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Evie 7d
im so beyond done with you

so why do you keep bothering me

im so much happier with someone else

does it bother you?

god i hope so
******* :)
I am descending down a hole,
That I have been down too many times before.
This time when I dive in,
I may not be coming back up again.

I stared too far into the abyss,
I dived too deep into it’s depths.
Lost myself to what I found within,
And it made it’s home beneath my skin.

I feel an itch beneath the surface,
And I just got to gnaw at it.
Self-cannibalistic I’ve become,
I’m slowly eating myself away.
Carnivorously, I consume the flesh that nets around my bones,
Hoping that it satisfies the carnivore in me.

Who knew dying would taste so **** good today.
Every bite I take I am slowly eating myself away.
The only way I feel alive is by feeding what will **** me one day.

Soon my bones will be exposed,
But it won’t be satisfied.
I will break them open and devour the marrow inside.
Still it won’t be satisfied!

One day nothing will remain!
Then it will climb back down the hole,
Waiting for someone to pull it out.
It’s always hungry for more.
I spend all my days trapped inside a house.
It’s a monochromatic senile old home.
And funnily enough,
it doesn’t have any walls.

Or windows.
Or doors.
Or  lights.
Only a table, and three chairs;
two of which are always vacant.

I don’t really know how I sound like.
Or look like.
Or the subtlety of my countenance.
And when I look into the mirror check,
all I see is a description.

I don’t have any friends.

Well, actually, everyone’s my friend.
It’s just that they’re all in my pocket,
crumpled up.

And when I take them out of my pocket they come out as a mess of scripts.
And when I speak to them my words get added to the bottom of their pages.
And when I scream, ink soaks the page, turning white paper into black canvas.

No one put me in this house.
This is just where I happen to exist.

But I did once leave here.
And I had nowhere else to go.

With only dead ends in sight,
ever escaping my predicament seemed like an impossibility.

Then there came visitor.

Hello,
it’s a pleasure to meet you.
Zena O'Brien Feb 19
Solar eclipse.
Your mind rips.
Rips into countless shards.
Reality is a house of cards.
Society breaks.
There's no escape.
No escape from your fate.
Chilly night
Snow covered ground
Giving me chills
Sensations of night
Creeping about
Is it tonight
Is it possible
I may dread
a fate upon this soul
Chilly night
Feeling fright
upon tonight
I can feel it
I can hear it
What is it
So close my eyes
Nice & tight
Hope. I wake
upon morning light
© Jennifer Delong 2/19
Lilith Feb 3
The Walls Have Eyes

Always watching, Always waiting

Knowing all your ***** little secrets

Whispering nothings to you when you’re alone

Was that noise the house settling?

Or something more sinister?

You won’t know until it’s too late
CROW Jan 17
DONE
EVERYTHING
ANYONE
THOUGHT
HELLISHLY
Like satan said...
Max Southwood Jan 15
When the sun has gone to sleep
And ghosts have had their time to creep
Imps and goblins awaken to
Do the things that monsters do
In a world of greatness
She felt so small
Unaccomplished
Because the world
She lived in
Wasn’t physical
It was her mind
Her thoughts
Her fears
And that was not a world of greatness
But of agony
Of words
Gone unsaid
Of empty promises
Gone unfulfilled
Of an empty soul
Not shown honesty and kindness
Of an empty heart
Untouched by love
It was her own world
Yet she was an outsider

She had seen the others having fun
w̙̻̰h͕̭̫͔̩y̟̣͖ ̭̝͕c̼o͙ṷ͙͖̮͙͙̞l̠̳̼̤̝͕d̝̹͙̘̯̼̻n͙̜̞'̖̜̗t͉̯̘̜ͅ ͕͓̬̘̫̤s̯̮h͍e̱?̯

W̰̳͍͉͚̹h͎̫̮̩ͅy͚̭̟̞̫̮ ͍̖̦d͉͉̳͙̳͇i͍͓ḏ̻ṇ͍̩̹͓̣’̼̪̙͎t͈̺͇̺̭͉ͅ ͔̮̣ͅt͇̦͈̰̬h̻̮͉̦e̝̙͔͎̗͕y̘̥ ͙̠t͕̻͇a̻̙̮̲̫̜l͉͖͓͍͙͍̱k͕̤͓͇̘̪̪ ͎̙̥̪̗͖̪t̬͙̹̦̗͔ͅo͕͕̞̪̥͍̬̼̭ ̹̙̟̱͎̬̬ͅh̯̬̤͖e̘̭r̭̲̼͈̟̯ͅ?̙

W̱̞̪̟̮̞ẖ̮͉̗͕̜̣̜̯a̺̹̣̻̠̠̥͙ṭ̱͎͙͕̩̰̫ ͉̺͓͍̹̜͚̗w̝͉̥̦̠a̝̳̘s̥̩̦͈̰ ͉̜̳̺̲̲̗ͅs̞̲͇̺̙͈̬͈̙h̭̞̳̭̪e̤̯̘ ̯͕͈̯͈̱̭̜d̩̗̠͔͉̫̺̬o̜̯͈̰̪̯͇͇i͉͎n̮̜̻͖͈͕͇̞ͅg̮͍̖ ̯̰̣̖w͖̬r͓͚̹̹̘͕̹̱o̠̞͔̳̞͕͖̪n̩̮̟͉ͅg͍̬̪̳͍̘̱?̗͈

S̪̞̰̦̦̦͙̺͈ẖ̬̰̖̞e̥̭͎͍­ ̥̲̟͎͔̳i͚̣̮͓s̱̻ ̙͕͚͙d̮̯̖̱̝̙o͚̬̦͍͍i̮̲͚̮͔͖̹̹n̠̥̗g̜̦̠̗͓ͅ ̗̭͕h̥e͉͎͓̟̳͓̰r̩ ̟̱̣̩b̞͎͎̘e̟̞s͇̻̦͓͇͈t͍̞̙

S͈͍̣̥̹h̥e̺̤̜͉̜ ̳̺̰̥͇̻̞t̮̗̻̼̫̜r̻̹̙̖̗̖ͅị̹͇̩͉̲e̩͕̜̱ș̹̝̜̥̩ͅ ̜̣̗̟͉s͔̞̠̬o̯̗̱̘͈̳̟͖ ̣̬h͈͍̠̞̲͉̲a̦̮͔̯̪̞r̰̣̥̺̗̲d͔̖

S̭̗̠̺̟̮h̝̲̻̮̮̭e̙̲͙ ̟̹w̦a̹̦̪̼̹̭̲̙ͅn̹͙͖̮̦̣ͅt̯͉s̖̯͙̮̖͙̼ ̟͙͖t̮͖͚̱̫̩̯h̹̜̖͎̩͉̰̞i͎̩̘s͈ ̟̬̙̯̻̲̩̠͔t͈o̤͔͓͉ ̖̤͉̠̞̜e͙̜͙̦̭n̼̜̠͚d̻͎̰̩̲̘̱ͅ

S̤̳̜̩͚̼h̪͖̼͕̣̝e̤̖̦̳ ̪̦̰̩͕̳͈̬c̳̹̪̼̹͉a͚͇̺n̲̱̝̣̤̬ͅ’̼̠͙̺͔͚̫̬t̝̰̫ ̼̼̦̬̥̬͙̹̼d̺o͉̳̪̠͖͖͔ ̤͖̣t̤h͖i̗̞̣̠̖͇͖s̙̭̟͓̫̘̳ ̖͔̺͍͓̬͖a̰͎̲̙͎̱̭n̥̬y̭̫̙͎̬̘̥̘m̙͙͎̘̳̫o̼͈͙̮ͅr̤͓̳̥̺̱̥̝e̺̹̦̠



It wasn’t her that pulled the trigger
But the questions
Unanswered
Philomena Dec 2018
Darkness creeps
And children weep
While shadows roam the street
Just a little bit of darkness.
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