Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

"There's a train at 4:04," said Miss Jenny,
"Four tickets I'll take; have you any?"
said the man at the door.
"Not four for 4:04,
For four for 4:04 is too many."

Over the years my faith has faltered,
until it nearly fell.
I never really could understand why,
good people went through hell.

Or how a God so "merciful" and "just,"
could create a world as ours.
One filled with pain,
and people,
who do nothing but tear us down.

Life only made harder by people we hold dear,
when there not around.

I never really could understand why,
God would let my Mother cry.
When babys born are soon babys buried,
and parents left behind.

Where souls are lost and misguided,
and though you reach out still,
a hand is never returned,
and this,
this brakes your will.

I never really could understand how,
God could really exist.

No matter where,
I could not find an answer,
so let me tell you this.

I see God in the faces of friends,
the ones that help me though,
for if God really does exist,
he must exist in you.

Replaying that moment in my head
Our first kiss
I was so numb
I couldn't feel a ******* thing
I laid back and closed my eyes
My body so weak
You wrapped your arm around me
The only safety I had felt in a long while
You were wine drunk
I could taste the alcohol on your tongue
I now remeber how I felt;
Pathetic, ever so young
I loved the scent of your skin
You smelt like home after a long day at work
You were my home
My resting place
I'm homeless now
You dug my grave
I'm six feet under and you don't even give a ****
*******.

I know that some of us, well many of else have noticed the tiny hemorrhoid who has been festering around HP for a while now. He pops in, leaves his unkind marks on our skin, causing us to scratch and irritate the area. What I am wondering is how many have noticed his poems (for lack of a better term and in an attempt to be somewhat nice) trending with only 1 like?  My friends, they trend because so many people view them…not like them.  That is how it works here at times. Views vs. people following you. He has only a few following him (proof drugs are still running rampant) and it only takes a few views to cause his used toilet paper offerings to trend. This, in my opinion is his goal. He spends his time trying to discourage anyone he comes in contact with so that it will cause us to view his vomited works. (Ok, getting a little uglier). He slaps and then runs, waiting to see what we will do to feed his regurgitated ego, and we follow, accepting his bait.

My suggestion is to completely ignore this hemorrhoid, block him, no reading, no leaving ugly remarks on his work…just make him invisible to you and every one else. Let him write his little crayon projects and post them on his own fridge (because I’m sure his mom won’t even put them on hers). Will he eventually go away?   Probably not, he is so full of himself; he could not live without himself. But, we can go away…not from the site, but from him.

There are people like this everywhere…people who get joy from hurting others, people who sit there with a pen in one hand and something else in the other. (use you imagination)  Ignore this pain; don’t let it get you down. If we all do this then maybe, just maybe he will get the hint…probably not. But maybe the swelling will go down a little.

This is just my opinion and my suggestions.

Do you remember?
Do you remember the hurt little boy crying in the corner over the pieces of his broken heart?
I do.
Do you remember that little boy crying over the loss of his innocence?
I do.
Do you remember that little blue-eyed girl quietly arriving and listening to him cry, trying to comfort him with all of her might?
Of course you don't but you know what?
I do.

Do you remember?
Do you remember how quickly she fell in love with him and his adorable imperfections and obsessions?
I do.
Do you remember how he seemed happy again?
I do.
Do you remember them holding hands for the first time, she made the first move, both of their hands nervous and sweaty?
I do, every little detail.
Do you remember the first hug, the first kiss, the nervousness of meeting the parents, the first date?
Why would you?
But I do.
Every day. every hour, every minute
I remember.

One.
She said it was gonna be tough

I didn't know it was going to be 1am still awake kind of tough

I thought I would be old enough now, strong enough now to stand up straight and on my own but I've never been on my own like that.
We were in this together from the beginning but he always ****** at keeping promises, and keeping it together.
And I always wanted to fix everything.
But we weren't broken, we began unassembled and we were to naive to even glance at the instructions so we put together this unbalanced time bomb of a thing, called it us. Called it trust, called it innocence. Calling it everything but the truth until we started calling each other out on our mistakes.
it just hurts man, it hurts like not being able to breathe, like being punched, it just hurts like I didn't think it could
I don't want to cry about him anymore, it all just hurts

                                                      
Two.
It snows heavy and it snows quiet here

The light leaves this sleepy little town without a trace, without even the smallest of goodbyes to hold on to.

How heavy are these burdens that we carry on our shoulders through hallways, into classrooms
we crumple and fold our heartbreak and failure between textbooks and notebooks and pencils

I have lost myself in more places than I have lost hairbands
There is no cheat sheet at the bottom of my book bag for this kind of broken

I play music loud these days, I put on headphones at 1 am so I can forget every angle of him
I don't want to think of him anymore, he has run me dry

                                                     

Three­. I wake up every morning hung over from the times I kissed him in my dreams
                                                     

Fou­r. And then come the nights when I think about him like crazy
These are moments I cannot escape. Nights where I lie awake.

                                                     

Five. It is an unnerving cycle of my heart wanting so bad to put it all into words, and my mind thinking he doesn't deserve them.

                                                     

Six­. The distance between the reality I want and the reality I have is so great that when standing between them equally, it is impossible to tell which is the lesser evil.

I want to read a book
That's never been read
Hear a gentle word
That's never been said
I want to sit back
And close my eyes
When I open them up
Everything is alright

I want to ring a bell
That's never been rung
Sing along to a song
That's never been sung
Pull back the curtain
With all of my might
So I can expose
Everything is alright

I want to see
What has never been seen
Take a long walk
In the hands of a dream
Reach as far as I can
The highest of heights
And pull down to earth
Everything is alright

I want a spot
Where I feel I belong
Take all that I've got
Before it is gone
I want to shine
The brightest of lights
So I can find
Everything is alright