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The Whisper Aug 2014
She is simply a girl that speaks to forget
What's really going on inside of her head.
She speaks to forget what's really going on
In the life that she hid from me all along.

I am the one who speaks because he wants to be heard.
Who speaks to forget the lack of love in his life.
Who speaks to forget the lack of attention
From the ones that he wants; From the ones that he craves.

Guilty of obscuring the truth, she retreated behind her veil of fear.
Silent and quiet for reasons that are unknown to me.
Probably blaming me for a thousand chances,
In which I missed my opportunity to help her forget.

Behind her veil, I pushed through.
Trying to get to know the real her.
Instead I was met with a dagger through the heart
In the form of her giving up on me.
I can't be the only person that's had to deal with someone simply just giving up on them.
Frances Aug 2014
My lust
        Was found living
  At the end of your leash
    
          Leaving me to wonder
if I was ever free
      
        I needed you
   And you used me
      
          But I screamed I loved it
   And let you be

         Shards of glass on the floor
    I swear to god I love you more

                 With every knife you'd twisted and tore
            Its the pain you give me I adore
lX0st Jul 2014
When people see
Romeo and Juliet
Die together
They think
"How poetic".
Want to know
What's really poetic?
The sound of the chords
That resonate through the piano
When I take a hammer
To its keys.
Or the way my heart
Reshapes itself
To wrap around your soliloquies
About how you don't need me.
You see,
When two people
Fall desperately in love,
It isn't poetic-
It's the things we do
For those who don't
Reciprocate that love
And the ignorance we hold
Against their disinterest.
We **** ourselves every day
For those who live just fine
Without us.
And that's stupid.
That's life.
That's poetry.
Rani Jul 2014
Your words were like knives,
They cut me up
All on the insides.
Along my gums,
Under my tongue,
Through my heart.
Please don't say any kind words,
You will only
Hurt me
More
- Rani Olivia
Carolyn Jul 2014
God knows I want it
I want to do it so badly,
I'm not entirely sure I can stop myself.
Imagine if every feeling you had was pain.
Happiness was like knives in your stomach,
Sadness equaled blades to your heart
Anger left you staggering and blind
and fear left you bleeding from your wrists.
For so long I thought I could bleed away that pain.
Now,
I know I can **** it away.
Step 1: Find a guy,
Then you're happy
Step 2: Convince that guy to like you
It doesn't matter if he has feelings for you,
as long as he'll *****
Step 3: **** him
Then you stop hurting
Step 4: Break his heart.
Then, you stop feeling.
Lying, cheating, stealing time,
just to get my drug.
If I can't find you,
I take a long steamy shower,
ignoring the banging on the bathroom door,
my family telling me I'm taking too long.
I don't know if I want to stop.
I hate this pain.
I hate this.
Pain,
brings me down,
I want to stay in my room all day.
I want to stay inside with the doors locked,
I want to stop feeling.
I want to die.
No, I want to stop hurting.
I want to live,
and stop hurting.
Not great, but i needed to vent.
Chris Renninger Jun 2014
Words are knives.
They can chop the ingredients to a tasty conversation.
Or they can turn on you and hold the blade to your throat
But no matter how much I wanted to use these knives
To create meals of reasons why you should be mine
I can't.
My greatest fear is that these knives will turn away.
Go from my own neck and hold themselves at yours.
I'm afraid they'll slice through like a knife through hot butter
As they have to me numerous times.
I'm afraid the knives will make that cut.
I'm afraid they'll sever the binding between me and you.
My greatest fear is to lose the one I care for most.
I keep the knives that are the sharpest tied to my own neck.
Because of the knives I've sharpened,
I'm afraid of the words I never said.
drownitout Jun 2014
Tonight's my first stare into the face of a knife,
Sincerely questioning the rest of my life.
My balcony gives me security, that I could jump at any time,
It's a work of art in my dreams,
but not responsible, right?

See it's not we who we're affecting with our actions or words,
See there's no affection in a home full of hurt,
See what the product is of sharing a curse,
is perfection in a sermon, or a song, or a verse.


I'll become inspired as I sit on this couch,
'Cause down the hall I can imagine it's like the gates of Heaven,
sure to lock me out.

I searched and never found a cure to my doubt.
Maybe there was something to my Sunday morning teachers trained mouth.

Here again-
questioning the rest of my life.
I'm sorry mom, I guess I never finally got right.
Here again-
Dear dad, there's not much to say now,
I appreciate that you'll always deny,
that I never made you proud.

Dear family,
cause here that's what we call em'.
I apologize for the exposure,
like time wasted on petty problems.

People always come to me for words,
I always give the best advice, and always take the worst.

What good  is intelligence and talent if it doesn't solve our problems that are actually imagined?
No where near perfect from practice.
Reenacting crashes breaks character and my emotions react.
Even better actors expose colors.
The best are usually bad.

*Contradiction
Kalia Eden May 2014
she was wearing soft red lips
and blue eyes as deep as the ocean
and a shirt that read “THIS WILL DESTROY YOU”
and you should’ve known then but it was already too late
too late
too late
and you were already moving, already in motion
she made her darkness shine like gold.    

she was wrapped in silk and satin
that would have burned you if you tried to touch
and she was sitting by a window
waiting for you.
she wanted to keep her sadness close
and her vastness open.
she didn’t understand what it meant to be the moon
and you should’ve known then but it was already too late
and you were already moving.
she was a wolf, she said
and her knowledge could eat you
alive.
you, on the other hand
have always been a deer.

                        she spoke with a voice of lush and luxury
and wore her jacket over her shoulders
on the first day of spring.
her enigma was thrilling
and she scared you
almost to death
but not enough to make you leave.
she had hands of ice
and the breath of heartbreak.
she still remembered how to laugh
however cynical.
she was just as lost and dismembered as anyone else
but knew how to hide it
among sharpened knives
and glasses of red wine.
she loved the thought of drowning
but yearned to be saved
and asked you for help.
she let you in
but she was a self-proclaimed goddess
with secrets deeper
than your lungs.
she was water
and you have always been air
and you should’ve known then but it was already too late
and you were already moving.
the whole time you moved within one word
and that word carried you to places she never could:
chance.
she tried to warn you
she knew she couldn’t be the person you loved
yet somehow you still did
somehow you still did
(she) did still you, somehow
somehow you still did.
it was already too late
late too, already, was it?
it was already too late.
before you even met her
before you even saw her turn around in that coffee shop
before her smile
before her accent reached your ears
before your arms touched
before she read her writing to you
before she opened
before she placed her hand on your back
before you watched her walk away down the dark city street for the first and last time
before you met the body behind the screen, you did
you loved the words.
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