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sage Aug 2017
Tonight,

I looked at the stars like I do every night,

and I cried.

because this time,

I remembered

that some of them are dead.

and I realised

just how envious I was,

that I was not as beautiful as a star,

even though,

I too,

was still there.

yet also

so

very

dead.
I've lost my love and I don't know how to get it back.
sage Aug 2017
He screamed into the night, believing no one was listening.

He cried out of fright, his eyes dark and glistening.

His thin wrists continued to bleed, razor sharp cuts made clear with crimson.

His heart begs to feed, far from the sorrow he lives on.

His mind told him to never wait, no one would search for him.

But his mind knew not of fate, and there was a light in the dim.

There stood a girl - willing to fall in love, and there was a boy - about to fall apart.

And then came the tale that all were in awe of, where they shared a broken heart.
I don't know what this is or where it came from. I guess I know more than sad.
sage Jul 2017
there are things that people do that they aren't supposed to.

like holding in a sneeze,
picking at their fingers.

bad habits that are hard to stop, and can be harmful.

it makes me worry that holding in tears for so long is bad for my eyes,
if it makes me see the world in the wrong light,
if it ruins my perspective of the world.

but then I remember that doesn't matter.

my mind ruined the world for me, anyway.
i'm in the midst of losing my mind but it's not like i'm going to tell anyone about it
sage Jul 2017
She began to paint one night,
Never having taken a lesson in her life.

She didn't know what she was painting,
She didn't really know how to either.

But she picked up a brush,
And began to speak.

Her bristles spelt out words,
Her colours make the canvas scream.

The works she had done before spoke the stories of her heart,
The tales of her memories.

Anyone who had seen her canvases saw genius,
Saw light.

But when she looked at them,
She saw nothing.

She knew what they meant,
Each story embedded in her brain.

Her pain, and her hurt,
There for people to critique.

And the paint she used,
Seemed so bare and bleak.

She had been so desperate for colour,
She had tried to draw it from her skin several times.

But no one knew,
And no one ever would know.

Because in the end,
the only colour she really wanted to see was black.

Because these greys she saw as she stared at her work,
Told her she would never be able to understand how beautiful her words were.
this was supposed to be happy but nothing really goes my way.
sage Jul 2017
The world doesn't like sad girls.

It likes sad boys that the happy girls make smile.
It likes how the happy girls make the sad boys fall in love with their every word.
It likes when the boy who is no longer sad kisses the girl who made him so.

But then the sad girls are still sad,
and no one cares.
i read a lot, knowing no one could read me.
sage Jul 2017
she stared of into the morning sky,
watching the delicate birds fly.

they were so peaceful in the atmosphere,
left her wishing that she wasn't here.

blood stained her scarred wrists,
her hands forming clenched fists.

her knuckles were bruised and harshly beaten,
and all day, she'd hardly eaten.

there were tears in her eyes,
those as blue as the skies.

her hollow chest held a heart that hurt,
a heart that had been thoroughly stomped in the dirt.

there were anchors in her lungs,
that she'd had since she was young.

as she stared into the midnight skies,
there were tears in her light blue eyes.

the birds flew past the window sills,
and that's when she took one too many pills.
just making my point
sage Jul 2017
m/w
The richest models take their clothes off,
but the best writers rip their hearts out.
I wonder who gets paid more though.
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