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Is there anyone
Who doesn't cut
In the middle of the night
And hides their scars
Underneath bracelets
And baggy sweaters
But feels sad, suicidal,
Crying in bed,
Losing hope in life?

Is there anyone
Who doesn't starve
Or force herself to puke
With a mind that
Condemns every bit of fat
But feels
Insecure,
Thinks herself as ugly?

Is there anyone
Who isn't ostracised,
Mocked, bullied,
Betrayed
But still feels alone,
Left out,
Out of place?

Is there anyone
Who's neither here
Nor there?

Is there anyone else
Like me?
Is there?
Go ahead say it again

your foolish lies my foolish friend

for you are obviously hurting

inside so you hurt me to, to gain some pride

say it again my friend

and I will pray for you tonight
You sent me a text
at 3 a.m.
asking me if I was awake
and why I was awake
but you didn't really think it through

You said getting through the day
is easy
because you have distractions
but at night it gets too hard
to forget about all the reasons
you loved me
and remember all the reasons you left

But next time,
I won't be there to answer
your 3 a.m. text
because I'll be sleeping
and dreaming of you
and remembering all the reasons
why I need to move on

By Chloe Elizabeth
I can't remember the last time
I could sleep
Without the need to drink
To pass out
Without any thoughts
In my mind

Do I need an escape from reality
A new city?
Or a hobby? Or to get lost
In someone's eyes?
Life seems pretty bleak
Or maybe I just need sleep
She entered her son's bedroom and found him playing hide and seek.
"Shhhh mommy. Don't make a noise, he'll figure out where I am hiding."
His mother smiled and ruffled his hair, "Okay sweetie, just come downstairs for dinner when you're done playing."

"Honey, what's our son up to?", her husband asked her while reading the newspaper.
"The same like always, playing with his imaginary friends.", she laughed.

Inside the cupboard, their hiding place, they whispered slowly.
"Don't tell mommy that we play together, she'll think you're crazy."
"But you're my brother, I am sure they'll be very happy."
"No. You don't get it, for them I'll always be the dead baby."
Gracefully,
my paintbrush
moves from here
   to the
           stars.

Galaxies explode,
and recreate art.
The Septolet is a poem consisting of seven lines containing fourteen words with a break in between the two parts. Both parts deal with the same thought and create a picture.
Who are you to say that you know me better than everyone else?
Even my shadow is unaware of my doings when I enter the darkness.
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