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The world, soon to be ending
My darling don't cry
The end, it's just the beginning
As darkness fills the sky

The war is here, but were blinded
The fear soon to arise
No one seems to mind it
But It's not a surprise

13 species
13 skulls
Collect the pieces
Peace for all

Thirteen skulls legend bound
Thirteen skulls crystal crowned
Thirteen skulls earthen drowned
Thirteen skulls never found

No one knows, the war is here
But perhaps a few, the sight we saw
We carry the burden of frightened fear
One in a hundred, the torturous call

Indigo and earth children have come to fight
The warriors, of the protector
Welcome the light of the divine
It's our fault, the false electors

Thirteen creatures
Thirteen heavens
Profound features
The Chakra seven

Thirteen skulls legend bound
Thirteen skulls crystal crowned
Thirteen skulls earthen drowned
Thirteen skulls never found

Communication all around
Ring the bell, hear the sound
The spirit grows, build the mound
Meditate on lotus ground

Thirteen skulls legend bound
Thirteen skulls crystal crowned
Thirteen skulls earthen drowned
Thirteen skulls never found

13 species
13 skulls
Collect the pieces
Peace for all

Thirteen creatures
Thirteen heavens
Profound features
The Chakra seven

Thirteen skulls legend bound
Thirteen skulls crystal crowned
Thirteen skulls earthen drowned
Thirteen skulls never found

Thirteen skulls, crystal skulls
The thirteen skulls finally found
The world will lay safe and sound
Thirteen skulls, peace for all
Thirteen skulls, peace for all
This is a song taken from the album Pentacle
Jade Jan 2019
⚠Trigger Warning; the following poem contains subject matter pertaining to suicide, self-harm, and eating disorders⚠
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how do u know if ur having a nervous breakdown
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signs of a nervous breakdown
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can u be hospitalized for having a nervous breakdown
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grounds for admission to a psychiatric ward
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what's it like being admitted to a psychiatric ward
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker suicide scene
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how do u know if ur having a panic attack
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are panic attacks and anxiety attacks the same thing
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whats the difference between a panic attack and an anxiety attack
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generalized anxiety disorder symptoms
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker suicide scene
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borderline personality disorder symptoms
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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why are my hands always cold
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prozac side effects
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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bipolar disorder symptoms
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seroquel side effects
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does seroquel make you gain weight
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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how to refrain from eating
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how to force yourself to throw up
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eating disorder symptoms
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binge eating disorder symptoms
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bulimia symptoms
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anorexia symptoms
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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insomnia
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can you overdose on melatonin
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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how did sylvia plath **** herself
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carbon monoxide poisoning
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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how many advils do I have to take to **** myself
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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major depressive disorder symptoms
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suicide warning signs
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IS PATH WARM
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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tortured artist
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why did vincent van gogh cut off his ear
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virginia woolf suicide note
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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songs about suicide
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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thirteen reasons why soundtrack
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billie eilish lovely lyrics
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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why do I feel so empty
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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empty
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thirteen reasons why hannah baker slitting her wrists
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i wish i was dead
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!

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(P.S. Use a computer to ensure an optimal reading experience)
Water Lily Jun 2015
At the early morning, when the handsome prince climbed the ladder of the 13th floor
The mini blue hyacinth next to the window rang her thirteen gentle little bells
The Thirteen-Words princess, who are reading the book,
Opened the thirteen little white windows
The early dawn’s milky white light and thirteen chirps of the green bird,
Floated into princess’ little heart with thirteen different flavors of freshly sweet morning coffee from the kitchen
In the dim light of dawn, thirteen little dwarves were passing the little red bridge
When princess saw prince in such a surprise, she winked her eyes for thirteen times
Thirteen layers of blushes slowly rose to her cheek and her face soon turned as red as a ripe apple
wah  May 2014
The Rape Poem
wah May 2014
Thirteen is a fragile age
For both boys and girls
Not only for girls
But mostly for girls
When you are a female,
By the time you’re thirteen
You already have a basic idea of what you’re supposed to be like:
What you should wear, how you should behave, what you should say
By the time you’re a thirteen-year-old girl in the year 2008
There is an unspoken list of rules,
A non-verbal inventory of criteria that you should have met
By your fourteenth birthday
You must shave your legs,
You mustn’t wear dresses above knee length,
You must lose your virginity
By the time that I was thirteen years old,
All of my closest girl friends had lost their virginities
Albeit, they were fourteen and I was thirteen because I was a year ahead
But that is a different story for a different poem
This poem is about ****
I remember hearing my friends talk about how they had lost their virginities
In their beds, in the shower, in the backseat of his car
But when I was thirteen, I wasn’t worried about ***
I didn’t want to lose my virginity
Not in a bed, or a shower, or the backseat of a car
No, when I was thirteen, I was highly preoccupied with other things
I was worried about love and what love meant
I wanted to feel love in my heart and in my head
Before I ever felt it in my ******
And let it be said, now, half a decade later
That *** and love are not always the same thing
I wish I would have known that then
I wish I would have known that when he put his hand down my pants
While I was only trying to enjoy a movie in the company of my boyfriend
A man who I thought I could trust
Excuse me, a boy who I thought I could trust
I wish I would have known that when he whispered daggers in my ear
Telling me that he loved me enough to “grace” me with his touch
I wish I would have known that when he pushed me into the couch
With the rough insides of his palms
And gained entry to a gate
That I never gave him the key to
And I wish I would have known that when I asked him later,
“What just happened?”
Too stunned and in pain to cry
And he replied,
“It’s what girlfriends and boyfriends do.
It’s what you do when a girlfriend loves her boyfriend.
You do love me, right?”
And I said yes
When I went back to his house a week later,
I told him that I felt ashamed, and guilty, and *****
Because I didn’t want to lose my virginity
And I had told him that again and again and again
And I was enraged
I was angry because I didn’t have a word for what had happened to me
I had been taught that **** only happens in dark alleys
Not in the basement of your boyfriend’s home
I had been taught that **** only happens when you wear short skirts and halter-tops
Not jeans and a sweatshirt
I had been taught that rapists were old men who I didn’t know
Not my sixteen-year-old boyfriend of two years
And he responded to my anger
But instead of pushing me into the couch,
He pushed me into the wall
And then into the floor
And then out of his life
And you would think,
“Good, this is where it ends. It’s all over now.”
But let it be said, now, half a decade later,
That for survivors of ****** assault, it is never over
The story continues with Planned Parenthood staff, two years later
Having to be the ones to break the news to me
That it was not normal relationship behavior
And hearing the nurse, outside the door, tell another nurse,
“We’ve got another one.”
The story continues with my father asking me,
“Are you sure you didn’t just have *** with him? Were you asking for it?”
The story continues with my sixteen-year-old classmates
Calling me a ***** *****
Because a friend of my ****** decided to tell the entire school
About what had happened to me in that basement three years prior
The story continues after I broke up with my ex-fiancé
And he befriended my ******
In an attempt to **** me off for “breaking his heart”
The story never ends for ****** assault survivors
Statistically, a quarter of the women reading this poem
Will be or have been ***** at some point in her lifetime
And for those women, the story will not end
So now the question presents itself:
How can we end the story?
Therefore, as the author of this **** poem,
I take responsibility for this question,
And I answer it this way:
In the same way that I learned
When I was thirteen years old
That love and *** are not always the same thing,
You must teach your boys
That yes and silence are not always the same thing.
Ali Dec 2013
to my thirteen year old self
do not worry
they did not mean what they said that one time when they were mad and told you that you were not loved

to my thirteen year old self
do not cry
he is not the most important thing and you deserve to be treated much better than the way they treat you

to my thirteen year old self
don't lose focus
you have so much more to work for you are better than everything you tell yourself

to my thirteen year old self
pick yourself up
you are not low you are not bad you are not worth nothing you are worth so much more

to my thirteen year old self
put the bottle down
trust me the pain will get much worse and you are going to be much stronger than you'll ever believe

to my thirteen year old self
breathe
tomorrow is another day and you are getting better with each passing one. just breathe.
i wish i knew this then
james hutchinson Jan 2014
It’s been thirteen years since that day
A cold beginning to that ***** called life
It started a trend of pity and guilt
Of laziness and no direction

Close to death and never knew it
Barely breathing
Barely hanging by a tread
The shadow man by the door

Thirteen years I have wondered
Why me and not them
Why was I spared?
What is the reason?

I was giving so much
Yet I chose this life
Filled with nothing to show
I gave it up without a thought

Now where do I go?
What do I do now?
How do I live now?
Can I change what I have done?

These thirteen years have gone so quickly
How do I know what to do?
Will he show me?
Or will he take it away?

The shadow man only knows
If there is thirteen more to come
Phil Lindsey Jun 2015
The keeper of illumination
Aye, the keeper of the light
Safety first, his fascination
Dusk to evening through the night.

Aye, the keeper of the light,
Every season, every day
Dusk to evening, through the night
He tends the beacon, shows the way.

Every season, every day
Climbs thirteen flights of thirteen stairs
He tends the beacon, shows the way
The Fresnel lantern he prepares.

Climbs thirteen flights of thirteen stairs
Skyward, toward the landing high
The Fresnel lantern he prepares
Lighthouse beacon must not die.

Skyward, toward the landing high
Strike the match, produce the spark
Lighthouse beacon must not die.
Guides ships safely through the dark.

Strike the match, produce the spark
Safety first, his fascination
Guides ships safely through the dark
The keeper of illumination.
Phil Lindsey 6/25/15
My first attempt at 'pantoum'.  Please help, criticism welcome!  :-)  We visited a lighthouse on Hunting Island (South Carolina) yesterday.  Great day, fascinating lighthouse!
Famous Isaacs Jun 2014
I’m a child and not a bride, but
Last month you made me marry you.
You know it wasn’t love that made me say yes
But the fear of what shape my death could take
If I were to turn you down. Of course
I had no voice. I could only muse to myself
In the dark closet and imagine myself
A mother at thirteen: would it be awesome?
Would it be dreadful? Would it…? I died of anxiety.

Last month you made me marry you.
I had no time to discover me for myself:
Who I was, what I was, what I wanted to be;
I had no time to think before I had to say yes.
But it pains my bones to the marrow.
I am an unripe fruit for the eating.
I am a piece for the show-glass.

Last month you made me marry you.
I spent nights upon nights weeping over how you’ve
Broken me; how you’ve set my life ablaze
Like a forest in a wildfire;
And now the once-upon-a-time sweet sounding music
Of my soul is burnt into silence.
I have forgotten the dialect of my soul.
I hush. I hush. I hush. I hush. I hush.
You have beaten silence into me,
And now I have to prepare to moan and wail
Beneath your weight, while I watch you helplessly
As you bite into my innocence,
As you suckle the un-ripeness out of me,
As you dig into my childhood and pleasure yourself
In the childhood screams you hear from me.
But it isn’t the fun that makes me scream.
It is the bitter pain of knowing, of remembering
That my life ended at thirteen:

Broken like a fallen calabash
In the hands of a fifty-five year old man.
2013, in Nigeria, a 55-year old Senator married a 13-year old girl. The #ChildNotBride campaign against the senator's decision was born.
meg  Feb 2014
thirteen years old
meg Feb 2014
as a thirteen year old,
I had to grow up a little too fast and put up my big girl pants on
due to daddy losing his job.

as a thirteen year old,
I found a new way of expressing myself.
but, instead of painting or screaming,
I did both,
and began painting with crimson
and screaming along with the rest of the voices in my head.

as a fourteen year old,
I turned down the medication they said I needed to survive
and got clean,
deciding I could do it all on my own.

as a fifteen year old,
I fell in love with a boy that was no good for me,
and whose worlds were like gasoline,
and whose touch was like fire.
daddy never approved,
and mommy always shook her head in disappointment.

as a sixteen year old,
I lost myself in whiskey,
and fell back into using my thighs as a canvas
after three years of being clean.

as a sixteen year old,
my eyes stung with salt water from crying an ocean almost every night.
and I lost my soul and became a walking corpse with dead lifeless eyes.

as a sixteen year old,
I never got along with mommy.
I told her we shouldn't talk anymore.
I told her I hated her.

as a sixteen year old,
I look back on when I was thirteen,
and I'm blown away with how much of a disappointment I am.
and how saving myself isn't something I want.
it's something I need.

as a thirteen year old,
I never thought I'd be such an awful daughter,
and such a terrible person.
and I most defiantly never thought my life
would turn out as tragic as
*this

— The End —