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cloudsofnothing Nov 2013
She no longer felt a pure feeling of animosity inside of her,
Like all of her power had just floated out of her body,
Leaving her dead inside.
Nostalgia, heart-break, a longing for a kind soul of pure comfort.
With these wishes she felt herself burying her emotionless body even further into the pit of despair that had lived inside of her soul for many years now.
She covered the pit over with fake feelings of hope, happiness and self confidence,
Leaving her hopeless at the bottom,
She was buried deep in the pit of despair which inhabited her every emotion,
Isolated from everyone around.
She'd been heartbroken too many times before,
And she could not enjoy things how she used to any longer,
Because she was no longer ready to take the world by storm,
But to take the long rope,
Made from despair, self-pity, depression and the lost hope that wondered from her that very night,
Wrap it around her neck,
And disintegrate into nothing but a memory and a gravestone,
Like she never really existed at all.
cloudsofnothing Sep 2013
I carved a
crescent
into my skin
because I am
much like
a half moon.
I only show
half of
myself
because the
rest is disguised.
Covered.
And I lie to
the rest of
the world.
I carved a
crescent
into my skin
because I am
much like
a half moon.
I am scared
to be myself
and I am
over-shadowed
by something
*better.
cloudsofnothing Sep 2013
Lip trembling,
As she forces herself to smile,
Telling herself to 'keep it cool',
And 'too not be so weak'.
Then she stumbles in the hall,

And everyone in the room giggles, points and laughs

She runs to the bathroom,
Trembling,
          Crying,
            And questioning her existence.

She wonders why she's still here,
And why she isn't dead.

She sits in a toilet cubicle at school,
And draws a blade from a pretty little box.
She pulls it across her thigh.
And this is her way of punishing herself.

And as blood runs out,
And more cuts appear,
She wonders how many it'd take,
For her existence to disappear.
cloudsofnothing Sep 2013
There are things from day-to-day that make me sad.
Things such as grey skies with very few birds,
deserted paths and benches in result of the frosty spiteful cold.
The leaves falling off of the tree's due to the change of season,
like their losing their home's and been replaced by brighter,
better things.
The elderly man or woman sitting alone, eating alone, walking alone,
or an elderly couple walking arm in arm, hand in hand.
A flower dying, or losing a pretty petal,
and this petal gracefully floating off in the wind, into the deep, vast nothingness,
of the universe beyond our eyes and ears and the arm's stretch.

But there are things that make me happy,
it's funny how the world can give you so many mixed emotions, just by the things you see around you.
cloudsofnothing Sep 2013
I'm sorry for
being me.
A big, fat, ugly
worthless disappointment.
I'm sorry for
being me.
A burden on
my family.

I'm sorry for
being me.
For ruining my family
and tearing it apart.
I'm sorry for
being me.
Hiding the real side of me
and fooling you all of this time.

I'm sorry for
being me.
Everything you feared
and never wanted.
cloudsofnothing Sep 2013
The scariest thing about life,
Is that you never know when it's,
Going to be over.
And you never know,
What's around the corner.
cloudsofnothing Aug 2013
She brushes her hair,
Before going to bed.
Takes the mask,
From upon her face.

She lines her pillows,
Perfectly inline.
Resting her head,
And her aching bones.

She thinks about her day,
Falling asleep.
She buries her head,
Deep in her pillows.

Thunderstorms and rain,
Wind and sun.
And she’s still alive,
All of these years later.

And why is she still alive?
Because the universe is her friend.
Her only friend?
Maybe.
cloudsofnothing Sep 2013
and deep down,
right in the pit of her stomach,
is a numb feeling of dread,
because tomorrow,
she will step,
her polished black school shoe,
back into the place she calls 'hell'.
the place full of people,
with mind-washed brains,
who believe in judgment,
and who lack originality of their own.

**this place is called school

— The End —