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Äŧül Dec 2015
Either they don't imagine guys like me anymore,
Or they can't trust & hold on to guys like me any longer.

Such is the vanishing breed of the good guy-***-tiger,
Perhaps they are so used to living in evil that good seems evil ever.

Succumbing to emotional injuries we get softer,
Perhaps we have learnt to subjugate forever.
My HP Poem #946
©Atul Kaushal
Adellebee Sep 2015
My brain is mush
My head is pain
My thoughts seem to flourish under rain

My hands shake
And my skin, cold
I am young
But feel incredibly old

Inhale the smoke
breathe in and out
stains on my skin
and feel in your doubts

Exhale your quos
Like the night
And your nightmare of woes

Fall down, in a blanket of leaves
The feel of a stale breeze

Shiver in the presence of fall
Drink, another one, you just

Succumb to it all
Happiness is the delusion we all share. The hope that;
this is the winning ticket,
this is my big break,
this is the one true god,
this person really loves me.
Obsessed with the dream, we lose ourselves in it and fall blindly off the mountain. Calm and gentle, you begin to fly. The cool wind moves across your face and you find bliss in your ignorance. The sound is loud and cancels out caution. It is the siren's song being screamed in your ear. Open your eyes!? Why???
The air is clean. The ecstasy is pure. The mountain loves you.


But the tables turn like a friend putting a bullet through the back of you skull, lakeside to your favorite memory.


The fall does not send you to heaven, but to hell. Paralyzed and screaming; you are alive, but just barely.
Bones puncture skin,
blood pools,
muscles squirm,
your mind knows nothing but pain.
Thriving in agony, you call for help but the mountain has no ears. Drown yourself in the puddle of blood, spit, ****, and tears before shame eats you alive. It stirs near by, waiting for a taste of the gullible sack of meat the mountain has sacrificed for them. A final futile attempt at hope draws you back in. You try to touch the memory of the wind, the trip, the fall, but it becomes the cinder-block dragging you into the abyss. The object of your desire has become the shackles of your torment.

Love is a lie and you fell for it.
rain May 2015
The words refused to succumb,
and splintered back into that familiar ocean of homeless thoughts,
yet again...!
Rhiannon Grace Mar 2015
an ever-surmounting pile of guilt
stops me from sharing with you
all of the inconceivably dark things
that, to myself, i do.

the ever-raging seas of despair
that drown all glimpses of light
are growing inside of my mind
oh, how the skies were once so bright.

the darkness that lives inside of my mind
has slowly taken control
i am no longer able to feel light's warmth
nor, can i remember it at all.

i was once a young, joyous girl
until the devil stole away her last breath
and since that day
all i can think about is joining her in death.

— The End —