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  Oct 2017 elizabeth
skyler
i will end my life
not today
not tomorrow
maybe not even in a year from now
but i will leave this world
by my own hand
for i was brought here
not by choice
i was created
without any consent
signed a contract to keep breathing
the signature being my first breath
so i will leave on my own terms
by my own hand
my choice

s.s
elizabeth Jun 2017
Liar, Liar, pants-
Pants? Pants? It's more like: Liar,
Liar, soul on fire.
June 13, 2017.
elizabeth Jun 2017
"Once upon a time, I knew you.
I knew your quirks and comebacks,
Your fears and failures.
I knew when you were sad before you did
And how to cheer you up (cheesy jokes and vanilla ice cream).
I knew which Dum-Dum flavor was your favorite,
And the ritual you'd perform before a game.
I knew how you acted just before you broke up
With yet another girlfriend that you deemed wasn't The One.
But now... I hardly know you at all.
I suppose we've become like strangers.
Wandering and tip-toeing around each other,
Not sure how to approach and say hello correctly.
But of course, the most obvious question to finally ask
Would be the one that I am terrified of.
The one that's kept me awake at night as I've imagined
Meeting you again.
'How have you been over the years?'
A simple question. But a hard one.
Because I'm terrified of how happy you will tell me you are
Without me."
       *-an excerpt from a book I will never write.
June 13, 2017.
  Jun 2017 elizabeth
JAC
"For a moment,"
Said their lips,
Warm, but fleeting

"It's okay,"
Said the rain,
Falling again

"I missed you,"
Said your bed,
Empty and tired

"Not today,"
Said the night,
Long and dull

"Maybe next time,"
Said the morning,
Sleepy and still

"Just wait,"
Said the week,
Dragging on

"Just breathe,"
Said the sidewalk,
Every day

"You're fine,"
Said the wind,
Colder than them

"I need you,"
Said your heart,
Resigned and dry

"..."
Said your lips,
Silent.
elizabeth Oct 2017
The words are stuck
In this throat of mine.
I try to unleash them,
But I don't know why I bother trying.
What's the point?
I see no point to any of it
And still the words are stuck.
They swim in my head,
Like tiny, little fishes.
I'm a terrible fisherman;
I should mention that now.
"Explain yourself!" The people say,
And I try.
I try very hard, but the little word-fishes
Seem to always evade my hook.
I simply stand there, in a daze,
Mouth wide-open like a grouper.
Opening.
Closing.
Searching.
Grasping.
Wishing that I could find the right words.
But still, the words are stuck.
The people become angry,
Because they are hungry for my words.
But I'm an awful fisherman,
So they shouldn't rely on me.
So I stand there, gaping.
Opening and closing my mouth again,
While the waves of my mind are crashing
On the walls of my self-control.
I fight hard, trying to sail through
These hazardous oceans.
But it is to no avail.
I'll end up alone again,
Gasping and choking for air as
The waves drown me.
And even still,
The words are stuck.
June 4, 2017.
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