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Britney Lyn Jun 5
A bittersweet taste from the bottle marked poison,
the "DO NOT ENTER" sign of our life's story.
We all have that red button, tempting for us to set the nuclear war of thoughts into action.
And no matter how many people tell us not to push it, we always do.
Because we were the children who struggled, we were born to be survivors.
Our parents never noticed the sickness that lay behind their child's wide with wonder eyes, no.
They listened to our words, but never broke apart the meaning in-scripted into our language.
We were hurt.
A hurdling meteor of innocence brought so violently into this Earth we call home.
Gifted the hearts that bleed of honesty and beat with anxiety.
Melancholy souls trapped within this soft to touch barrier,
The blade from our school day sharpeners rest upon the flesh,
Vigorous in our attempt to feel something more, anything but this.
Wandering endlessly through cloudy days in search of “better”
A letter left on the bedside table of our dimly lit room,
Every word striking a cord of truth that won’t settle easily when they hear the news.
We died here.
Laying helplessly in the grave of our mattress, our mind no longer racing.
Blood that stopped flowing hours ago because that’s how long it took them to find us.
To realize we were broken, to realize we would never give someone the chance to glue back together our fragile pieces.
Everything fragile breaks, and we couldn’t give anymore.
Not because we didn’t want to, no.
But because we simply had nothing left to give.
.
.
.
Cloaked among ashes we begin to heal,
wiping the slate clean, letting our heart begin to feel.
Repairing the broken damage our vessel has bared along the way
Lighting the world with a smile to lift others pain,
Stop and stare, stay awhile, away from despair.
Then my child; move on, throughout the world to prepare;
To step into the fire your heart once lit and rise like the great phoenix.
Britney Lyn Apr 11
Hidden agendas, postponed until further notice.
As the clock strikes midnight, we drift.
Promises broken and those secrets that were never kept.
We travel backwards to find the right path to take,
Unaware that we have already chosen, the point of no return.
Tick, tock, tick, tock, time is already flying by
Ponder this life and what has become of it,
We the children of shadows sit alone to wander,
Thoughts, memories, they seem to always stick.
Fasten your seat belts ladies and gents,
This is only the beginning.
We have a long, treacherous road ahead.
Britney Lyn Feb 13
Silver, one...two...blue,
As the cars go by my mind wanders to you.
How your eyes turned amber in the light,
How your smile cut through me like a dagger,
Never the matter,
It was all for you.
Future talks and past traumas,
Highs, lows and all the dramas.
Back and forth in our ruthless endeavors, we thought we were clever.
Maybe one day we'll get better, but not together,
Because you broke the girl who was made from glass, crash.
Now she's too sharp for you to hold her.
Shame.
She fell for a boy so lame, even though everyone told her
Britney Lyn Feb 12
Would you forgive me if I close my eyes?
I’m oh so tired of my demons feeding me lies.
And if my parents happened to see, would they believe I was just asleep?
Would they rush to my side and kiss me goodnight or hold my hand in panicked fright?
You see, I’ve a hard time keeping all these emotions inside of me at bay,
The demons twist them up, they spit them out and present me with a tape to play.
Every doubt I’ve ever had, over analyzed and placed on repeat for me to constantly see.
I don’t know silence, she isn’t a friend, but maybe when I’m dead she’ll finally love me.
A clusterfuck of words I guess.
Britney Lyn Feb 8
Dressed to impress in a black band t and suit vest
Tie around thy neck, tightly implace like a noose
Sneakers that don’t match, and black jeans that fit rather loose.
Who hurt you sir?
Who made you believe in the lies you speak?
Would you care to be honest?
To sit down over a cup of tea?
I know you don’t particularly fancy me, but I’ll be an ear to listen.
Intimidation doesn’t suit your walk, but regret becomes your stride.
Pride.
It’s always the same.
A shame, to reach for such heights to be devoured by the fame.
I decided to write down a poem about the drunk man who came into my store a couple weeks ago.
Britney Lyn Jan 24
I’m tired,
Oh so tired of this weight upon my stiffening shoulders.
Gravity forcing me to my knees,
Pressing my tear stricken face into the dirt.
I’m tired,
Oh so tired of fighting these waves that keep coming and going.
Emotions I cannot bare to feel,
Memories I cannot bare to replay.
I’m tired.
Oh so tired.
Head secured to this metaphorical guillotine, eyes squeezed tight.
Embracing the inevitable, ready for the blade to come down and end me.
Britney Lyn Dec 2019
Death is a mistress that I love to play dangerously with.
She's the embodiment of seduction,
My crimson muse,
My femme fetale.
Piercing hues that still even the strongest of hearts.
Silken dreams in nightmare sheets,
Discerning movements of heated desires,
She feels like fire,
And I a heart shaped from glass will shatter upon her touch.
Down on my knees I plead, take me.
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