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It’s just you here. They’re all gone. You’re talking to yourself like usual. Trying desperately to fill that ravenous need to talk to someone, to have someone to listen to. You’ve been walking in a circle, talking in a circle. The conversation can’t change. It’s only you here. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. There is nothing. Nothing. Nothing. I’m sorry. It’s only you.
Sweet cheeks.
They feel like a kiss on the forehead,
Like fingers through your hair,
Like feet gently touching under covers,
They feel like “I love you”.
But I know they’re not.
I don’t want to hurt you,
And you don’t want to hurt me.
But how does that work if we’re both already hurt?
I’m stuck in the past,
You’re living in the present,
And there is no future.
This can’t be forever.
If only I could find someone who talks to me like you do, treats me like you do, makes me feel the way you do,
But they’re someone who wants to keep me.
Someone who will love me for more than a day.
But maybe that just isn’t out there for me.
Maybe a day is the most I’ll ever get.
I miss writing. So here’s some ****.
I don’t know who I am.
Sometimes I feel like I’m not even real.
Not dead, just a little lost.
But very much alive.
Maybe, too alive.
Always thinking
I think until I self destruct
I think until I destroy every bit of reality
Breathing, living, existing.
All for nothing.
But it doesn’t hurt anymore.
I’ve come to accept insignificance.
Processed that there is no true meaning.
Nothing has a meaning.
If there’s no meaning, I can’t truly ruin everything.
With no meaning, comes emptiness but a little peace too.
Maybe I will find contentment in my absolute, utter uselessness.
Maybe, being nothing is okay.
Just some thoughts in my head
Breathe in, breathe out, then die.
That’s what I’ve done for the past 4,271,344 seconds, and I’m exhausted.
I don’t want to breathe anymore.
I don’t want to do anything anymore.
I’m not even scared of dying, I am so so scared of living though.
I wrote them a letter about who I am.
Who I am is not what they want.
Maybe it’s my fault for lying in the letter, I told them I was happy while holding back tears.
I wonder when my lies will stop being enough for people to stop checking on me.
Give them a smile, tell them “I’m okay”, and they’ll leave you to pick yourself apart.
I’m so tired.
And my ribs feel so heavy.
But don’t worry.
I’m okay.
I’ll just breathe in,
Breathe out.
And die.
A ****** poem for ****** feelings
None of it was real, was it?
You told me you would never intentionally hurt me....
You told me a lot of things..
You could have made things so much easier for me,
I would have preferred you to beat me until I couldn't walk,
I would have preferred for you to just leave me,
I would have preferred for you to be honest for once,
I would have preferred for you to **** me with your bare hands,
Because even the times you forced yourself on me,
Didn't hurt this bad,
Because at least then I could tell myself it was because you loved me,
You said you did this because you wanted to hurt somebody,
Well, you did,
He broke me again
When the waves rose up behind you,
And began to drag you away,
I threw every piece of me out to keep you afloat,
I couldn't let you die,
I would sooner rip myself to shreds to save you,
But when those vicious currents came after me,
The undertow swept me away,
And you just watched,
You were too scared of the water to help me,
I understood why,
No one had ever been willing to possibly drown for me,
I just thought you were different...
From your perspective this cage may look like a home,
But on the inside it looks like a prison,
Sometimes you let me out,
And in those moments I actually feel like a bird,
Sometimes I spread my wings to feel the wind,
And in those moments I can pretend I'm flying,
I dream of soaring away from here,
But you clipped my wings a long time ago,
I know why the caged bird sings,
Because maybe someone will hear it's cries,
Maybe someone will try to save it,
I just hope they aren't too late.
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