#lifevsdeath
You make countless decisions,
To take or to keep what is dear,
why do you choose to keep?
The happy song of the birds,
or the shining rays on your skin,
a friend to share a laugh with,
or that warm feeling within,
Why do you keep moving?
The scars of the knife too much?
Scar[r]ed the marks will be permanent,
Do you keep moving with the hope,
Hope of why, hope it gets better.
Perhaps adrenaline rushes from running,
or the satisfaction of getting good,
what the future of tomorrow brings,
if it's good or if it's hollow.
Move with grace and meaning,
Sing loud and with emotion,
Act out what pain is there,
Or set the scene for what you wish,
You wish you could be.
Go into the realm of the pages,
Talk to someone, make your maid-of-honour,
Give yourself to God, let the bless be with,
Just drive, escape the weight on your skin,
Reconnect with family,
Make yourself better,
Your aspiration, to be or not to be,
After all, that is what matters.
Or.. don't. Nobody will stop you.
Be the one at risk,
or save them, and succeed,
fail to, live knowing you tried.
Write and fill your fantasy,
Make the world your own,
Make it to what you wish it could be,
all joy, with no tears, no sorrow.
"It gets better." Perhaps it does,
but for now, I will walk,
guided by crystalline tears,
That's my why.
Apr 29
Apr 29, 2026 at 9:27 PM UTC
I walk through the door,
My eyes widen.
No, no way.
Blood all over,
the walls, the floor..
and your body, laying.
I fall down,
matching the corpse.
Droplets shed down my cheek,
as I think, "How could this be?"
If I had seen the signs,
I would've saved you.
I would've helped,
stayed up with you,
in your darkest moments.
Could I have saved you?
or am I the reason,
you didn't say anything?
The white sclera, red.
Not just yours.
We loved matching.
Now here we are,
laying side by side.
One dead, one alive.
My red blotchy eyes,
Your ****** ones.
I'm breathing too much,
you're not breathing at all.
My body trembles,
yours is still.
Your pin straight hair,
my messy curls.
You loved fixing them,
when they got rough.
They'll never be cleansed now,
The knots shall tighten.
as they are cut.
Feb 18
Feb 18, 2026 at 3:33 AM UTC
*Just too much for me...
...Where do I turn?
How do I express my mind...?
...What is there left inside?*
Jun 24, 2015
Jun 24, 2015 at 5:30 AM UTC