How does anyone expect to                                   **** me

when I am already dead and                                  please,

don’t mind my monotone self, it                             cant

help the way it grew up; not being able to             feel.

anything it wants to, only what it doesn’t               desire

and sometimes it really is painful when it            hurts

to love and smile and laugh because                  when

the simplest things suddenly become                 complications

in life  and emotions pile up and                          overflow.

                                I think to myself I should just

                                          *d i s a p p e a r.

I am not a kicked puppy,
Lost and hurt and alone in this world.
Rather, I am road ****.
Hit suddenly, but alive and knowing,
What not to do next time.
I am not shattered,
But entirely collapsed,
Weak with my aging mind.
I am thankful for my life,
Though sometimes it’s rather hard.
But it is how it is and it doesn't change,
For me,
For anyone.
And I have learned to accept that.
Like so much else.

A daughter wrote a poem about her family,
how much she loved everyone,
how much she cared;
Showed it to her father who looked and said,
"That's awesome! Great job!"
She smiled because her message got across.

A girl wrote a poem about her friends,
how much she appreciated them,
how much she cared;
Showed it to her best one who smiled and said,
"That's amazing! Thank you so much!"
She grinned back because they knew what it was for.

A person wrote a poem about her life,
how it was starting to get difficult,
how she needed some support;
Showed it to her mother who glanced and said,
"Oh, that's nice, I suppose."
She stared back and walked away, sighing.

A corpse wrote a poem about itself,
how it didn't want to live anymore,
how it might do something it'll regret;
Showed it to her last resort who didn't look, just crumpled it up and said,
"Nobody cares."
With a shot, she dropped to the floor.

Darling child, lay softly down on your bed,
drift away from harsh times,
escape from what's in your head,
fall asleep to nursery rhymes;
Let your happiness be bred.

Dearest girl with a rose in your hair,
smile at those who give you grief,
smile at those who cause despair,
smile at those who give no relief;
For they are not even there.

Sweet friend, radiating beauty and grace,
let nothing worry you tonight,
as I gaze upon the beauty of your face,
so full of happiness, so full of delight;
I know you will win life's long race.

Dancer, dancer, on a string,
watch her move and hear her sing,
frown-masked smirks all around,
making her cry, making her frown,
but she gives them everything,
more than they deserve,
for she cares far too much,
to just let them burn.

Dancer, dancer, spinning fast,
there's no knowing how long she'll last,
performing for others who do not care,
she might even fall down the stairs,
of pressure and of people broken,
weighing down with lack of thankful token.

Someone runs in to cut the strings,
but they're made of wire, dastardly things,
so grabbing on and holding strong,
they help her move herself along,
to free feelings, free thoughts;
A free life with wide leaps in open fields.

Dearest child, come here, come near,
whisper your secrets into my waiting ear,
I'll stay right here until you're through,
even then, I'll remain with you;

Into the night where monsters play,
it's alright, we were born this way,
destined to be misunderstood,
destined to wander deep in the wood;

Running and striding past trees of green,
where problems are forgotten and we're not seen,
though that's okay, we rarely are,
disappearing is how we've come so far;

So come with me, to fantasy,
to a place where all is meant to be,
where birds sing and flowers smell sweet,
to journey together is such a lovely treat.

Feeling nothing is such an odd sensation,
you don't smack into walls,
you glide through them,
heartbreak and loss just pass overhead,
you can't care about a thing in the world,
yourself less than anything,
your heart a withering black rose,
unable to be nursed back to health,
but it's all your fault, you chose it.

The days drift by and all you can do,
is watch hopelessly from your grave,
which, you dug yourself, of course,
such a slow process, nobody notices,
until it's too late, then oh the shame,
how could we not have seen this sooner?

Till you're just a rotten corpse,
laying, fading away,
unable to drag yourself out of it all,
unable to put yourself out of misery,
just sitting and waiting for someone to do something,
but alas no one comes, no one saves you from yourself,
they may have helped at one point,
but like a book you're put back on the shelf,
'cause nobody has time to read you,
your pages have become too thick,
for all these light and simple minds,
it just simply makes you sick,
till the rage builds up inside you,
then all you can do is;
Snap.