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even though I don't have somebody,
I'll have me.
even if no one will wipe my tears,
I'll still be here.

I'm afraid,
of being alone,
until then I'll wait,
for someone to say

I'm afraid that no one will miss me,
when I'm gone,
When I'm six feet underneath.

I'm afraid that no one will appreciate me,
no one will join their hands,
when I graduate,
or walk up that stage.

I'm terrified that my only somebody,
will leave me.
for someone so much better.

even if I have nobody.
nobody was there,
when I didn't have anybody,
and Nobody will be me.
And that's enough for me.
Willard Feb 6
I want lithium that tastes like
hair intertwined in chain link
on pedestrian bridges.

It'd be spit.
Your spit I swallowed
eyeing the eye of the storm

barefoot on Kombucha glass,
we both felt safe.
The bridge'd be destroyed eventually

but love's a greater monument
than cathedrals built with
taxpayer money and with

lips locked I'd have no
reason to scream
when winds break the trees

or the wind breaks me.
I'd stand my ground
magnetic banded

to the metal behind
what's in front of me
and I'll have the taste

of lavender and humidity
in my mouth instead
of my own blood.
EastWind Feb 6
It's wrong to be mad,
It's wrong to be sad,
In her home.

She Closed her eyes,
as she heard chatters,
About her.

She thought of who
could listen to her,
As she Inhaled pain,
Only filled her lungs.
Every touch she felt,
Only felt like bullets.

She couldn't ask for help,
Because she didn't want to take the risk,
There's no help,
She could accept,
For It all leads to one thing,
That is home.

She Curled up in her bed,
Trying to erase all the emotions,
She ever felt.

As she closed her eyes,
she whispered to herself,
Tears rolled down her cheeks,
For no one would ever believe,
her pain.
Willard Feb 6
wherever you go, there you are
in a world of silver legacy
where all you feel are
living emotions of memories
you thought were dead;
hands on the dash,
passenger seat,
their eyes are too friendly.

glass ***** that act
like warm pillows, i'm
ready to fall asleep.

no melatonin,
no split palms or slit wrists,
no fever dreams of vision loss
where i'm left a
broken nose bruised beauty.

i'll be a beauty, or something like that,
but i won't be nothing
like i've been recently.
carmen Feb 5
there is something I have never talked about;
a consummation you'd **** me for,
if you found out.
lying there with bleach blonde hair,
cold ******* gaze;
He told me He loved me in the sweetest ways.

chandelier glows soft with frozen rays
as Pretty Boy gets lost inside my crystal bouquet.
I just perch there staring down at Daddy-Babe
as He whispers heavy all the ways
He'll make me pray.

waves come in and touch my toes
as I purr into his pillow and make it known
that Babydoll's not going anywhere;
His infectious affection's got me hooked like a drug,
crying softly in his neck as he groans.
I am the closest thing to Heaven He has ever known.

all the promises He makes and keeps
lead me to believe His heart is pure
and He deserves the best of me.
of all the men I've come to love,
He's the vision of God I've been waiting for.
for Him
Dear whom this may concern,
You have never seen someone drop dead before your eyes, have you? No, of course not, no one normal would have experienced such trauma. But I’ve never been a normal kid, have I? Seeing your step-father stab your mother to death while laughing like a maniac and threatening that you are next doesn’t leave you in the ‘normal’ zone. It doesn’t make a good memory either, trust me. Still, here I am, writing this… this letter that I’m sure no one will ever read… Don’t look at me like that. When you grow up as I did, nothing will disappoint you anymore. It’s one of the perks of living without anything or anyone, but I can’t say I can enjoy it more. I’m pretty sure that whoever you are, have a perfect life with loving parents and a band of amazing friends. Huh. That’s more than what my life offered and what I will ever get. Listen here champ, you don’t need me, or my life story in your life, so be a good boy or girl and go running back to your parents, forget about this as if you never found this letter, and go on living your oh so perfect life.

You didn’t listen to what I told you to do. Never heard that ‘curiosity killed the cat’? No? Good, because it’s time you leave your perfect little bubble and see the world from the perspective of people like me. People who were forgotten and shunned by society because they assumed this and assumed that. People who experienced the worst side of humanity and learned to live with what scars it left behind. It’s time for the people to know the truth to the dark side of the world.

I was only 5, ******* it! 5! Most children at five are out in the park playing with friends and having fun, and me? I am staying at home as if I was my step-father’s ***** and bringing him whatever he wants while he was either lounging on the couch watching TV or playing poker with his friends. Beers, cigarettes, and everything else that he needs desperately. Oh, and you ask me why I can’t just ignore him? Scoff You don’t know how much damage a broken beer bottle can do. My mum was never home, forced by that disgrace of a monster to work overtime every single day. Every time that I see her, she always seemed about to just fall over and sleep right there and then, but then he would order her to make him something to eat, not even letting her rest. **** the Fates, what did I ever do to deserve this? I’ve personally never seen him hit my mother, but from what he does to me, I’m pretty sure that he does that all the time when I was asleep.

I can only remember so much about my real dad. He went missing when I was 3, but I can still hazily remember his smile. He always teases me, and we are the closest we can be. Yes, I was a naive 3-year-old, but I from what my mother told me, we loved to role play. It was the definition of the perfect family. We have a future; we had hope. Sigh The pure concept of that seemed so surreal now, even if it was just a dream that will never come true.

I will never understand why my mother married that man; I can only guess. I guess that mum wanted me to have a father figure in my life, it was her effort to fix this broken family. He was kind to us for the first few months, we were happy, but just like that, when a spark of hope ignited, he changed. Changed into the monster he is now; changed from the nice man in nice clothes to a devil from the deepest part of ****. Everyone has a monster inside them, but it’s their choice to control it or not. He... he not only doesn’t control it, he lets it be, he encourages it; he is the reincarnation of pure evil, feeding on others pain and hurt. He is the definition of a cold-hearted wolf in a sheep’s skin, and when the skin falls off, people that trusted him will soon be his next meal, cut up and eaten without a twinge of sympathy.

I simply cannot forget that fateful day, the day that the monster took away the only family and the only person I trusted from me. I remember the crazed and happy look on his face vividly when he stabbed my mother to death. I could still hear her pleas ringing in my ears, and the laughter emanating from the monster, enjoying every part of this heartless ******. He was not drunk, oh far from it, he did this out of boredom. How twisted could he be? He turned stalked towards me, a cruel, sadistic smile deforming his face. The world was already crashing down around me, and the words he said next haunted me forever. He merely said, “ Your next” He’s covered with blood, half of his face splattered with the blood of my mothers, him mutilating her body and flinging her corpse onto the floor like a dead fish when it no longer amuses him. His eyes were cold and dark, hollow and bloodthirsty. I shudder at how much bloodshed he could cause; he’s a complete psychopath.

So I did the only thing I can, I ran. Call me a coward, but what else would you do? Wait for your death? I ran and ran, I was blind by fear, I don’t even care where I ran, I just wanted to escape from him, but just as much from the scene etched in my mind. I didn’t cry, I just ran. Monsters don’t sleep under your bed, they scream inside your head. My world is gone, the world is messed up. I just can’t, not anymore, my trust and hope were utterly shattered, I… can’t. I’m dead inside, and I am only a shell of what I was. I just wanted to drop dead and leave this world of pain behind. But I can’t, I have a job to do. Revenge.

For once, I’m trusting Fate to make him pay his debts. Everyone is merely a servant of Fate, and I am willing to be the one to collect his debt. I do not care anymore if blood is on my hands, my humanity waned long ago. All choices come with a price; all debts are to be paid full even unto death. His decision will come back to haunt him, whether it’s him or his descendants… and I’m waiting.

Listen to the whispers… consider this a warning…run … I have a job, and I tend to finish what I started.

Sleep well.
He stayed afar, afraid to get any closer. Yes, he admits he changed so much that no one but those closest to him in his past recognises him. He often wonders, if stepping out and leaving is the right choice. It always seemed right, but after all these years, he started to doubt. His white hair, pupil a glowing light blue as a star in the constellations, the iris swirling with the universe in it. He has changed too much. He yearns to go back, to have a peaceful life before this mess started; but the scars of the past still hurts oh so much. He tried, but he simply cannot forget. Call him a coward, call him weak, he pretends that he is strong, not letting the words get to him. But inside, he is still a child, lost and cold, not of a soldier fought in wars. He is broken, his eyes' hollow, he fakes his smile, giving hope to others, yet never himself.
I used to think that perfection didn't make sense
so I built a fence around my senses
and kept you inside
there was nowhere to hide from your judgement
it rained down upon me, as you pretended we meant something
you wanted to be the architect of my misery
the lies let you pretend you cared
but nothing between us was ever shared
only given
only taken.
Kale 5d
Hey Shakespeare,
Could you write a happy ending?
I want to sit and read a book,
Where I finally feel I’m winning.

I wish I didn’t care all the time,
But here we are,
I’m wanting your hand in mine

I love being in love,
But it hurts every time
Can someone please explain
why I still try?
Unknown God Jan 24
I continuously compare my current self to your future success,
And I dare to say that even your  past personage outshines my upcoming accomplishments.
Your very eyes light up a person's heart in a way that no fire ever could.
The giggle that is emmited from your mouth brings the strongest men to their knees.
The pale pure beauty that you contain makes lovers past, my lovers and yours,  envy whoever is around you.
I cannot possibly understand what is wrong with me.
Why am I jealous of you? 
Well, your perfect.
You have everything I want, everything that I used to need.
Even I succumb to your charms,
So why is it
that your perfection
makes me want to slit my wrists in hopes that I'll be ressurected to someone as perfect as you?
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