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Alexandra Meelan Dec 2017
I scream, yet no one hears.

I cry, yet no one sees.

I call for help, yet no one cares.

No one hears,

No one sees,

No one cares,

because its inside.

They don't know.

They don't need to know.

Inside i keep it.

Inside it stays.

Inside i hide it.

Inside is my friend.

My demon.

My sorrow.

My secret.

Inside it hides.

Waits.

To pounce upon me.

Tearing me apart.

With its claws.

With it's eyes.

I bleed,

I cry,

Inside,

I die
Jessy Dec 2017
i sit on the floor at night
in my dark bedroom with a single light
im almost finished but not quite
my ideas keep coming as i continue to write

what is wrong with humanity?
has everyone been driven to insanity?
they’re all too busy with their vanity
and their constant use of profanity

i’ve lost all hope
and my mom thinks i mope
but it’s just how i cope
would you rather I hang myself with a rope?

but i’m just a fool
who thought i was cool
but society was too cruel
and now i want to drown in the pool

i keep all my thoughts inside
while i count all the times i cried
eyeing the pills bottles on my bedside
wishing i could’ve just died

so here i sit with my insecurity
feeling as though i lost my purity
is this what you call maturity?
i’ll just wait in obscurity
I try to hide but my mind thrives as i understand how people of this land have a handle how they hold up a candle in the darkness honestly i confess im too scared to dare to allow my eyes to open so now i walk around looking at my eyelids getting rid of any sources of external forces that get me down but im left to go round and round in my head lifting and dropping these thoughts heavy as lead tryina tread lightly so that some part of me can stay free but as i age i see that bit i used to be has become smaller hopefully i will find my way again soon til then im happy to be a loon shootin for the moon they call me a ****, i prefer the word eccentric i dont suffer from insanity, you see, i enjoy it greatly and one day ill definitely find somebody to enjoy it with me ill call her baby and eventually we’ll make mini-wes we’ll be a family of insanity
On nights that sleep won't come
Even when we call it's name
Singing it's praise in our prayers
Begging like basking street performers
Desperate as a drenched sparrow

Caught in a rain of my own
Trickling dark red drops of mildew
Down my weary shoulders
Cradling my sallow face
Clouding my blurred vision

These nights hang low like dampened skies
Hollow storms filled with empty thunders
Draughts wearing a wet cloak
Pretending to be an upcoming rain
Steered by gales of Arctic wind

Piercing through my decrepit bones
Dropping pins and needles under my skin
The pain coursing through my veins
As bright as the paint staining my fingertips
Dripping destitute and distraught

Devastating images drowned my mind
In visions of broken vessels
Sunken ships and battered corpses
Wearing broken sails like a second skin
Boiling blood that has turned cold
As waters of the Antarctic ocean
The sun is forever shining
Calling out to us
To listen to the secrets of the universe
Receive his all knowing light
Within an unforgiving glare
Blazing fire that burns to the touch
We remain adamant
That the truth is only what we know
Only the facts and numbers
But to know if anything at all
We need to understand
To banish the idea
That truth is just about numbers
Fractions facts and statements
Truth is what the universe has to offer
That we blatantly deny our next generations
The truth is creation and imagination
Intensity and insanity
Rafael Melendez Nov 2017
Today a man spoke to me; a drunkard, telling me what I should and shouldn't do. A part of me felt like a child again. Responding to others with that silence, they barely mean a thing in that moment.
Once I got home, I couldn't help but think about who he thought he was, what reason he had to tell me this. Out of want for respect, decency? In a world full of drunkards, murderers, perversions, and death.
Insanity pocketed in beings who believe they are sane, telling others that they should also be sane.
Tellmewhatthatis.
Another language.
A shape.
A joke.
A man who stumbles through life, for the next alcoholic fix, until his eventual death.
No one would care in the end. They all speak the same careless language at the end of the days. We sleep alone with ourselves regardless of who is there.

So what would be the point of me listening.
Why should I feel ashamed of doing something I wanted to do, when we're all going to die someday?
Who are you?
October Rain Nov 2017
These urges keep coursing through my mind.
The feelings it brought the sensation I felt.
It was my own personal drug that no one will take. 
My body tingles as the feeling of it comes running through my head and i can almost feel it .
But almost isn't enough.
I need it, I crave it, it was the one thing keeping me sane.
And it's been gone for so long it frightens me.
The thought  of never feeling it again.
So I whisper as I stand alone in my room my hands shaking in anticipation "Just one more time, one more time and I'll stop.
  No one has to know it'll be our little secret.
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