and family knowing they couldnt give less of a **** about you and whether or not youre about to crack

i cant take the lackofvoices in my head anymore

three days of the week i cry myself to sleep and the rest im silently screaming until i have no oxygen left and i pass out choking on the words i wanted so desperately to reach anyone whos willing to listen

im always disappointed when i wake back up

there is no longer any reason four me to brush my hair or put on make up or eat or sleep or starve or be anything but the worthless shell of a human that i am and i dont deserve the well meaning but empty condolences of the few who care and have stayed through all my **** thank you guys but its a waste of time i'm drowning and i dont want any of you jumping in the lake to save me youll just drown too because  its not water its quicksand

i dont think i could take it if i was the reason our skeletons rested together under the soil i meant only for myself

i hate everyone and everything five times more than they hate me and if thats not enough then i hate myself as well and i guess that means that the whole world could burn and id just laugh because the fire tickles compared to what i do to myself

there is no reason to punish me because i doubt you could do anything to make me flinch

six hours of the day i spend losing myself in poetry and books and music but that is my only escape i wish i was someone who could drown themselves in ***** or drugs but getting drunk only makes me sick and i still have too much **** pride to go out and knock back more pills or smoke things that will make my head float

so much and so little to do  with so much and so little time

there are seven cuts on each of my arms one for each day of the week that i think about killing myself and i swear i didnt do that on purpose it just happened that way and i wonder if thats what my entire life is made up of only those words 'it just happened that way' so now there are fourteen more cuts to add to the countless scars and im so ******* sorry i cant stop but i dont think you people know what it feels like for bleeding to feel better than not

would you believe me if i told you this was one of my good days?

I don't need a lullaby.

I'm tired of being told to sleep it off and that it'll all be better tomorrow because sometimes you wake up feeling as desperate (if not more so) than before.

Pretty lyrics aren't going to remedy ugly scathing words and a soft, slow melody isn't going to cover up the irregular sound of a heart trying to beat in a rhythm it doesn't remember.

So kindly stop trying to force me to enjoy a happy tune I don't want to sing and give me a song that's honest and angry and raw like I am because at least then I don't have to pretend everything is just fine.

It was many and many a year ago,
  In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
  By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
  Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
  In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
  I and my ANNABEL LEE;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
  Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
  In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
  My beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
  And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
  In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
  Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
  In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
  Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
  Of those who were older than we—
  Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in heaven above,
  Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
  In her sepulchre there by the sea—
  In her tomb by the side of the sea.