Secrets, they build inside.
This secret she hides, will be the reason why she died.
He was always there, whispering those sweet secrets in her ear.
He would whisper her greatest fear.
He, i bet you wanna know who who he is, right?
He is Depression, the reason she cries herself to sleep at night.

Secrets, secrets, running through her mind, trapped in her head.
Secrets, secrets, she wished, she was was dead.
They started out small, just one word.
Soon, they became all she heard.
Ugly, fat, worthless, broken, sad, not good enough, stupid, lost.
She wanted it to stop, no matter the cost.

He came once in a while, and whisper the secret special for just her.
She was so polite always said ma'am and sir.
No one would have guessed the intensity of the storm inside her mind.
She wishes it would just stop, but she doesn't have anyone to confide..
This is the end for her, she writes a note to a phantom; no one cares.
He sits by watching, she can feel the intensity of his stares.

She writes to her mom, knowing she won't care, she writes three words.
She can just imagine the feeling of freedom; to fly with the birds.
She writes to her siblings, the tears are falling faster than before.
This is what she has dreaded to the core.
Secrets tumbling around her head; she carves them into her wrist.
She has fallen so far down she knows, she won't be missed.

She folds the finished letter and leaves it on her desk.
The scene left behind will be one of the most grotesque ..
She had secrets, hanging from her lips.
But she was to scared they would only make you want her for her hips.
They were there, written in her eyes.
But instead, you believed the lies..

Secrets are like anchors, they are heavy and they weigh you down.
Soon these secrets will cause her to drown.
She takes the blade begins her artwork, with her canvas as her wrist.
This razor is her paintbrush, and with it she will give her story a twist.
She carves the word 'Secrets' into her skin.
She will forever lay in this sin.

The blood creates a pool surrounding her wrists.
She was the perfect one to be darkness kissed.
She had secrets, and they weighed her down.
Now she will stay forever in Heaven with a broken crown.
She was an angel with a dark past, and a twisted mind.
She had finally told all her secrets, she was no longer confined.

If everyone else was a drizzle,
you're a downpour.
If they were locked,
you were the open door.
As easy as a breeze,
blown by the sea,
are the feelings between you and me.
They, a small tune,
You a symphony.
A warm song that can keep me company.

As these summer months fade and are plundered,
By the lengths of fleeting time while I sit and wonder.
I hope we stay as we are,
With everyone else the sky and us the stars.

What We Are: by Dakota Pizzi

Have you ever wondered how the wind howls through the trees?
Or why the leaves tremble in the breeze?
Theres no use to wonder,
No rhyme or reason too.
It just makes sense like me and you.

And 'though the cold winds comin down,
The snow is burying us in.
I know the sun will shine again,
Just like it always did.

Its like asking why the sunshines as it comes over the hill,
Or why the earth moves slowly at its own will.
Theres no way to calculate,
Its just meant to be,
Thats why you belong with me.

We are the wind speaking through the trees,
We are the sun coming up to please,
Theres no reason to wonder why we are what we are, its the way its meant to be,
Yes, it's the way its meant to be.

I envy those who
Know the timbre of your voice
Just by memory.

Even if I never
write another piece
of my garbage that I call
Poetry
I'm still a reader of such
and stagnant pieces
are just a *******
for contemptuous lust
and soul *******
forms part of the Universe
as such
I absolutely refuse
to read something
Untitled

It ***** me completely
that you can sit down
and completely unload
Emotions uncontainable
Not just on a page
Ink veins open and dripping
but by making your fingers move
making your brain communicate
with extremities can be
exhausting
and still you lay bare
-
all your nakedness
and angst
and your happiness
wrapped inside sadness

and refuse it a name?

What?

You think after you've aired
all your ***** laundry,
hung your intestines
out to dry, as you stitch together
the cavity that once held your heart
It's okay to simply expel your breath
take a look at what you wrote
and call it Art?
Even though its nameless?

I call it irresponsible
to that which you gave birth
and left it rotting in the ether
with no title to ground it to earth