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Johnnie Rae Dec 2013
I.
Nicotine seems to replace air in my lungs.

II.
I have a mellow dramatic trying to reach me.

III.
He's armed with poetry and cruel words.

IV.
He also seems to think I don't notice he reeks of desperation

V.
And, he seems to think I care.

VI.
The one I love is too far away.

VII.
I need to bring him near.

VIII.
The scent of his skin won't leave my nostrils.

IX.
Depression is suffocating me,

X.
It knows I want it to stick around.

XI.
Depressions like leather. Dead but warm.

XII.
It feels like home.

XIII.
I don't ever want to go home.

XIV.
I'll turn 15 in less than a week.

XV.**
But yet I still won't have grown.
Johnnie Rae Nov 2013
The world turns,'
we breathe, whilst I sit
and wait for you to see right through me.
my wrists are bare.
you're kissing the marks I made
with the blade I held
in the blame I felt,
and the sadness that overtook me like a tidalwave.

Wasted in my own worthlessness,
I didn't think. Simply did.
Shook as my tears fell,
vision blurred,
Lines appeared and I wish they'd go away,
faster.

They're not a simple of beauty.
they do not show how strong I am,
but instead they show my weakness,
and my impending doom.
I feel as if I've failed you,
this is a mixed drink,
of regret and pain.

I hate them.

I hate them.

With every fiber, in my broken down being.
Johnnie Rae Nov 2013
Those scars.
Those cuts on your wrist.
They show the pain you've felt.
They tell stories of the past.
Of a time not so long ago.
Times of terror and struggle.
Times of great pain.
But for every dark side there is a light.
Those stories of sorrow are rewritten.
With one single kiss of my lips.
For each kiss I rewrite those stories.
The ones of us.
Tales of beauty and passion.
Tales of love and peace.
I'll always be there sitting and cutting my hands on the broken glass of her heart that shatters when she runs that razor on her wrist.
But thats okay.
Because in the end that heart will have my name written across it.
Because Im the one who is there to pick up the pieces.
This is not a poem of sorrow.
Not pain.
Not sadness.
But a poem of promise and love.
A poem to make the pain go away.
Darling I promise, I swear.
Darling, you'll be okay.
I decided to post this, just to remind her that through everything. I'll always be hers. I'll always be there for her. -Brendan
Johnnie Rae Nov 2013
no one ever told me,
that the butterflies in your stomach,
could stab at you like knives
carving out your insides while,
you sit in silence as you feel the hole
deepening.
stretch.
no one ever told me,
that the butterflies in your stomach,
could feel like gunshots,
from the inside out.

Maybe I won't survive, but that is okay for,
*Egal, wo wir morgen sind!
The last line is German for "it doesn't matter, where we are tomorrow"
Johnnie Rae Nov 2013
no one ever told me,
that the butterflies in your stomach,
could stab at you like knives.
Johnnie Rae Oct 2013
Plate glass windows,
they mock your transparency.
Your heartstrings weighed down,
by all that you harbor,
you're stuck in your misery.

Your heart beats in a cacophony
of pushed down feelings
and your cold exterior has left the room freezing.
Below zero. You're arctic.
You'll accept no help, too mellow dramatic.

You speak words of malice,
with a tongue like a blade.

You sicken me.

Continue on in your self destructive ways
and continue on hating me for reasons
you cling to like they'll pull you out of deep waters
when all they'll do is help you drown.

What you see as a life boat, is really the weight in your chest.
I wish I could find it in me to call him a man.. but I can't.
Johnnie Rae Oct 2013
Your voice. Your words.
Things that preach cacophonies
of glass shattering
waterfalls of broken things
never to be repaired
minds spiral into a fit
of uncontrollable laughter when
they hear you cry for help.
You are not the victim here,
nor were you, ever.
So stop the song and dance,
and don't quit your day job
for while you think you've changed,
and can fly higher now,
you'll go no where
weighed down by the things you've
gotten your heart tangled up in
transfixed on the idea of holding on.
But see that's the thing about
this world in which we're stuck
most of the things we think do us good,
are the things that slowly tear us down
Written about a boy whose trapped his feelings and won't let them go.
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