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where's the emotion, not a shred left in sight
crying but for no reason why
to feel you have not lived a day in your life
 Mar 2012 Marisa Bordeaux
B S
Stop! Fair maiden, excuse my haste --
but today the Heavens weep.
Off of your feet will you allow me to sweep,
and adore you in all your grace?
Your eyes they sparkle upon your face,
a gaze to make my heart leap.
The most pure of flowers may never creep --
close to the beauty you encase.
Stay with me a little while,
until those tears do dry.
Close your eyes, I'll sing a lullaby ,
until the east see's moonshine.
Bid the day farewell -- dream -- release a smile,
we will meet again, next Winter time.
My lips are bruised.
They are red,
and raw,
from biting them.
Tired of trying not to remember,
the taste of your lips.
My face is pale,
hollow.
my eyes wide with fear,
with shock.
The bags under my eyes,
show signs of giving up,
show signs of being too afraid,
of laying in bed alone.
My ribs have grown a face,
and they smile at me in the mirror.
Their teeth a razor sharp edge,
cutting across my skin.
I look,
caught in the headlights,
of an oncoming car.
I look,
like I don't care,
if it runs me over.
Too afraid,
to feel,
I encase myself in the darkness.
But that is just as bad.
It suffocates me,
makes me *****.
My lips are bruised.
They are red,
and raw,
from biting them.
Tired of trying not to remember,
the taste of your lips.
And as the first signs of a slow death start to show,
I realise I am in hell.
Dear Diary, you're completely full of ****. You are that streetwalker who passes by with a faux smile and a greeting that defines Charlatan.

"Hello! How are you?"

Well, Diary, I'm broken and full of rotting organs and a brain just screaming for serotonin and a conscious that wants to shove a knife in your chest and a heart that's too weak to do it.

"I'm doing just fine, thanks."

Charlatan Diary, you're nothing but a shallow waste of ink. Waste of ink waste of ink wasteof ink wa ste o f ink wasteofink.
 Mar 2012 Marisa Bordeaux
B S
I’ve been lost in time,
These last few months,
With clocks that won’t tock –
And days that won’t stop.
And I was happy.
Or maybe a little too comfortable.
It’s all the same,
Because the sun won’t always shine,
And you can’t stop the rain.
But time will always find you,
And I’m here now.
So where are you?
Are you hiding too?
Running from the monotonous chime –
The one that dictates your waking,
And your slumber.
Your not so silent slumber.
Trapped within the walls of time.
Is this living,
Or is this death?
It doesn’t matter,
The trees will still grow –
Either way.
And I’m here now.
I wear bells now –
To throw that monotonous chime –
Out of time.
So where are you?
Do you wear bells too?
I don’t weep,
No I don’t cry,
Because tears don’t harmonize,
With the monotonous chime.
I didn't mean to **** myself.
It was just one of those
spurofthemoments.

I colored outside
of the lines. I
took the falsehood
seriously and believed
I was invincible.

The camera never lies,
and I believed every
photo it said.
What a fallacy, would't
you agree?
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