Whoever said time heals all wounds is a fool.
Time is a thief.
He waits until you are your most vulnerable.
He waits until you are alone.
He waits until you are content with life
and that's when He strikes.
He'll corner you in the dark on your best-known street.
He'll beat you and He'll beat you.
You will wish you were dead
because you don't think you can take much more.
And still He'll beat you and He'll beat you.
And then, He will give you a break.
As soon as you catch your breath
He'll begin to beat you and He'll beat you.
Until finally, you've had enough.
And Time, well, He just laughs in your face.
And whispers, but oh so loudly, that you will never heal.
He whispers that He will see you soon
to beat you. And He'll beat you.

True pain is never something that you can see easily.

Water that falls from the sky
Vapour absorbed into the air
Creating those fluffy clouds you see today.
Heavy, heavy.
They cry.
Water pouring down from the sky.
Slowly, at first
One or two drops
before becoming a downpour
Screaming, screaming.
A girl stands in the rain.
The rain soothes her.
Runs down her cheeks
concealing her tears.
Feelings, feelings.
Pour out one by one.
Creating a frenzy
a mixture of disdain and chaos
Laughing, laughing.
Her friends stand in the distance
under a building
becoming a twisted monster
full of lies and revenge.
Pouring, pouring.
The rain continues to pour.

there are no stars tonight.

just bright flashy lights,
dominating the night sky.

just harsh colors,
forming this spectrum.

in your eyes,
i see:

the crash and burn of galaxies,
a familiarity edging on history,
time reading the same smudged lines of poetry.

i knew this was bound to happen,
but i thought i could write my own verses,

defy every gravity and stitch our coincidences,
take a leap of faith and somehow save our pages.

alas, we were closer to the flames than i thought,
already undone before we have even begun.

thus, we skirt the borders of tomorrows,
surrounded by the embers of an earlier September.

and now, as you ask her for a dance,
i look at you and wonder,

did "we" even stand a chance?


I want to find
The person
I was made
To be with

Not just
The person
I was made
To love

i miss people i've never met
their imaginary faces stick to my eyes
relationships i could have if i was there
at some point
stuck watching them unfold without me on the t.v.
i miss people i've seen on screens
no flesh and no bones
only heartless machines

i miss places my soles didn't even scrape
taking busses people suffer through every morning
daily routines i'll never have and apartments i can't afford anyway
i miss being in coordinates
kissing the skies on buildings
taller than they come here
geotagging myself where i see myself
not on my bed
tilting nights colliding with my head

I'm in pain
But no one knows
Am I invisible?
No, they just assume that I'm strong.

I'm dying inside
But no one knows
Am I invisible?
No, they just don't care

I'm in pain, dying and seemingly depressed
But still no one knows
Am I invisible?
No, I just don't exist in their eyes.

I'm happy for the first time
But no one sees my smile
Am I invisible?
Yes, because I'm already dead

Liz 2d

Okay, let's be profound for a second, let's be cheesy, sappy, gross or whatever you want to call it for just a second. Because it's better to have it out there then to bottle it all up inside of yourself.

Do you feel?
I try to, in the shower. I attempt to feel something, anything, so I take off my glasses, and I turn the water temperature to boiling. And I just stand there, hot water streaming down my back, trying to feel something. I guess I do, I feel the heat radiating off my back, I feel the cold when I step away. But I don't feel.  
When I take off my glasses, all I can see are blobs of color, sometimes I prefer that to the world I see through my glasses, here, everything is whatever you want it to be, you can see a mixture of blues and reds and you don't have to just assume it's a balled up sheet. It can be anything you want it to be.
So when I take off my glasses in the shower I hope to be transported to this realm, but I don't. I stay, where the walls are white and shampoo bottles line the shelves. I stay in the place where I can't have creativity, where I don't  feel like anything.
Do you ever think to yourself, I exist, try it sometime. I acknowledge that I exist as a person, I exist, but for what purpose? Will you find that purpose with another human being? With an animal? With a job? Who knows. I just hope that I find mine soon. Because standing in the shower, hot water pouring down onto my body, I think of this, I think, is this what I'm supposed to be doing? Is this what I'm meant to be? Someone who tries desperately to cling onto people, someone who hates sharing her friends because I am scared they will run away, someone who can't trust her best friend not to leave just like the other ones who stole the label best friend has. Someone who doesn't think she is good enough for anyone.
Since I can't feel anything don't you think that I should be a thrill seeker, I'm the absolute opposite, I've tried stuff like that before, it doesn't help, it just makes people worry, makes people judge, I don't like that. The only time I think I feel something is when I'm in the shower or reading. Reading is my escape, I go into someone else, I see what they see I finally feel. People think it is weird that I don't think when I read. It's because I Feel when I read.
I don't enjoy reading in between the lines while enjoying a good book, I Like to just go with what the author is attempting to get across. When I do this, I feel something. Even if it's a fake rush of adrenaline, or anxiety because of something a character did in a book. I still feel something.
Do you feel?
I try to, in the shower.

I write when I'm depressed or sad, heyyyyyyy

here’s a lie to keep you living
a veil of truth to shade your eyes
what searing pains your body has endured
are illusions from your mind

it’s nothing big, it’ll be alright
you shout above the cacophony upstairs
my monsters have just come out to play
they do that, you know, in my nightmares

we dance an endless waltz with darkness
and convince ourselves we’re fine
so what if we haven’t seen the sun in months
we’re alive, we swear, we’re not dying

but what happens when we stop showing up?
are we still here, or no?
does anybody miss us
or stop to ask “where did they go?”

will they notice the lack of color
will they miss our favorite songs?
will they wonder how we lived
with all of this darkness for so long?

nah, they won’t notice
it’s all an illusion anyway
at least that’s what the doctor said
that, and $150 for your stay


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