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Dream Caster Apr 2014
Inside thou art empty now, all hollow,  
and the dark thee soon will swallow.
To me, to the night, thou art a slave.  
Thou mayest live for a short while longer...  
Then to the pit with thee, to the grave!  
Beneath the blackest earth shall thou reside.  
Oh, how thou then wilt wish thou hadn't died.
But alas, for thee it is far too late...  
Die now my friend,  
and walk past Death's gate.
mads Apr 2014
It's getting harder and harder to breathe,
Out of fear of spitting the blackening  truths inside me.
You are rainbows; and sunflower meadows,
I am the remnants of a fire pit, burnt for over a thousand lives;
I amount to coals and hot embers havent rolled past for a while.
There is no spark.
I have six layers of skin
Scorched with darkness.
And I am guiltily okay with that.
Sorry.
Daylight 4U2C Apr 2014
I want to run.
Be free.
Be the little girl they see in me,
but plot-twist happen frequently,
opening your eyes to things you didn't see.
Burning the cheerful into your mind.
If only I didn't once leave that behind.
If I could return to those naive, fun days.
But fun was out and sad was in,
so I figured "well okay."
I dived right in,
singeing my skin,
turning me to the pit.
I was told,
"don't follow your instincts",
so I guess this is what I get.
Now I sit alone,
a pitiful lump of coal,
as a dog without bone,
or soccer ball with no goal.
I'm heading to "God knows where"
on a train called "Oopsy Days,"
and when I arrive,
they will all be amazed.
For I am the writer
who will give them a story,
for I am a lighter,
and my flame gives me glory.

— The End —