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The state of which a situation can go one way or another
The point at which you leave
The point of which I crash and fall
It's heart wrenching for me to sit by and be unable to help
While you do exactly the same
I may as well be picking the flesh from my chest
One tear at a time
While you drink yourself to sleep
Is there really nothing we can do to save one another?
Will we quit playing pretend?
Or are we forever ****** to stay here
In the in between
Not knowing
Never knowing
Always
unsure
Gold pennies in designer wallets
Shopping lists in silver buckets
Running the thirst out like water
from dainty pockets
All in the name of ***** rackets

A trend show on the outside
A hollowness on the inside
Heaps of hard price tags aside
You are bought but unsatisfied

Glitter screens the cloudy eyes
Of those who are in the grave of earthly lies
Vanity consumed until the heart dries
In a mansion of hedonism,
existence nullifies

A jacket made of money would still leave you cold
In your last breath, just how many things can you hold?
You're the perfect fit of a capitalistic mold
And your will has long been sold
This is for some of my schoolmates who can only live like materialists. When you talk to them they are like empty heads who can think of nothing but what clothes to buy next what gadgets to entertain them next. I feel like their lives are floating on what the world feeds them and I find that extremely annoying and sad.

On another note, I am glad to be writing again and not just confessional poetry. Social commentaries are very hard to write but I think I can do them better now. I always force myself to write more of them because I have some strong opinions myself but no one wants to listen. At the very least, writing could provide a listening ear.
I want to quit.  
I don't feel like telling them
every thing that goes through my mind.
I never did.
I hided things.
I always hide stuff.
But I don't know when my therapy will end
and that scares me.
Quiting it sounds good right now..
he was the anchor
she was the sand
and i was the sea.
i take everything as a compliment
it makes people question themselves
you're allowed to be a little selfish,
she tells herself
you're allowed to feel,
she repeats
as she pushes the blade,
manages to gulp down a sob
as she stares
stares stares stares
at the opened skin
and the dripping blood
you don't deserve this,
is what she doesn't say
or admit
even to herself
when i was four saying, "i love you" to mommy was a must.
when i turned seven, love was the boy who tagged everyone else but me. even when i was the slowest runner amongst us players.
then i became fourteen, love became teaching me the math lesson over again because i didn't listen., instead of giving me the homework answers.
and now, i still don't know which love truly is,
but i'm sure of it that
love is the one thing
that's never the same
it's never the same to everyone
it's never the same every time
it's always different
but it's always beautiful.
It may hurt to tell ourselves the truth
To seek out our imperfections
And mark them not for reproof
But for the chance to self-improve
It may sting to hear the facts
May cause our spirits to crack
But we can build our foundations back
And be better for the truth
Cause we are never better for its' lack
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