wanted to cut.. did nothing.. instead cried and then went to bed.. maybe I’m growing as a person or maybe I’m just to scared of the consequences.. like a dog with an electric collar.. eventually it’ll be to scared to move knowing that no matter what emotion, action, sound it makes.. it’ll be wrong.
Cut + doctors = kids Taken Throw phone = broken phone ..**** Cry + sleep = sad soul with two kids
An ice cube Poured into the mold of least resistance Slowly Frozen Complacently numb What is this dripping? Searing pain as I begin to unthaw Discomfort as I spill over Emotions long forgotten barge in expecting welcomes How foreign they look And yet I feel warm
warm, bright words don't reside in your heart. an ice wall blocks the way as they depart. a shy, humble smile, "oh, it's no big deal," and those words are suddenly forced to kneel. the icicles ***** your weary shoulders, forming gashes, leaving you so much colder.
too much warmth? you burst into flames. too little? you're frozen and maimed. your hands, scarred and worn, rub in vain, ready to mourn as you look over the wall to stare at the glow that enthralls.
Like a 21st century Snow White in her crystal casket, You can find me in the frozen aisle, lying on a bed of ice cream tubs and chicken kievs, Unconcious.
Slide the plexiglass door open, Pick me up. Do not worry if your freezer looks too small, I can bend, I can fold. You can consume me tonight, tomorrow, next week, six months from now and I won't expire.
It doesn't take too much to cook me, Yet it shows you haven't done enough cooking in your life to know That once meat is defrosted, you can't freeze it again and expect it to taste good.
The dry tundra calls to you Whispering a phrase A memory that flows In between and through The forest needle and pine Something lies beyond Far past the snow and sterile ice Over the great mountains The places of our birth Nothing more than an inclination That all we hope there to be Has not yet been made know That the secret hidden for ages Has in turn hidden us within it Preserving us in a way unseen That when the time does come In far flung ages hence All things might be revealed And the barren wastes Turn to fruitful gardens