Six feet under and no signal on
my phone, I was buried dead but
I just wanted to phone home.

The life of a corpse is no fun, there is
no air in this coffin, it has long since
gone.

I look around with the one eye left, my friend
earth worm tim, calls my other socket home,
now only my bad eye left. I would smile but
my lips are gone, they fell next to my ear
whispering sweet nothings for fun.

I wish I,d been cremated, just ash in the wind
think of the travelling I'd have done. But
no I'm six feet under, bored to death
for eternity, this is not the life i'd
want dead or alive this is just no fun.

I get so much judgment for talking about you
and what you taught me,
what you saved me from,
what you have inspired within me.

I am even given judgment when I tell others
of the times when you protected me
from my peers,
and even from myself.

You don't even know my history of
physical self-harm.
You only know how I put myself through misery
without a care.  I won't ask for help.

You're my hero because
I didn't need to ask for help,
you gave it regardless.
And I get judged for telling people that.

Granted, I talk of it a lot,
but you mean the world as a hero should.
I won't stop talking about you.
In a week, I get to see you.

You don't want me to come back,
because you think it'll be best to stay away.
Stay away and detach from that place for a bit.
But I can't not see a friend when I can.

I want to catch up, to talk with you,
to not face the judgment I face every single day
from every single person I know.

You are my hero,
I will never forget it.
You were there when no one else was.
Hero, I won't forget you.

Might I partake? I do say I shall help
myself to these delicious treats.
That is, the misfortune of others.
Alas, I cannot hold back in general
for they are addicting. I prey
on the weak for they are
the juiciest. My glands have been
salivating for far too long
and I feel that what little self-control
I have left shall be consumed
by this overwhelming desire
of feasting off others' unhappiness.
True, it is callous of myself to divulge in
such travesties that do not require
my presence, but I ask myself: why not?
It seems only fitting to devour that which brings joy.
Clasping my hands followed by a devious smile,
I shall hunt for these misfortunes, hoping to wither
someone down until they're nothing
more than an empty shell.

You need to be pretty.
You need to be pretty and you need to be quiet.
You need to be pretty and you need to be quiet and you need to give everything to a man because he deserves it for putting a roof over your head.
You need to be pretty.
You need to be pretty and you need to be quiet
You need to be pretty and you need to be quiet and you need to be appreciative of a man because he provides you with the life you were meant to live.
Pretty
Quiet
Appreciative.
Stay in your place.
Don't talk back
Don't flinch when he hits you
Don't flinch when he touches you
Don't flinch when he yells at you.
Pretty
Quiet
Appreciative.
Because you were born into the 21st century version of being sold off like a slave. Pretty
Quiet
Appreciative
None of this is optional.
You need to be (whoever you want) and you need to be (as loud as you want) and you need to (appreciate yourself)
None of this is optional

So many things I'd like to do
So many things I'd like to say
So many reasons why I should
But so many things get in the way
Sometimes these things aren't what I've chosen
Sometimes it seems they've chosen me
Sometimes they are my own mistakes
Sometimes it's who I've failed to be
But every time, in every way
I still strive so to find my voice
Sometimes struggling to find
The words that make my heart rejoice
For just to hear myself out loud
It drowns the voices in my head
And calms my sorrows and my fears
No matter who else may have read
For we each write for our own reasons
And we each write in our own styles
With a different flavor we each season
We each provide both frowns and smiles
And we each know exactly why
We choose to let our words flow free
In every instance, every time
I know just what mine mean to me
It matters not who may agree
Or who may not like every line
For it's the message that means more
Than how each one may be designed
And I can't change my feeling's flow
Whether supported or berated
This is my hope, this is my voice
No matter whether loved or hated

Oh no!
I'm stuck here
behind this lovely stand.
Dare I sit here
or should I attempt
to make social interaction?
I don't know though...
It seems rather taxing
to make an effort to engage
with someone whom I know
literally nothing about,
but isn't that what
you're supposed to do?
Decisions, decisions...
It seems like such a
simple thing. The choice
seems so blatantly obvious.
True, I could use some friends,
but who is to say
they'd still be there
after my darkest of days.
That is a chance I'm not
willing to take.
The opportunity cost of my
time is too high to
make the effort to talk
to a random individual.
The phrase, "Oh well," comes to mind.
My, my, what a predicament.
Uncertainty is a corrupting
influence that plagues us all
to stop us from doing the things
we all love.
So, should I stop this or let it run
its ****** course?
I think it's safe to say
who has won.

Hatred seeps through vicious eyes,
Love like a dream lost forever,
hearts forgotten together,
an ecstacy of broken sadness,
glitter trembles in minds refracted,
Broken tension forgets itself,
lost in the hands of the weary,
never safe in the caress of sin,
for poetry cannot be formed from chapped lips
your fingers ache as words relapse
breath forgets to fill your lungs
your place is gone here,
life begotten through glass shards
piercing the skin to your bones
small drops of crimson leakage
trickle from the crevices of your body,
the pain is unstable and placid
as they tear your heart out
with their bare hands....