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Emma Whittle May 2017
My life would have been cut short if it wasn’t for that hasty intervention by fate.

I ran home from school.  No one was home, I opened the garage door knowing the code. ‘1023’ I thought to myself.  I ran inside and locked all of the doors, I closed the curtains and kept the lights off in case someone looked inside.  The medicine was locked up in a cabinet in my parent’s room, she forgot to lock the cabinet. I smiled to myself. “I can do this” I thought to myself.  I grabbed two bottles of pills and jogged to my bathroom in the main hall.  I opened the bottles with shaking hands and popped handfuls and handfuls of pills into my mouth, swallowing them with water in a lid from a cup we had lost forever ago.  I fell asleep slumped against the bathtub, a smile on my face as I drifted into an eternal sleep. Or so I thought.

I woke up in a hospital, tears running down my face knowing that I failed.  I was so tired, so tired. I fell asleep and woke up in an ambulance, I was being transferred to a different hospital.  I then realized how sad people would be if I had succeeded.  I didn’t care and I still don’t.  I know I will try again, I just don’t know how soon.  I will succeed.  
True story, happened on May 16, 2017
Emma Whittle May 2017
"I care" they say, "I won't ever leave you. I love you.”  
But when you need them most, when you’re alone, an empty pill bottle in one hand, a ****** razor blade in the other, slumped in the corner of your bathroom,
When you’re taking your final breaths, when you know you’re dying, when you have
That final smile on your face, when you know you’re going to die, that happiness flooding your body.
When you cut your wrist, that warm nice feeling, they’re in bed with your best friend.
The last thing on their mind is you. The last thing on their mind is your breath fading.  

Your life ending behind closed doors.
Emma Whittle Apr 2017
There was a party.  She walked in and looked around.
She saw seas of people, bottles and bottles of *****, people holding one of their nostrils closed and sniffing fine white powder from a coffee table,
smoke everywhere, cigarettes dangling from peoples' mouths, people in a circle passing a joint of marijuana between fingers, girls sitting
on boys' laps, girls on girls', mouths on mouths, hands touching everywhere.
She decided that the party was not for her, after all, she was depressed.  
She walked home,
smelling of
#cigarettes #sadness #party #girls #boys #***** #******* #marijuana #**** #*** #people #home #walking #kissing #goodbye
Emma Whittle Apr 2017
The moon would lose this fight if he didn't
have his army of stars.  

When the sun goes down, the moon and stars celebrate, shooting
off colors, oranges, pinks, purples, reds, all those
colors celebrating the end of the day.

Then the Sun celebrates the end of the night with the same colors, just more subtle.  And it just repeats every day and night, a celebration of it ending, or from a different point of view, a celebration of a new start, if you ****** up at night, you get a new chance for the day.
If you got high and did some bad ****, you get the day to start over and do it again. If you get fired from your job, you get the night to do whatever you want.

Some people are different at night than they are in the day.  Wedges and flowy dresses partnered by a notebook in the day, Stilettos and skin tight dresses partnered by a package of cigarettes by night.  Everyone has 2 sides, sometimes more.  The people you see during the day at work or school won't see you at night, see who you really are.  You can keep one of your sides a secret, or both.  You can do whatever the hell you want.  The sun always comes up in the morning.  The moon always comes out in the evening, two completely different things, both needed for life.  Needed for survival.  Needed to keep us sane.
This one was a long one, sorry about that... But i personally think it's worth the read.
Emma Whittle Apr 2017
I'm up for grabs
But you would never grab
You hold me knowing that I can't be held,
And knowing that to hold is not to have.

-JonArno Lawson
Emma Whittle Apr 2017
She grabbed her faux leather messenger bag,
threw in 3 old band t-shirts, 3 pairs of underwear,
2 bras and a couple pairs of ripped skinny jeans, her Polaroid camera to take photographs of where she goes, a book, a journal to document her thoughts, a sketch pad, a package of Marlboro Red 100's, a lighter,  her iPod and some toiletries.  She didn't say anything, she just out and left. No note, no warning, nothing but her mess of a room.  She smiled at her room, her dream catcher, her poster-strewn walls, all of it.
And she slipped out of her window.  'Goodbye,' She thought to herself and started walking.  But what she didn't know was she had
just left her life and started a brand new one.  She was walking to the edge of oblivion.  She was shooting herself straight off a cliff,
off of the safety under her roof, the safety of her bed, the safety of everything she left behind.  All she had was that bag.  17 items. That was her life. 17 items to keep her safe, 17 items to live on for the rest of her time.  For the 3 years until she was 18.  Until she could show her face in public again until she could be seen.  But until then, she was alone.  She sparked her lighter and lit up a cigarette.  All alone with her bag and a package of cigarettes. She sat down on the curb by the bus stop and began to draw.  And that was that.  She was lost in her mind. Her mind had run farther than she had. Because after all,
                           ­                       here..
Have you ever just wanted to run away? No note, no warning of leave, just pack your things and leave your world to create your own. To taste the edge of oblivion.
Emma Whittle Apr 2017
He told me to stop.
To stop smoking cigarettes.  
He said if I did not, he would leave.
I'm trying!
It takes me a few days, but I did it. I broke my addiction.
I walked to your house to tell you.
I see you with another girl, her lips pressed to yours.
I walked home, the only thing pressed to my lips,
c i g a r e t t e
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