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 Jun 2017 amya s
Eric W
A Friend
 Jun 2017 amya s
Eric W
I don't mean to be a bother,
or an inconvenience.
To mark upon your blankness in ink,
so settle down my thoughts
with every black line and
intention.
If I should go, say so,
please.
I do not wish to stay
unwanted.
I do not wish to intrude.

I only need a friend.
Someone to hear these trappings,
these innermost workings
which play on every insecurity,
everything I've ever done.

All I do is wrong.
All I do is hurt and
hurt others.
If you stay long enough,
I will hurt you too,
I will scribble away your life
as I do mine.

I don't want anyone to
hurt,
I just wish to
love.
And be loved
in every dark corner of myself.
But how?

As I grow older,
I grow more hated by
myself.
And if hate is all I know,
how could I ever love?
How could I ever experience another's
love?
Their compassion?
Their kindness?

So it is lost.

And I must ask,
though I mark you, tear you,
hate you,
can you love me?

Could you?
I'm so tired of drowning in this self-pity and depression. I want to write something great...but the only time I want to write is when I just have to get out this...darkness. And it's always ****. I never edit. I never work on it. Whatever I write is what I post. But I suppose it's really just for me anyway. It would just be nice for this depression to mean something at the end of the day. Like, if I could produce something at least half decent because of it, it might just be worth it.

Whatever....rant over.

I'm tired of being so alone.
 Jun 2017 amya s
SøułSurvivør
The man walked, shuffled,
Through blisters & sores.
His shopping cart stutters
Past the laden stores.
He's lost his mind
On rocky shores
He had hopes and
Dreams galore
Now he can't find them
Anymore.

In the land o' plenty
The woman lives hard.
Barely feeding her kids
With a food-stamp card.

The soldier lost limbs,
Now he's alone.
He is "housed"
But has no home.

[chorus]

We know the rhyme.
We know the riddle.
But they still get caught
In the middle.

Caught in the cracks
The streets for some.
Cement & sky
Is not a HOME.


Emily sits upon the stoop.
Goes to kitchens to get soup.

Michael lives.
He breathes.
He talks.
But he sleeps
In a cardboard box.

[chorus]

They're called vagrants.
They're called bums.
Labels they can't overcome.

Like wooden ships
Their only sea
Is in a bottle
They can't break free
Where's your HEART, society?
Where's your SOUL?

Your EMPATHY?

BRIDGE:
We must repent.
We must atone.
We ALL are guilty
To the bone.
We must help them

FIND A HOME.



SøułSurvivør
(C) 6/8/2017
Inspired by my reading.
I'm just writing it so it doesn't
"Go away"... I'm sure you can relate!

— The End —