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Norelle Ziebell Jan 2017
The people that raised you want to hurt you
The people you call friends laugh at you
Talking behind your back
You hearing every word
But they don’t care they want you to hear
Poking
Teasing
Slapping
Stabbing
It never seems to stop
You want to end everything to make it go away
Free from pain
Free from suffering
You can’t control what they do
Control is something they have over you
But you found a way to had control
If you don’t eat then you have control
Finally
As weight drops
Your bones become clear and visible to the world
You don’t want to stop
That’s when they start to ask if you're okay
The people that raised you
Your so called friends
They say they are worried about you
But you know it’s fake
They don’t care at all
They never did and they never will
You become this person with great control
But that all comes to a pause when you meet her
You want to get to know her
But you can see the worry in her eyes that is for you
How skinny you have become
And how you have changed
Every day she tries to get you to eat
As you take a bite you can see how happy it is making her
The control you’ve once gained is slowly slipping away
You see what it is doing to your body
You hate it
But you will do it for her
She knows you’re doing it for her
It makes her feel special
She knows yours eating again
But what she doesn’t know is the marks on your ankles
That you have done to yourself
It’s a way of letting the pain go
But she doesn’t see it that way
She sees it that you are hurting yourself
You see how worried this makes her
You need to change
You don’t want to be this person anymore
You tell her so
A smile appears on her face
You will do anything to make her happy
Little do you know
She will do anything
Just to keep you safe
You're Always the nowhere
in every location.
An Umbra unspoken:
Pure carbon black.
When I pack my bags and leave,
Dear, don't think I really want to go,
It's just hard for me to believe,
The love you speak but never show.

And if I go, would you ask me to stay,
And eventually learn how to love me?
I guess, you'd just watch me fade away,
Because for you, letting go is easy.

When I pack my bags and leave,
Dear, please remember that I tried,
But giving up is not just for the naive,
In love, even the strongest could get tired.
If I were asleep right now, you'd be all I dream
I'd feel your warmth through the covers, so it seems
But right now, as you sit in the passenger seat
Of my parked car, I can't help but feel deceit
Emanate from your gaze, your smile, your laugh
How can you look me in the eye and say, "It's all in the past?"
True, I know you're not perfect, but nobody is
And I've no intention of being a perfect kid
But listen to me when I tell you that my love for you is hopeless
Hopelessly enduring, endeavoring, embracing
Whatever painful realizations I might be facing
Whatever derailment I'll have to follow through
Whatever ******* mistake I may or may not do
I just wanted you to know you are my hopeless everything
Even as you close the passenger door behind you
And tune out my words with some Broken Social Scene
As you throw a stone through my car window
And as the glass pierces my elbow
As you elude me in a fit of tears
That I know I've brought out of you, my dear
As I drive away in silence
Consoling myself through musical compliance
Now, as I lie here in bed, I can't help but crave you
I combat your warmth with the rush of a drug
My second white girl, my first being you
And as I stare at the ceiling, I see the glow-in-the-dark stars
That you and I placed, calling the ceiling light Mars
I find that I miss you, darling, I miss you so much
But how can you miss something that you could never touch?
A someone who never really loved you much
A someone who exists only in dreams
Well, I don't know...I'm frightened it seems
To wake up from this and return to my loneliness

This is my life, I guess....
apollota Jan 2017
"Life imitates art"

As if the wasteland we call being alive
could become something so beautiful,
full of vision, voice and hope.

As if this hell could write symphonies
about the flames that infect our soil.

As if a pile of bodies
who felt their lives would amount to nothing
could be a masterpiece in a museum.

Life does not imitate art, it opposes it.
This is a piece I wrote today, January 21st 2017. Take what you want from it.
Ignatius Hosiana Jan 2017
The more we wished things were different
the more they surely stayed the same
Dawn Treader Jan 2017
At the apex of the Empire State Building
Beneath a resilient misty gray sky,
A perfectly dreary day to die
She's at her lowest low
In heeled shoes a mile high,
Youthful skin, but nothing behind dead hazel eyes,
Rose red lips which never spoke their mind,
A purse full of pills she'd rather leave behind
Beneath rich chocolate curls,
Helena's madness quietly unfurls
Her courage to jump, her fear of death
Weighing the outcome of future incomes
Against the agony of piling debts
She came down from her delusional high
When daddy's substitute for love called money ran bone dry
With the sky the limit, her mind is trapped
By the lie they told Helena as her life was mapped
Line by line they fed her from birth:
"A scholarly piece of paper and a lovely figure will define your worth
Choose wisely little princess, or your life will be hell on Earth"
Turning her back to the street below
Her courage to end it begins to grow
She closes her empty hazel eyes
Cranes her neck towards the sky
And whispers "Death do you hear me? No longer am I shy"
In her delusion she heeded Death's reply
"Come now dear angel, let's see you fly"
A rush of adrenaline was met with demise
Now nourishment for the maggots and the flies
Antidepressants mimicked the body of their owner,
Fractured bottles, tops open, pills strewn all over
Beautiful bones shattered against the pavement
Released she was, from her own mental enslavement
Trickling down the drain, carried by unrelenting rain
Into a New York sewer towards the darkness below,
A bright crimson flow
Quenches the thirst of a starving rat king
Entangled in thirteen tails as he lay dying
Grateful is the king to Helena's sacrifice
For he is trapped in this sewer and awaits his own demise
A glimpse he tasted from the world above
Bitter-sweet is the blood of a girl without love
I wanted to try a long story in poetic form, seemingly minor things are the difference between life and death to others.
b e mccomb Jan 2017
and so what
if i give up?

the world will
keep revolving
without me

everyone i
love will
someday

forget they
ever said they
loved me back

and they too
will someday

find their ashes
mixed with mine
floating on
the breeze

and the earth
will keep
hurdling through
time and space

and so what
if i give up?
Copyright 1/18/17 by B. E. McComb
Philomena Jan 2017
and some nights I feel like ice that cools in the mid winter or crisp fall leaves that have just fallen, life less and dead at the end of their journey once so beautiful and radiant a sight to see some thought of thee then life came and the colors changed the greens turned into hot reds  then just as fast as it arrived the color left the leaves wrinkled and the wind came to collect its debt ripping its heart the leaf hit the ground slowly doing its last glide in the air as it hit the ground to no longer live again
Dante Jan 2017
You were...
The ultraviolet that shined on me,
Revealing invisible pages.
Pages that hid my thoughts,
My emotions...
Pages that hid myself.

You were...
The light in my own incompetence,
Shining a path to realizing myself.
The light that sparked inspiration,
Passion...
The light that sparked love.
But,

You were...
Forgotten as swiftly in love were we,
Another glance in the crowd.
I felt unwanted,
annoyed...
I felt hopeless.
Because,

We weren't meant to be.
I took a step forward,
You took a step forward
But your light disappeared.

You were...
Gone.
Another quick one I made while feeling down.
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