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I write a thousands stupid words because I don't know what else to do,
and I write them sitting here, pretending I'm not thinking about you.
Pretending I'm not thinking about your eyes that I totally don't miss,
nor thinking about how good it was, that last so desperate kiss.
Nor all those times we spent just laughing in your room,
because I refuse to sink back into depression's cold dark tomb.
Should I tear myself
To pieces and glue myself
Together to look like
A piece of art the world
Would rather have seen?
Why is it that the world tells us to be "unique" but then criticizes us when we don't "do it right"?
can it be possible that God in all his mighty,
when he created men,
did not know that turning dirt to flesh,
could corrupt the soul?

Could it be possible that God in all his mighty,
did not know that dirt can contaminate?
or did he know, but hoped, no I mean,
did he have faith that man can become clean?

Or is it possible that the soul is a moving river,
some oasis, or moving water,
that should remain in constant motion,
to remain clean? or become clean?

Could it be that since our birth, our soul,
this river, starts losing it's current,
and thus, we end up drying up,
becoming more like what we were, dirt,
and nothing else?

But then,
how can our souls remain in constant movement?
How can this river continue growing?
Is it through pain? Is it through tears?
Or could it be, that through our tears
we can reflect in them and find ourselves?
As if those tears were raindrops, falling
one on one, then forming this river,
that keeps on growing to reflect ourselves?

Could it be?
Red river, red river,
take me on a ride down that
sweet scarlet stream.
Where we'll
cut
our own path;
waking up from this dream.

Red river,
won't you carry me
to the place where I belong,
where the river
dries up
and our song is
left unsung.

Screams and terror,
of people who couldn't turn back.
Their bodies cast upon the
dried up dirt,
line
after
line.

Down the river red they went.
Agony and pain; their two only oars.
Their lives drained into the
blood soaked sand.
Life begins so unexpectedly
but this time, ended as planned.
 Mar 2015 Brittany Ryan
Meg B
I held the last piece of
Dark chocolate in my hand,
Preparing myself mentally for my
Last chance at delectable,
And as I popped the
Morsel in my mouth,
Its melty coating dissolving into
My tongue,
I heard the bag crinkle,
And I looked down to find
A sugar-coated surprise,
One bite remaining when I
Had thought that that hope had
Melted away,
And boy did it taste
Sweet.
 Mar 2015 Brittany Ryan
PrttyBrd
I heard him say
"I love you"
Like he used to say to me
Like he just said
To the universe, by my side
Screaming from the rooftops
I heard the words
Impassioned
Meant for some other heart than mine
Without a hint of warning
A back turned
A faded smile
A hole in my chest
Where his heart once beat
Me, without a word
I watch the words fly on the breeze
I close my eyes
And hear them just for me
One last time
As the tinkling laughter
The sound of being loved
Glides off in the distance
Now, all I can hear
Is the wind howling through
The cavern where our hearts once lived
32215
Nostalgia ridden thoughts of you
Run through my conflicted mind
What path they lead is a mystery
Waiting to be solved
But how -
How do I contain such heavy thoughts
Weighing down my dreams
Get lost in me
Or pass me a knife
To cut out the memories
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