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 Dec 2013 Clara
Do I Matter
you are not good enough
no one likes you, might as well die
go hurt yourself you ugly *****!*

Meet the voices in my head
They try their very best to get to me
They almost caused me to be dead
And they were the reason i wanted to flee

I did not want to be me anymore
They made me hate myself so much
I started walking to a door
I knew this was my way out with one touch

I had to get the key
This was hard, but worth it in the end
That key helped me to flee
Flee from the voices in my head

But i will not get too comfortable
For these voices may return
These voices make me uncomfortable
Dont play with fire darling, you will burn
 Dec 2013 Clara
The Noose
Codeine
 Dec 2013 Clara
The Noose
Lucid dreaming whilst sleeping in zero gravity
Encapsulated in the realm of Nirvana
Majestic tranquility of a pilular nature
Pilular because you have "class"
Constellation of implications,
Etched on skin
We all have dabbled in tragedy.
 Dec 2013 Clara
Dr O
In the light of the new morning,
He opens his eyes,
The Devil gets his warning,
And the heavens start to cry.
She utters a quick prayer                
To always keep him safe
The Devil weeps in despair,
And a smile warps his face.

He was always quiet,
He was always kind,
At a young age the Devil tried to find,
But his mother’s prayer always declined.
One day she began to cough red,
The same day she breathed,
And the same breath she bled.
He clenched her on the bed,
She said her finals words and fled
The heavens began to dread,
The day the Devil would enter his head.

She looks beautiful walking down the aisle,
He greets her on the stand with a smile,
The priest begins the trial,
On Sunday the heavens sleep a while,
The Devil creeps out of denial.
She watches her son from above,
A tear rolls down her cheek,
She hears the Devil speak,
She tries to warn him,
But the heavens silence her screech.

The clock ticks,
He looks into its eyes,
His heart stops,
And the heavens start to cry.
He kisses her on the lips,        
He cries his tears of wine,  
The Devil feels fine,
Such an act must be sign.

He runs his fingers across the blade,
He looks into its eyes
He remembers his mother’s prayer
And his conscience begins to cry,
The tears of heaven begin to dry,
Like cancer it spreads across his mind,
While he begs the Devil to make him blind.


He looks all around,
His mind is deranged,
The Devil knew this was bound,
The heavens start to change.
He looks down at what could have been
He looks down at his biggest sin
The Devil only laughs,
While his world no longer spins

She comes home and it feels colder inside,
The man she loved has died,
And the Devil has taken his side.
She sees herself in the pool of red,
She sees it motionless on the bed,
She screams her scream of silent pain,
As the Devil slowly opens her vein

The wind is swooshing outside,  
His heart is the Devil and his conscience is the Eye,
He gets up, weak with age,
The Devil cries his tears of sage.
His life is slipping away,
He goes and lies down in his grave,
He covers himself in his own pain,
The heavens begin to obey,
All in all, in the Devil’s cave.
 Dec 2013 Clara
Angela Campbell
My razor
knows me
in ways they never tried
Outside I may be smiling
But it knows at night, I cry

My razor*
comforts me
in ways I never feel
the pain feels so good,
It’s the only thing that’s real.

My razor
whispers the words
I never hear
from the people
that never care.


(a.f.c)
 Dec 2013 Clara
Cassie
Untitled
 Dec 2013 Clara
Cassie
its mornings when the cold stings my nose
and the smoke fizzling off the end of my cigarette
burns my bloodshot eyes
that i can't see a thing out of because i just took my contacts out after passing out with them in that i remember
i am ******
and the world is still
just as frigid and grey as before
but it is early
and i will shut the world out in blackeness
bury myself beneath covers
and pray for blue skies once i open my eyes
but anything will be contrast against
the view of my inner eyelids
 Dec 2013 Clara
The Noose
With a heavy gait
She trampled on the heart that loved her fiercely and without  reservation

A thorn she was, disguised as a lily
To him, the prettiest of flowers
Pulling back the veil to see she was the poison gnawing at his heart

What followed was the corrosion of the love he felt for her by the ludicrous vile flavour of her deception
Her ignition of an empty flame that should have never been lit
Was nothing new
Started fires only  to leave them burning along with her paramours

Feeding off of hearts and basking in the victory of her betrayal of souls was the only thing that sustained her

The red woman in the midnight blue dress
Possessed a beauty beyond compare
With a frost covered heart
And snake scales beneath her fair skin
It was her who murdered love.
 Dec 2013 Clara
Shea Vogt
Ramble.
 Dec 2013 Clara
Shea Vogt
There's this voice in the back of my head whispering little thoughts,
every day spilling words into the vortex to cause a chain reaction
of action each day that I step foot on this earth. Some days I shake
and shiver, wonderin' if it's the cause I want. Some days I take and
take a single breath one after the other. And whether or not I'm ready
to take the leap, that little voice keeps on  and on, steady thunderin'
in my brain as I snap both my legs together as the ledge reaches out
and that voice straps my thoughts right to the purpose that I belong.
And still each day I wake and I wonder, am I becoming what I want.
And each day I ponder and I shake because I just cannot be sure.
Yet, there's a little bit of a voice entirely committed to the choice
that I settle with both feet upon. And although I'm never certain,
and my heart, filled with its nervous palpitations, pitters and pats as
I sit and stare past the curtain, eyeing the world with its thisses and thats
that I'm not even sure I want to obtain, but still  so effectively contains,
I realize a couple things. I may not know my direction, but I'm not lost.
I may be filled with one too many faults that are in need of a correction,
but I'm not broken. So, each day a voice whispers in the back of my head,
and each day I whisper a little bit back and even though I'm a bit scared
of the mystery of life, an epiphany brings me back: I may not know my place,
but that voice keeps supportin' my claim and my head keeps saying the same,
so I'll just go ahead and keep this *******' smile on my face.
12/2/13.
 Dec 2013 Clara
Veronica Smith
This town is too small for secrets
The sidewalks are adorned with names and dates
Of couples whose love dissolved twenty years ago
While moss oozes out of the letters.

This town is too small for secrets
Through windows at night
The citizens play out their dollhouse lives
And dysfunction is locked away in grandmother’s armoire.

This town is too small for secrets
Where bars close at seven in the morning and open an hour later
And the tenders are purveyors of free psychiatry
Who put advice in bowls between stale peanuts
And place them on the counter.

This town is too small for secrets
Every hour the two churches compete for the loudest bells
But the protestant one always wins
And the Catholics having mass ignore its pleading voice
But whisper politely in each other’s ears
About the scandalous protestors out on Main.

This town is too small for secrets
With its coffee shops littered with youth
Who deny their wealth through coffee steam
And discuss the state of countries they can’t place on a map
And slowly leach out in to the frigid rain
Back to new cars and million-dollar homes
Where daddy pays the bills.

This town is too small for secrets
The college students drink their scholarships in red plastic cups
And scuttle towards their shared flats
Collapse in to bed too tired to sleep
Stare at the ceiling and wonder why they didn’t transfer
Three semesters ago.

This town is too small for secrets
With its gated communities of retirees
Where the homes are manufactured
And the walls papered with the smiling faces of clean-cut grandchildren
And the rebellious ones packed away
From the neighborhood gossip’s prying eyes.
 Dec 2013 Clara
R
save myself
 Dec 2013 Clara
R
nobody could see me
trying to **** myself.
but i could.
every night i saw it.
i saw the various ways to
slit my throat, my wrist,
to tie a knot, maybe with a bow?
and kick my moms nice chair away?
maybe by drowning,
or jumping from a tall building?
so many ways... so many.
i still see those ways.
i still want to cut.
actually, ive craved the blade
for a few weeks now.
and yet, i havent made a single mark
up and down my arm.

whats stopping me?
i'll be honest: when i go back to school
i want to be able to show my teacher that
it'll be a whole month since ive cut.
thats a long time (for me) and i
really want to keep going.

i can save myself.
i know i can...
right?
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