Bee Mar 3
hell is a place where
you constantly love those that
do not love you back.
Life is like a boat it's smooth sailing half way through then all of a sudden it gets rocky you start running into rocks almost about to sink then it's back to smooth sailing you start to heal then life hits you again or in this case a rocky shore there is no end to these changes they come and go as they please making your life a living hell making your life unbearable to live in life is like a boat smooth then rocky
Atul Jan 2015
When I was recovering,
I used to get false sensations,
To urinate and I got illusions.

I thought that my parents were ghosts,
And so was I in hell under many pains,
That was when I was recovering.
My HP Poem #754
©Atul Kaushal
Akemi Dec 2014
Two thousand years
Regressing past the cross
Lead bites bitter as bronze
Gaza rages

The brimstone and fire you promised
You delivered
Apostle bound crusader
Jewish Lucifer
7:08am, December 16th 2014

You fucking hypocrites.
lmvm Dec 2013
Hell is heaven in my mind
Blood is breath
My soul is on fire

Hell is heaven
Pain is pleasure

This is my last happily ever after
as a soldier
of God's abortions
unknown May 2014
Bullshit sprinkled with diamonds
That's life in seven syllables
Can we find the diamonds
They're so minimal
I find them in my shoes when I step on shit
and I always feel like it's not shit
But I suppose I'll keep them in my pocket until I slip off the edge into hell
My friend had a blessing and cursing sort of situation and I replied with "Life is bullshit sprinkled with diamonds" and decided I should actually write it down and came up with this.
vxnce vxnity Jun 2015
You fucks need to stop I'm sorry for hurting your feelings I'm not the one that usually disrespects humans faith and love for something that doesn't even exist - I mean that I believe doesn't exist but you can still live you've got your feelings hurt but thousands of us can not longer hold on or have stopped living - 68 percent of us to be precise have met you speakers telling beautiful stories about saving and love but let your eyes meet ours and you'll have a cemetery party with champagne and cake for my people that unfortunatly met you - so called followers of everything that's right too many of us asked for acceptance nobody wants acceptance anymore after you've hurt people over some old book pushing things on us we're not just don't be ignorant it makes your mind look so small for a person with such a big mouth that normally shouts leviticus twenty:thirdteen those are the numbers numbers we already read, heard have screamed while overdosing on pain,blood and touch by you pedophiles that treat us like some dust trust me too many of us know  and won't come back so bring them back climb your way to your heaven and ask like the angel you are -father is killing your youth right?
Mica Jul 2014
How could you not fall for
an angel like her?
nobody in their right mind,
not a single person could resist
all that she is and comes with,
h*eaven and hell alike.

amrutha Apr 2014
The tears are yours,
the pain is mine
The wounds are yours,
the blood which runs out?
The fears are yours,
the trials are mine
The problem is yours,
Just who the hell am I?
You looked at me and your eyes fell
I saw the pain eating you alive
What exactly drove you to this state
I know well and recognize

You live and breathe in your own hell
That never seems to end
You seek and chase the very thing
That has caused your life to bend

Each day anew, you tell yourself
I am finished, I am through
But it calls to you, "Come numb yourself
And I'll take care of you"

There was a time not long ago
Your self-esteem was set so high
Now here you stand, in front of me,
So broken down
You can't look me in the eye

How I wish that I could take away
This power it has over you
And help you mend your broken life
But that responsibility lies with you

Until you admit you are powerless
And see that this insanity, you can't stop on your own
You'll continue living in your own hell
And it burns hotter than anything
You've ever known
Copyright *Neva Flores @2010
Matthew Vera Apr 2010
I hate this place
I hate it so much
It makes me want to leave
I hate this place
I hate it so much
I want to sit and cry
I can't leave this place
This is my hell
This is my prison without bars
Sometimes I can grin and bear
And take the daily routine
But mainly I just want to die
And take this place down with me

You know the place of which I speak
It's in your heart too
We all go there sometimes
Maybe a lot, or just a few
I hate it when I'm here
This prison with no walls
This cell that has no boundaries
This cage for my mind
My soul is entrenched
By the constraints of my brain
So I take leave in a rush
And hope that you will too
This place is not long for us
But maybe it'll be good for you.
Love Sep 2014
Either way I'm destined to burn
By Christianity; my hell is fire
By reincarnation; hell is to return.
Denise Ann Jun 2013
Hell is not made of fire.

A lot of people believe that hell is a world covered in flames, with heat that sears through your very being, scorches your soul, and inflicts terrible agony. They say Hell is a place for fiery torment, where fire is a vicious serpent that winds through your existence and seeks to quench every feeling except anguish, but at the same time refusing to let you be conquered by nothingness, keeping you wide-awake so you can feel every blistering sensation.

They're wrong.

Hell doesn't look the same for everyone else. Hell is a multi-faced mirror with countless reflections caging you inside the hollow of a diamond so you can see the glaring facets you refuse to look at. Hell is not always a place; sometimes it's a feeling, sometimes it's an event--sometimes it's a person.

Hell shows itself not only in death. Hell is everywhere--it's just somewhere around the corner of the street, hiding its face behind a newspaper, waiting for you to make the wrong choices. It's just somewhere behind you, an invisible fiend watching your every step, waiting for you to stumble. And once you do, it will laugh at you. You won't hear its sinister laughter, nor would you notice the subtle shift of the ground beneath your feet.

The odds are no longer in your favor.

Hell is cold. Hell is calculating. Hell is terrorizing.

Hell is reaching inside yourself, searching your heart, trying to find out how you really feel--but ending up finding nothing. Hell is opening your mouth to scream but nothing comes out because there is nothing left inside. Hell is the immovable boulder weighing down on your chest, it is the desperate need for the ability to cry, it is the panic and anguish that comes when you realize you can't.

Hell is watching him with his perfect hair and perfect eyes and perfect smile, knowing he isn't even aware of your plain existence. Hell is realizing for the first time that unrequited love is not as romantic as people say. Hell is waiting, waiting, waiting for something you know won't come. Hell is finally getting the nerve to say 'I love you' but only receiving silence in return. Hell is laughing it all away and saying it's nothing, I understand why, all the while wishing you could run to someplace where you can cry and scream without being heard. Hell is falling in love.

Hell is the red mark on your record, the frowns on your parents' faces, the pitying looks on your friends' expressions. Hell is the star you failed to reach, the shaking heads, the consoling pats on your back. Hell is the mocking laughter ringing in your ears even after they've long ended. Hell is the condescending voices echoing from somewhere in the back of your mind, reminding you who you were, who you've been, and who you are now. Hell is laughing at you. Hell is disappointment. Hell is trying and trying over and over and never succeeding. Hell is failure.

Hell is building your life with damning patience, with meticulous thoroughness, with painstaking care, and having it all knocked down to the ground. Hell is desperation, hopelessness. Hell is the blooming rose standing amidst a bed of withered blossoms. It's the touching beauty of life at its most exquisite, the surging anticipation, the reckless triumph, and the next day when you look for the rose you only find a withered stalk. Hell is hope.

Hell is the silent night torn apart by raging screams and flying furniture. Hell is the deafening wail of a child accompanying every insult, every furious, careless word that escapes your mouth. Hell is the empty threat he took as a promise. Hell is holding his hand and realizing it's no longer as comfortable as it used to be. Hell is the sadness weighing on your apartment, so palpable you could wrap your fingers around it and try to snap it--but you can't, because hell is already there. Hell is the silence, the eternal quiet screaming in your ears, as you pack your suitcase, as you stuff in old photographs trapped behind the cracked glass of their picture frames. It's the painful need to sit still and concentrate on breathing because you suddenly forgot how to. It's looking around you, seeing the stripped bed, the empty closet, the unsettling dust floating along the light filtering through the misted windows. Hell is falling out of love.

I could go on about hell forever, and I would never be able to enumerate all of them because there can only be so many words that can describe hell, and there are too many people in this world who see different kinds of hell. I cannot accurately define hell, I don't know much about it. I cannot claim to have seen hell, because I've never been to a place like it before.

But I know that hell is cold.

Because hell is not always made of fire.
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