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ryn Jan 2015
How much do you have to hate life,
to not be scared of death?
- ThePoet

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't
Because I really am afraid
But life has only sharp things
Wonder if death is willing to trade...

...a splinter
Embedded in the recesses of my core
Nestled deep, this tiny thorn
The source of my disconcerting sore

...a shard
That stabs itself deep
Extract it I will not
Think it's worth the keep

...a knife
With never a dull blade
Stabs itself right through
Pain that will never fade

...a syringe
Injecting the good and bad
Side effects loom
Driving me quite mad

...a stake
Rammed into my heart
It doubles me over
It rips me apart

...a spike
Impaling without fail
Siphoning my soul
Through the holes in my mail

These are the few sharp things that I own
The only things I've learnt to savour
I've nurtured them large; now fully grown
Always wondered what death has got to offer...
Line taken off ThePoet's "How?", for Frank Ruland's "I Love Doing Lines!" challenge.

This line left me speechless when I first read it. It boasts of so few words but bears so much weight. It's smart, thought provoking and amazingly deep.
I started toying with it and came up with a response.

I am a big fan of ThePoet. I find that her entries exhibit uncanny wisdom, well laid thoughts and they're incredibly captivating.
Here's to you, ThePoet...
Thank you for the inspiration!
mks Apr 2017
some days you will feel empty and broken
and you will feel the layer of sadness
thicker than ever before.
but i will ask and tell you to live by this,
fore there is no greater thing than to live.
and i will ask and tell you to do it by my side,
fore there is no greater thing than you.
Stephanie May 20
My chest is heavy

Calm down you say

My breathing is rapid

      It's no big deal you say

My heart is racing

     What's the problem you say

My words are caught in my throat

     She wants attention you say

My head is spinning

     She is being dramatic you say

My whole body is trembling

     Why do you act like that you say

My tears won't stop falling
      Don't act so weak you say

My screams echo inside my head

      It's just another day you say

My mind broken and realing

      You're so bothered by little things you say

My heart is shattered, unrepairable

Why do you say all these things you say
When you have experienced a trauma that leaves you with ptsd any little thing can be a trigger
KitaRaizal May 2014
The little things set me off
The little things
Make me go off into the deep end
They push me over
No time for catching a breath
No time for thoughts
Other then
The little things
Bring it all back
Drive me
To sit here
And contemplate
The stupid decisions I make
The stupid things I say
I cry out
But sit here
Stony as a rock
Looking through glass eyes
Mind trembling
Body frozen
What for
What the fuck is wrong with me
Those little things
Turn into big things
My heart burning
Rattling around in my chest
I know
Whats right
its screaming in the depths of my mind
Even now sitting here writing out these words
My poor
Broken beyond repair
Or maybe theres really something wrong with me
And I refuse to come to turns with it
Maybe I am crazy

floriculturist Oct 2017
i drink philosophy like water,
in hopes of it being the remedy i need.

i’m strong until i’m not;
they say i’ve got sad eyes –
just as i came into this world.

i want to be looked at like i’m art –
i think the best feeling is knowing,
even your most broken pieces,
have meaning and worth.

i don’t really know me,
but i promise i will still try to learn;
and perhaps i will forever be curious,
of the things that are unknown.

you’re the greatest joy and the greatest grief,
i’ve ever tasted –
i’m still trying to figure out how that could be.

sometimes i wonder what i look like to the universe –
or to you, ‘cause all i want is to be seen,
for my old soul.

i’m still sad;
that’s why i write words you don’t understand.

Nassif Younes Apr 2016
We were doing that thing
Where you drink the thing
And end up saying stupid things
And not walking right.

We were sharing our nostalgia
For the things back home that we left behind -
The enchanting forests,
The scenic beaches
And the glorious mountains
That we always chose the pub over;

We were quoting the great thing-sayers:
Nietzsche, Einstein, Wilde, Freud, Kant
And many others
Whose work we will never read;

We were engaging in polite competitions
About how much we adore and admire
Our parents and partners
Who we’re always telling to go and fuck themselves;

We were flexing our multicultural muscles
In conversations about how much we identify
With people from other countries
That we will never go to;

And suddenly it hit us that
Things are always never happening.
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