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He's in your brain.
Deception is exhausting. It's haunting your purpose, binded with slow tears streaming your face as you beg him to stop. Empty expressions fill you up, nothing to feel, nothing to say... all you want is one reason to stay, and the world offers otherwise. Pain is inaudible at times, cover your mouth and arms, honey, it'll be all over in a year or so. Months pass with repression til you collapse on the bathroom floor and there's no more you. Remember when you felt something inside you? A light that shined through, no one could change you, and here you are.... Empty. Empty of everything, even your blood as it pools on the tile, no smile, no nothing.. Just something that once was. Something that'll never be again, and wasn't for far too long. Longer than when you left, longer than anyone knew. Somehow you make things even worse than when you were around, people lounge in black, eyes glued to the box you'll never leave, thinking of memories you'll never see as they regret unspoken compliments you'd refuse to believe. In this time, distant friends even cry for you, people will remember this for decades. One small act will change lives forever, couldn't you ever realize this? Open your wrists and you open a door to lost hearts searching for a reason, give them a reason, they need a reason. Notes aren't enough, stains aren't enough, the autopsy isn't enough, they need just one more conversation with you. But you can't give it...
Hey at least he's out of your brain though, right?
I hope you like it.
Pines littered my unlively heart, once a rooted place; with branches of family, sprouts nothing more than unwanted pain.
Trees filtered the rain and hale, marching upon my veins; leaves wither now, roaming a terrain of deserts and unanswered lies.
Tumbleweeds, each one of a kind, bellow in the wind that dried my brain, refraining the saplings from hope, holes built in my body for no other process than causing emptiness, a sense of memory that was once before.
Not anymore, I feel nothing.
I do nothing.
I am nothing.
I'm inhumane, unwillingly walking to the past; lurking from the windows, one broken and one stained, I know now that my hurt was never tamed.
It just laid,  pulsing through my feet; hiding as I am now, you hear a sound from outside, a purposeful blow from the wind.
There goes my brain.
There goes my pain.
Goodbye-
All feedback is welcome and appreciated
A kingdom built on his guilt,
You'll watch his eyes slowly tilt.
Breaking under the pressure,
His pain is difficult to measure,
Do you know his heart lays still?

Pupils with shards of darkness,
And a quill profusely sharpened.
I think he missed the target,
With his soul from black to scarlet,
As it dripped atop the marble.

He doused his hands in cyanide,
To try and disintegrate his pride.
And sadly, all his colors went,
Along his shaking final breath,
He's grey and aching inside-
All feedback is welcome and appreciated!!
Alien, you remain a mystery to me.
You carve upon my retinas with your ideas,
your friendless habits abduct my days.
You phrase my nightmares and phase through
my eyelashes, lasting a dawn with nothing more than
gibbous eyelids, over-ambitious? No. My heart is not nutritious,
fixing this isn't by contributing to the addiction, inflicting
absence as a base to what I do; how I think. Why are
you always at the edge of when I
blink?
---------
All feedback is welcome!!
So; I hope this poem isn't confusing.
Alien is meant to be a character I talk to; like my mystery.
I hope that makes sense.:)
I'm a poignant addict. Mapless, speckled floors
and uneasy voices are all I find. I'm vulnerable with the
concerning looks, and I promised I'd tell the truth this time.
Yet helplessness reached me, and hopelessly seized me, how
good can my breath be, if all it does is burn me? Words hurt
my heart, and convinced me it shouldn't be beating. The same
old ceiling won't see me sleeping. How good can life be, if it
wants to **** me?
All feedback is welcome and appreciated!
Affable laughs glide on his throat,
they believe he's fine even if he won't.
Timidly shaking, he's achingly happy,
draining himself just to descend to the concrete,
he eternally casts his eyes with a sapphire glow.

Leave him on the sidewalk,
they move on; but he's not.
Marigold grows from his chest,
but all they see is Narcissus,
he lived very little; though it felt like a lot.

Orange was his heart,
watered from the counterparts.
Puddled with the anguish,
eventually it vanished,
I know it's quite bazaar;

but honestly,
that's his better days
by far--
I hope this isn't too confusing.
All feedback is welcome and appreciated! :):)
We grab our blades,
and go to war.
You cut me up,
and I cut you more.
I beat your arms,
while you flood my head.
**** out your words,
and I drown instead.
Yet you've no bruises,
mine are as dim as night.
They say it's just darkness,
but they can't see your eyes.
You mutate reality,
and I only help.
"Can I get better?"
I say; and, farewell--
It's like my demon and I fighting, you know?
Idk, I'm weird.
All feedback is welcome and appreciated
I provoke my demons, demonstrating
ways they can hurt me and invoke them to do so.
Choking them up, one by one, my fingers draped,
my senses blurred, mind emptied of their
nagging, stomach twisting as I realize what I did.
I watch them swirl, I watch them leave,
and I'm left with their staining guilt again.
Do I hold one strength if all I feel is weakness?
These demons want to win, and I always give in.
I pretend I'm in control until it seeps in;
straining my muscles, I failed again.
Constantly invited to events that
feel cathartic, but borderline insanity.
Emotions are high, devotion renewed,
I was used again.
I threw up again.
Sometimes I make myself throw up.
I'm sorry.
I'll leave the razor on the floor for you.
There's nothing that could've changed it.
I'm nothing, that's a fact, and I ******* hate it.
I can't be sorry for doing this, it gives me a sense of worth.
A sense of meaning, and that hurts, I'm too far gone now to cease the pain.
Sadness gives me solace, and so do two last cuts, down the middle,
one last time, because scars are not enough.
They were never enough.
Nothing is ever enough for me.
I'm ******* nothing.
No I am not killing myself, but this was a poem I wrote when I felt suicidal
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