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 Oct 2013 Jamie Horridge
Anna
Please forgive me for my lack of meter and form of a paragraph. Let me take you to a day in my life, of what was supposed to be the conclusion, on February 9th, 2013. I was on the floor of my bedroom, the cold wood no match for my fevering body. My hollow gaze melting into the green walls, the picture collages of magazine cutouts I spent whole weekends arranging. There were no tears. No feelings beside this hungry ache of emptiness. The clenching grip of depression enclosed around my ribcage.

There were no tears because my mind was made up.

I drew the razor blade  across the fair delicate skin on my wrist, perpendicular. I just wanted to feel something. One. Two more times, crimson paint flowing down my arm, onto the wooden floors. Steady stream, throbbing pain.

It wasn't until my head was light and vision blurry that I noticed my mistake. I cut too deep. But there were no tears. No feelings. Besides acceptance that my time has come. I slowly closed my eyes involuntarily, giving into the soft waves.

Feeling the grip loosen.
Here's a body-There's a bed
There's a pilliow-Here's a head
There's a curtain-Here's a light
There's a puff-and so good night
i can't forget you
you make it seemingly impossible
with the sudden replies
and pop up visits.
"your scars have faded"
you remark
unaware of how those lips
that forms those words from your liar's mouth
can't be true
because if you looked closely
you would see the new scars
forming on my no longer sacred flesh.
and there are certain things
that i can no longer hide
such as those dark monsters lurking in my closet
and how sometimes i just wish
they'd take me with them when they leave.
 Oct 2013 Jamie Horridge
Mikaila
Nobody sat me down before it was too late
And told me that this world was going to be like it is.
Nobody said to me,
"There will be days that feel like wet woolen blankets
And settle over your mouth and keep the fresh air out.
There will be days when you feel each second like a razorblade,
And days when the minutes blur by in blissful softness.
There will be days that feel, indeed, exactly the way it feels to step out
Into the sunlight on a clear summer morning,
And there will be days- whether good or bad- for which there are simply no words at all,
And those days will always scare you the most because
They can't be captured or understood.
There will be countless days that feel like leaden weights attached to your ankles
At the bottom of a cold sea
And many that slip by like grains of sand through your fingers,
Rough and smooth at once, neither warm nor frigid.
And there will come a day,
Every so often,
When you can see that your days are wearing thin,
The way that a sock wears thin when you have walked a long way in it over the years,
And the threads begin to fray.
These days will make your heart constrict because
No matter how many more you can see marching towards you in the distance
You know there could never possibly be enough of them to save you."
Nobody told me these things.
Nobody explained that it would be this way,
That every day would have its own feeling,
And I would have to learn anew to cope each morning.
Nobody explained to me that there is no cure for living,
For the ache in your stomach that makes you want to give up
Or for the ache in your heart that is so sweetly, electrically terrible you can't stand it.
There is no medication to treat how each day treats you.
I wish someone would have told me.
But,
Then again,
What exactly could I have done
If somebody had?
And you're a liar,
But then again really everyone here is.
The words spoken,
Always sound so dull,
When we sit in this room,
And mindless words float around.

I've seen you all lie,
For me,
     For friends,
          For yourself,
And we will all lie, to
Save lives,
     Save thought,
          Save even face,

People will tell tiny white kinds,
Others will tell the blackest of all,
All in the name of trying to be cool,
All in the name, they say, of kindness and love.

I'm a liar too,
To friends or my mother,
To strangers or a lover,
But it's in this silence,
I have to be honest,
Sincere, not withholding.

In stillness, the faintest,
Sound of beating chests,
Breathing lungs,
Trembling souls,
Zephyrs come howling,
While trees stand and whisper.

Sick and tired of the daily lies,
Fall into each others love,
Trusting silence to
Finally speak honest words,
For the first time in days,
Maybe months, even years.

A heartbeat cannot lie,
With sanity on the line,
And it's a sure step up,
From that sneaky little muscle,
Slipping in our mouths;
They say it's called a "tongue."

Let these untruths of yours
Be set free unto the sea,
Cease this fabrication,
Of stories told to me;
Pergure yourself no more,
Drop down your defenses;
Show the world what you have,
Show everyone your heart.

Nothing left to be said,
Can be the greatest gift;
I write these words unto,
To attest to you to sift,
Through all the words you hear,
Because words are left to  
You to read and perceive,

They  might call us fools,
But I'll tell of how I,
Loved more, this way than that,
Saved and spent my sweet time,
The right way,
The honest way.

I've lived ways most have not,
And if anything more tragic
Than a lie doth exist,
It has to be the story,
Of the souls who know not,
Honesty, but prefer lies,
How they have been bound at the wrists
And ankles, blindfolded at the eyes.
I decided today when I woke up
To write a poem  for everyone
I'd start off with the very old
And end up with the young

In between I'd have kings and queens
Along with a peasant or two
A genius with a dozen degrees
Even a few without a clue

For the in-laws and the outlaws
Though at times they act the same
If right now they're sitting next to you
No need to mention names

I'd also write it for the Catholics
Protestants and Jews
So as not to leave anyone out
A Methodist marching band with kazoos

What would a poem for everyone be
Without rodeo and circus clowns
The ones that paint happy faces
Over the top of their life's frowns

The tall the short and skinny of course
Those that are tipping the scale
Which these days are most of us
But let's not dip into that well

And of course I can't leave out
All the gays and all the straights
Who never knew that they were straight
Until the gays knew they were gay

I guess we've all been labeled
I really don't mean to offend
Oops...I almost forgot to include
All the mustached women and hairy backed men

If you find you weren't in here
And think that your unmentionable
I'd like you to know my friend
My rudeness was unintentional

You may take this poem for everyone
And do with it what you wish
Perhaps the closest receptacle
Where it may join it's friends...the trash
 Oct 2013 Jamie Horridge
Sarah
I often contemplate
On the complexity of life
Why darkness still dominates
Even when it's bright

It always seems like
While others are fine
I tend to be the only one
That wants to die

Drunk on thoughts
Disgusted with life
Get me out of here
I'm drowning inside

Intoxicated with madness
I'm in love with my sadness
The pain is overwhelming
Can't you see me crumbling?

If there is a God
I want to ask Him why
Why did He leave me
Holding onto lies

I try to suppress my memories
But instead
I keep them close to me
Only to find out
It is what that kills me
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