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I'm fine. Two simple words. But they aren't anything close to simple. Behind them lies a world of pain. Masked by the simple statement. It's a cover up. A way of dodging the bullet. But I'm sick of it. I'm sick of hiding everything with "I'm fine."                             
My dad is losing his job.
That's not fine.
My mom is getting worse.
That's not fine.
I'm gonna have to get a job to help pay for things. That's not fine.
I'm going to have to sell memories of my life to help.
That's not fine.
So don't look at me and ask if I'm okay and believe me when I say I'm fine.
I'm lying.
 Jan 2014 Silver Wolf
Theia Gwen
I made a comment about jumping off a building the other day
And you looked at me and said "You shouldn't joke about suicide."
And I completely agreed, suicide is not a joke
But little did you know, I wasn't joking
And even though I smiled as I said it,
I silently begged you to see behind it
And pull me far, far away from the edge
Before I fell where no one could reach me
Because their is a huge difference between wanting to die
And wanting to **** yourself
It can make the difference between life and death
And I'm afraid I've gotten to the point
That I might just want both
 Jan 2014 Silver Wolf
Theia Gwen
Her mother pushed religious ******* down her throat
But she refused to listen
Her mother pulled her hair and took away her hope
But she had accepted long ago her mothers love had conditions
Her mother always let her get caught in the crossfire of her anger
But she just locked herself in her room to forget
Her mother constantly called her a failure
But she didn't need her mother to remind her of her regrets
Her mother was fed up with her passive aggressive behavior
But she knew she deserved better than this neglect
Her mother always yelled at her for never talking
And she let hollow silence be her reply
It wasn't until her mother said "You should **** yourself."
That she happily complied
 Jan 2014 Silver Wolf
Hinata
listen
 Jan 2014 Silver Wolf
Hinata
listen closely,
listen fully.
hear the thrumming of a beetle's wing,
hear the wind begin to sing.
listen to true beauty,
listen to the reality.
hear the story that the trees tell,
hear the history as the leaves fall.
listen to the ancient wisdom given by the sky,
listen to how well the clouds lie.
hear the grass whisper sweet compliments,
hear the flowers present.
listen to the chiming of the water ring,
listen to how well the rock recite tales so amazing.
hear the call of the animals,
hear the bugs begin to crawl.
listen to the screams of the city,
listen to the sizzling of the toxicity.
hear the pounding of footsteps and daily life,
hear the swift sound of a knife.
listen to the cries of hunger,
listen to the tapping of fingers.
hear the screams of anger,
hear the shouts of hate against others.
listen to the crushing of childhood dreams,
listen to the victims screams.
hear the sin as marriage spiral down to hell,
hear the lies that they sell.
listen to the hits of a fight,
listen to the person who turned away from the light.
hear the life slip out of a person,
hear the person within a prison.
listen to the hatred within humans,
listen to the sadness felt by every girl and man.
hear the death of the hope,
hear the imagination begin to choke.
listen to the thrumming of a poets heart,
listen to it tear apart.
hear the suicide of originality,
hear the death of personality.
listen to it all closely,
and write it all down carelessly.
listen to it all,
hear the down spiral of it all.
listen to carefully,
listen to the downfall of humanity.
just listen....
 Jan 2014 Silver Wolf
A B Perales
The nights have
always been the worst.
Sitting alone
with a drink
and some drugs.

Close to the
open window,
listening to
the sounds of
the night.

Passing cars and sirens,
a couple arguing
somewhere down the alley,
a whistle set loose
by one of the young
whose turn it
is now to
own the same
night that I
once did.

That slow and
lonely fog horn
sounding it's
warning every 45
seconds a quarter
mile out.

The mind filing through
the days events.
The failures
and the progressions
that weren't really
any type of
real progress at all.

Flipping through it all
in search of a reason.
Images flashing,
the infants smile
or that girls manicured
fingertips gently
along your face.
Magicly guiding
you into a kiss that you
knew meant nothing
to her at all.

Still drinking,
still using,
still counting the
seconds between the fog horns
sounds of the night.

Still trying to keep it all intact.
Mind,
Heart,
Body,
and Muse.

Waiting on a word,
a line.
Something to put
down and save
for the ages.

The nights are
the hardest,
that they've
always been.
But the night
is usually when
this magic
appears.
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