"unrealistically" poems
I break my own heart
Dreaming of the things
Unrealistically
Apr 12, 2019
Apr 12, 2019 at 3:43 AM UTC
THE TORTURING VOICES
you see my dad was watching the cricket with us
and i watched it with him, and it was very fun, you see
we saw australia being beaten by the west indies, because
they were so cool, you see, we were the cricket boys
and no robber wanted to rob us, because we were into australia’s favourite sport, cricket
you see i heard a non realistic image of my father saying
brian’s not a mans kid, brian’s not a man’s kid
and i was trying to relax and calmly watch the match
and my family were unrealistically teasing me, mind you they were having fun
and the words they said were different to me as it was for them
brian’s not a mans kid, don’t get kidnapped brian be like us
brian’s not a man’s kid, and watched the cricket, ya know trevor chappell doing an underarm ball
mum called cricket, anything and everything which has everything you hate
well, i don’t believe that, i was feeling like trying to be a mans kid
brian’s not a mans kid, brian’s not a mans kid
and i was getting these awful visions, i wanted these voices to stop
you see people in canberra were doing it too, but they looked like fierce kidnappers
and i said you can’t get me, i am a sports watcher
so i went home and obsessingly watching the cricket and AFL and rugby league, rugby union
you name the sport i watched it, and i fell asleep in front of the sport
you see i have this vision that mens kids watch the sport, mens kids watch the sport
brian’s not a mans kid, **** off ya hooligan away from us
you see, i wanted at that stage a hooligan to my dad and i had someone grab me outside a club
and i kicked him saying, get off me ya kidnapper, you won’t get ya hands on me mate
and dad was watching the cricket and enjoyed it, but i got frustrated with all that teasing
i didn’t want to be kidnap victim and i hate being my families or friends little teasie
i battle voices saying how is our little tease doing hey
but i hated when people wanted to bully me, saying your family are like us, your not
i said i like sport and they said, no you don’t, your family does, and your not like your family mate, your like us now man
i told my voices to **** off, and they said, your not like your family, your like us
and this made me into a little 2 year old boy, i hated that voice
i remember i loved watching agro, which was a funny puppet on channel 7, and the mens kids said
don’t watch agro, watch cheezeTV, which was the cartoon show on the other channel
and my voices going crazy saying, you are a crazy person, who is too old for baby agro
and you are not like your family, your still like us, buddy
i screamed out, LEAVE ME ALONE, i am a sports watching mans kid
and dads image said brian’s not a mans kid, brian’s not a mans kid
but it could’ve been greame thrones kidnapper or patrick dunbars kidnapper
i said voices, ‘stop', i wanted to be like my family, they said you are not like your family, your still like us
and i said, they look cool, and you guys look stupid, please leave me alone
there is also a man who wanted me and my brother tied to a pole, but we felt we weren’t immortal, but cool
i went into pubs to dance and watch the sport and i felt like a cool man
brian’s not a mans kid brian’s not a mans kid, stay in there koomarri man, get ****** mate went the little homebody kid
as i was watching the canberra bushrangers baseball team played, yeah totally awesome dude
brian’s not a mans kid, I WISH IT’LL ALL STOP
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 2:38 AM UTC
1, 2, 4, 8...
Chromosomes and cells of mine,
They duplicate.
My personality divides
Any and every time.
Meiosis -
My rapid mutations,
I find that they
Fuel my psychosis
Unrealistically
High expectations
I let me rip me apart
I divide and split
Over and over again
This is the alien
That I've become
I'm never enough
It's never the same
Gaps of DNA through
Generations.
Meiosis -
I know this,
I know that I'm not good enough
As a single, a one,
Tear myself in half to
Give them two
When I'm done.
Nov 4, 2018
Nov 4, 2018 at 11:25 PM UTC
Mountains’ majesty
a cave of amethyst brews
confidence in its own perfection
near the peak peeking into the
crayon colored clouds.
Desire for a moment free from earth
where right above our heads
the world is colorfully candid
through a foggy wine-stained film.
Glossy sun through glossy eyes
entices the mind enough
to lift legs one thousand and two
steps up the mountain
coiling through indigo trees
on turquoise trails until
we pass the purple threshold
where it’s best to pass the time.
Pomegranate lips smile
stretching pomegranate skin
yours tastes like otter pops and ***
mine I imagine is similar
with a hint of bad decisions.
This reality is unrealistically appetizing
contorting trails contort minds
peaking at the sunset so close
I swear we’re almost there.
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 2:55 PM UTC
The most beautiful thing I've ever read-
was a love poem that I found,
hidden between the dusty cupboards of my mother's room,
filled with things that just
"didn't matter"
anymore.
It was flooding with thoughts I waved off as-
"foolish"
with fake plastic vows of love,
not unlike those crisp, shiny valentine heart rings,
only given to the most attractive every February.
Stories of parting,
from which shone a glossy sparkle like that of a fake glass diamond,
labeled with black numbers as something worth a thousand.
I've always thought that if you were going to leave someone, you should be aloof and cold.
If you make "warm memories", won't the parting just be that much harder?
That sunset that was described as being unrealistically
ethereal,
I tried to see it myself,
even hooking my feet around the cold metal bars of the balcony,
and pretending that I could fly.
But that sunset was fake too, I discovered.
A synonym of those medals that you eagerly await to get, but in the end,
aren't gold,
or silver,
but just a sheet of mocking plastic,
thousands of identical ones of which have been made,
in a factory choking on smog,
thousands of miles away,
in China.
There was always that villain,
who would try to break the lovers apart.
Sometimes,
the villain was described as, "dark", and "Irresistible".
I was puzzled by that fact,
mulling obsessively over the idea,
Why didn't the protagonist get with the villain in the end?
I was undeniably jealous, of the heroine,
who seemed to draw everyone to her with a warm light,
that I didn't seem to have, no matter how hard I tried.
She was a perfect damsel in distress,
waiting for her partner, who would always,
always,
without fail, come to save her from danger and the unknown.
They were both risking everything for what they loved.
"Stereotypical love poem,"
I scoff,
willing myself to throw that piece of paper away with the trash,
But-
to this day, the most beautiful thing I have read,
is that stereotypical love poem,
now tucked between two bookshelves,
which are full of things, that
"matter"
now.
Jun 11, 2013
Jun 11, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
Wake up
Look in mirror
fat
Take off clothes
Look in mirror
why is my stomach so swollen looking??
******* hate this body*
especially my stomach
Weigh
102.3
finally
Breakfast
Strawberries
10 calories
Coffee and cream
34 calories..
too many
need energy, though
fine.
strawberries+coffee+cream= 44 calories
Weigh
102.6
**** it*
*****
Weigh
102.4
better
Go for run
burned 400 calories
Hungry
can't eat
Look in mirror
the way my fat sticks out is disgusting
Weigh
102.4
100 sit ups
burned 50 calories
200 jumping jacks
burned 70 calories
Look in mirror
why am I not thin yet
don't fade out again
Passes out
Go to doctor
Says too thin
don't lie to me
Dinner
Peach
36 calories
Energy drink
210 calories
ugh
need it desperately though
strawberries+coffee+cream+peach+energy drink= 290
Weigh
103.1
hate myself
Stare in mirror
Stare in mirror
Stare in mirror
Examine body
*****
Weigh
102.1
200 sit ups
burned 100 calories
Get dumped by boyfriend
it's probably because I'm fat
Take shower
Get out
Look in mirror
you are disgusting
Go to bed
I hate myself
REALITY
scary thin
ate too little, exercised too much
unrealistically saw herself
died two years later of a self inflicted gunshot to the head and a starved soul
note said: “I love you, but I hate myself and the fact I'll never be small enough for you”
Jun 17, 2013
Jun 17, 2013 at 11:09 PM UTC
The Vanilla Bean Frappuccino,
who brings chills down my spine every time.
Sweet on the inside, cold-hearted on the outside,
Especially when he leaves me high and dry
in the morning unexpectedly.
He’ll remind me that I’m alive,
And make me feel Zen for a split second,
Then he splits in a second.
Or
The Caramel Macchiato,
Tall with a sophisticated smile
And unrealistically hazel eyes
That read “bello” around his irises.
With a shot of expression—
He’s never afraid to speak how he feels.
But that’s just the Italian in him.
Or
The Pumpkin Spice Latte,
The most popular guy.
He’ll warm me up when I’m cold;
And make me feel like I’m his only one,
He’ll tell me everything I want to hear,
Then he’ll disappear without a sign—
At least until the next year,
Only to continue the same cycle over again.
Or
The Cappuccino,
He’s got a strong mind
like those French roast blends
With a secret soft side.
He speaks with fluidity and is
As charismatic as the rest.
He’s a morning person nonetheless,
And won’t leave me loveless
In the sheets like Mr. Vanilla Bean sometimes does.
Or
The Teavana Chai Tea Latte
He sounds fancy, does he not?
He’s different to say the least,
Layered with many spices,
And from cinnamon trees,
He’s warm-hearted, yet feisty.
Gentle, yet fatuously energetic.
Soft spoken, yet bold,
He doesn’t have to do much
To have me sold to his trance.
Now for me to decide what I want
As more people file in, deliberating the same
Line up as I, but they have more to
Choose from.
Perhaps I should loosen up some, and go
With last one.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 7:37 PM UTC
have you ever wanted something so bad you'd give up everything just to have it?
a few years back, all i wanted was to be so ******* happy. i would've given up everything and everyone for that state of everlasting euphoria. two years after, the world has knocked some sense into me, and i realised you can never really be that happy, at least not all the time. so instead of aiming to be unrealistically happy, i wanted to feel something, anything would do. you see, when all you feel is extreme sadness, all you'd want to feel is extreme happiness. but when all you feel is nothing. when you're hollow, when you're so empty you can't feel yourself exist, all you'd want is to feel. all you'd want is to exist. to know what complete feels like, to know what feelings feel like. at the age of thirteen, this is all i've really wanted, but i knew that just because you want something doesn't mean you'll get it. (life's no wish granting factory.) (there are no fairy god mothers, unfortunately.) (you've got no one but yourself, i think.) (now, here's where you come into the picture stutter portrait stutter masterpiece, stutter reality.) so far long, i haven't met anyone with the potential to be considered a real friend. i mean, for the most part of my existence, my friends were picked out for me. none of them knew how to stay, not with someone like me, and i didn't know how to stay either. you weren't like all those other friends, you weren't someone, someone else has picked out for me, i wanted you as bad as i wanted to feel something and i think you were the only person i couldn't imagine myself giving up to that. you were the only person that i felt like holding on to. felt..? with you, empty is a foreign word to me. you are fulfillment in it's only form. you are what makes me, and you're the only one i'd allow to break me. (although you never do.) you are the only one i feel like giving every part of myself to, take all of me. don't give any back. i don't need any back because i feel you existing within me -in my thoughts- the only place i spend so much time zoning off in because it's the only place i get to completely have you. there's a thin to thick line between love and need and it's deadly (when it's both at once) but i've only ever felt alive with you. and even god is a witness to all the love I have for you and my inability to let go is enough proof to how much i need you. i need you in many ways other than needing you to be mine, in fact i don't think you can ever be of anyone's possession. i don't think you can belong to anyone entirely, because you are the universe and you are what keeps everyone going even when you can't keep going yourself. please, always keep going or else everything will die away with you. you're not everything a person should be but you're all i ever wanted in a person and i know you're not perfect but your mistakes don't define you either. don't let anything define you, because you're much too much to fit under words. i love that you're guarded, and you don't let many people in, but baby, i swear you're loved x100. you are wanted. (i'll aways be the one to want you most though.) i love trying to understand you. i love you for everything you are and everything you could ever become and i'll love you for now and years to come. so for this year, all i really want is you. you to be okay. i guess i finally found my euphoria and maybe you do end up getting what you want.
Apr 11, 2015
Apr 11, 2015 at 4:55 PM UTC
Spending intangible dollars at the mercy of my ever growing appetite,
Instead of buying my ticket out of this perfectly advantageous country,
Which focuses solely on my beauty and money.
I neglect my inner advice telling me to drop it all and run,
To where I can breathe and focus on God,
Promoting a healthier way of living and improving humanity.
Momentary hope that unrealistically characterizes perfection
As a quality that I can mentally download and miraculously make the above, true,
Never seems to linger long enough to actually induce action,
Which leads to disappointment draining the motivation essential to recover my missing pieces,
Which pushes me to crave cash I don’t have, to pick up that dose,
That hushes the unwarranted guilt that seduces me into thinking that I’m not incredibly blessed,
And that I can’t handle what I’ve been dealt,
Blurs the doubts I have about my abilities, my self- worth,
Forcing me into a state of content that awakens my creativity,
While vaguely being able to make out memories of let down led by myself and my mother,
Who was a part of what was never good enough for my idea of a perfect family.
I’ve wrongly accepted that a mediocre life-performance is to be had while following the crowd,
While obsessing over flaws that are negligible to my true purpose in life,
And with that I’ve become stifled by the decision to remain effortlessly stuck.
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 12:17 AM UTC
Pathological.
Unrealistically:
Chemotherapy?
Oct 29, 2012
Oct 29, 2012 at 12:19 AM UTC
Unrealistically going ballistic on premature political whistle blowing of missing ballistic missiles.
Rumors round the fickle frowns trickling down around town,
WMD's never found.
Media drowns out our original intent with swayed day-to-day comments about potential evidence or contents of secret documents or undisturbed "security clearancegate".
Still secret and still unclear year-to-date....
our eroded freedoms now appurtenances as consequence.
The missing missiles long ago hidden or moved like agendas with chess-master finesse.
Citizens chide "You lied!! Confess!"
Behooving you proves nothing in bringing relief to your beliefs,
thieving your freedoms and Commander in Chief.
Lectures on conjecture don't secure a future.
It's almost "Au Revior" american cars and mortgages, hype puts the scarred afar Stars and Stripes Bail Bonds Czars in business.
Meanwhile billions are spent to rebuild the countries invaded without consent.
The Banks are saved but don't repent.
Far enough away to keep my iniquity a bay for today.
I clearly see what is before me, but respond not to my thoughts as I was taught.
Septed in guilt,
wept in filth
kept in tilt
loss is coming,
should have flossed.
The long term costs tossed aside.
Just another day I drive away from the driveway rarely driven to lie longer or lie down somber,
striving for stronger days lost,
feels wrong though.
I still go.
Pay the tolls.
Stop and go.
Fill the daily paying role outside my dreams and goals.
Play generic background music while my soul's on hold waiting for the next available operator.
Just another day, a way to stay alive and not lie down in hunger,
paying for my blunders,
staving off my heart's quiet thunder,
my dreams and wonders.
I still get up. I still go. Bills to pay. Traffic's slow. I mute the radio.
-R. Craig David-Copyright 2007
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 5:14 AM UTC
The dream last night had seemed so real… But it was just a dream, right? Those shadows, the messages on the mirror, the walls, all the groaning and the shuffling of feet… That was all just a dream, right?
This is all just a dream, right?
Fairly ridiculous question to be asking yourself as you’re being chased through the halls by this… this, this thing. Whatever this is. Its neck is limp, head resting on its shoulder. Its grin is huge, its face coated in blood.
Have you ever heard the children’s rhyme about the Crooked Man?
*There was a crooked man,
Who walked a crooked mile,
He found a crooked sixpence
Upon a crooked stile.
He bought a crooked cat,
Which caught a crooked mouse,
And they all lived together,
In a little crooked house.*
This… thing, you’re being chased by, that you’re fighting off with a fruit knife, that you’re setting on fire and pushing into holes and still won’t die…
This is the Crooked Man.
I wonder if this is all the Crooked Man knew?
His crooked house, his crooked relationships, his crooked… crooked body…
His body’s only crooked because of the rope, though.
Maybe he couldn’t handle being crooked anymore? All he knew was a crooked life, all he owned were crooked things.
I wonder why he’s chasing you.
It could be to drag you down, to slaughter you, to make you feel his pain… More than you already have… To make you end up like him.
Your pasts are so similar…
Or maybe it’s to warn you. To say, “Don’t end up like me.” To make sure that you don’t die the way he died. The way he staggers, his limp neck, head hanging loosely, his unrealistically large grin…
Why did he make you put that gun to your head, then? Why is he trying to drag you down?
That’s a problem for you to figure out on your own. But you’d better hurry.
By the way, I noticed earlier… Your neck is a little crooked.
(This one was based off the video game, The Crooked Man. Yaay, video games.)
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 1:36 PM UTC
the elephant in the room....
...you need to lose weight
unrealistically optimistic
focuses on goals
ignores pitfalls
stumbles
astonished
fails
we could argue
we could fight
but not tonight
josephine
Now how about
some Leonard Cohen
from memory
happy christmas
Dec 21, 2013
Dec 21, 2013 at 3:33 PM UTC
You put a whole new taste to sugar
Those candy commercials couldn't label the sweetness of you
***** Wonka is drinking himself to sleep
Because you're the superior type of candy when I put you into words
I don't sweet talk to get something
I sweet talk cause its honestly true
Your precensce sticks to me like glue
All those books with Mary Sues
Unrealistically describes you
All the food in the fridge is expired
But not my love for you
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 10:18 PM UTC
As pure as water can be, in an affluent and wealthy country,
My soul has a Cornelian dilemma when it comes to purity.
How can we be good people when we live so easily?
Innocents are dying of thirst and I take a bath every other day.
Does it really count if one buys organic and fair-trade items,
When it is that easy, that accessible, and they are still hungry over there?
But what else are we allowed to do, that is not too compelling?
What can our money do, when all it does now constrain others?
I try every day to be as good, as pure, as I am able to
Though I still feel futile, small... and unrealistically optimistic.
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 2:06 PM UTC
Broken promises are just hopes that don't work out
tear you down, make you frown, make you pout
they are the end to a relationship, the final "we're through"
Almost but never saying "I love you" or even "I do"
Like the baby bird which lifts off the ground, but can't fly
Like the child on his bed asking god "Why?"
One side just learns from the mistake, the other wants to die
Feeling so low, when the hopes were so high
Makes you sink, makes you wish unrealistically, letting you down
setting you up for another broken promise
May 27, 2010
May 27, 2010 at 1:30 PM UTC
Reality is;
The real that ruins our hopes and dreams.
The reason we cannot live our most deep and creative thoughts.
Life in its dullest form.
Something for us to snap back to,
when dreams become too much.
Messing with the pleasing inspiration retained from existence.
Making the vivid thoughts we want to make true,
become buried with us.
Lying there in a mind once unrealistic; free.
Bombarded by the captivation of reality in its finest.
Boxed up and unknown.
These dreams, feelings, and pure creativity,
never heard or witnessed by another living being,
and never will be.
All because a little phrase known as reality,
corrupted the mind,
and interrupted its better half; unrealistically.
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 1:04 AM UTC
When I think of life,
I don't think of my life span,
Or me on this long road on a lonely journey
I imagine life as this whole world,the people,the species
The whole space the earth occupies and beyond,
So big and so wide,the choices and options are endless,
Just like everyone else,I'm no alien here
And I have my own space.
So then I think to myself,who am I not to dream big,
I mean;look at the greatness and opportunities in this place called a planet,
Aren't they all there for everyone to dive at and pursue?
So pardon me if my expectations seem "unrealistically high",
Wouldn't want to change them anyway.
If they hurt me;it'll all turn out as artistic inspiration,
If they work out well,,.well it'll still be inspiration.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 5:39 AM UTC
Despite my imaginative nature,
I always favor reality over fantasy
I prefer a world where roses aren’t merely red
And violets aren’t blue-
-no, seriously, blue?
They’re violet.
It’s in the ******* name.
Violet.
I don’t understand the tendency to portray reality unrealistically
Why sell it up?
Why try to improve it?
Call me cliché, but isn’t the world perfect
Because of its imperfections?
Just look at the sky.
Like, right now. Look up.
It’s nice, isn’t it?
It’s always nice, too, that’s the thing.
When it’s spot-free, clean and devoid of blemish
Or even when it puts on its display of thickly-caked cloud-cover-up and rich, crimson blush
And you don’t need to see it through a rose-tinted screen.
There aren’t little panels projecting it in enhanced quality
It doesn’t fear criticism,
It’s real.
There isn’t a system in place
Perpetuating some marketplace incredulity that the sky-
-that same sky that’s there all the time,
In all time zones,
Commercial-free,
Every day from dawn to noon to dusk-
Is any soup-of-the-season trademark
I mean, c’mon, enhanced quality?
How do you quantify that anyway?
And while I’m the one on the stand
Why should I present my case any differently?
Why does perspective shift imply a change in wordplay?
I have a legitimate concern, from me to you
I fail to see why I should express it any differently
I want to talk to you.
I don’t want to impress you.
I want you to listen.
A simply spoken truth can be more poignant than an intricate lie.
‘Cause after all,
Wrap a lie up any way you like,
Define it with any hip terminology you like,
It’s still a ****** lie.
Jun 29, 2013
Jun 29, 2013 at 12:33 PM UTC
i have been to a place
in the back of my mind
forever i am there,
forever has no time.
its like my instincts tell me
not to follow my instincts
and ofcourse that leads me to a black hole
where my nerves and brain and veins aren’t even linked
and i laugh
and its blurry
and i cough and i win
i love and i lose
and i have no hands to lend.
they have evaporated into my finger prints
as i babble on and on
with the world surrounding me
and not a soul to lean upon
who will listen to my plees
and i lay here and i sit here
while i’m really on my knees
my mind is wrapped around
all and nothing
and i’m lost inside my self
trapped like birds without wings
and i never knew who i’d be
and i’m not sure who i am
if this is me in future past or present
or if i’m seeing what i see
the world is spinning here
in so many different ways
and this is not a day
it is a day filled with years
i scream out and the words are foreign
to myself and the ones who can’t listen
all the eyes are glazed
as the sky and grass glisten
unrealistically
and it confuses me
cause they gleam the same
and i can’t remember my face,
my morals, my name.
Jun 16, 2010
Jun 16, 2010 at 1:10 PM UTC
"Why don't you
~Smile~
More?"
I wish I knew how many times
those words left people's lips
to slap me in the face.
I want to tell them everything.
About how I stay up reading
until the words blur and fade,
because I hate being
alone with my thoughts
in the dark.
How I over-analyze
EVERYTHING,
every mistake
replaying, replaying, replaying
like a broken record.
How I can't breathe
before another imagined scenario-
unrealistically good or bad-
pulls me under.
It all comes back to
the writhing, swelling ocean
of my brain, but
I shrug and say
"I guess I'm just
tired."
Aug 3, 2017
Aug 3, 2017 at 10:16 AM UTC
Sometimes I wonder
All the time actually
if it's bad that I think about things like this
You've given me very few reasons to feel
Any way that isn't bliss
but I still find myself questioning
things I shouldn't think
I ask myself
What it means to
Be In Love
because in the end
isn't it just a word?
even though I know it's a feeling too.
I ask myself
why do I always put you first?
and forget about myself
Because I'm good at blending in
I'm good at conforming
to avoid conflict
and make myself more likeable
In the end,
I'm not outstanding.
I'm not really funny
or interesting
or unique
I'm not really very pretty either.
So is that why I conform?
To be what I imagine you want
Because I'm afraid of losing you
even though you've never given me a reason
to believe that you'd leave me
if I were anything but myself
Is it really Love
If I ask these questions?
Will I ever find an exact match?
Someone who thinks like me
or act as I'd expect?
Because my expectations are unrealistically high
So I'd never find someone better, right?
I blame the movies.
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 2:50 AM UTC
And humans enjoy pain. Because even when they are perfectly happy they always dig for what they don't want to find. First letting others tear you down, then you finish unconsciously tearing yourself down. Finally you're so unrealistically happy that you want to know all the negatives, Foolish human.
You want to remember error after error marring life. And knowing you can't turn back time you make yourself angry, you make yourself hurt with knowledge that even if you could-you wouldn't have changed a thing. Yet you smile that bittersweet smile as you look back. There's no voices, it's just you. Tearing yourself apart. Because that's what you've learned. That's what you do best.
Ignorant human
Why didn't you know? You're a meat coated skeleton made of stardust. Like thousands more. You aren't the only little human. There's more-there will always be more. Time cannot erase what it's shaped. Time cannot change another souls' will to make unforeseen mistakes. Mistakes that harm.
And you're marred. Marked by time. Marked by those mistakes. Aged.
You angry, insecure, foolish, ignorant, little human.
And even if you smile-Once more with this quaking pain you've brought on yourself. You chose this. And although all is forgiven and forgotten by those souls. You will always remember. You will alway regret. But you've been shaped-cannot be unshaped. You cannot turn back time. Once a raindrop falls it into the puddle it cannot come back out for as it fell time passed and the seconds aren't coming back.
So now you accept it, although it hurts you remember
Little idiotic human
And so now you have sunlight with shadows,
Nights with moonlight, happiness with agony, and life with death.
You're haunted. Filled with self hatred.
And you,
you're just a sick human who enjoys pain
Sep 18, 2016
Sep 18, 2016 at 4:13 AM UTC
Unrealistically enamoured with you.
As in, we are an unrealistic pairing.
As in, if you ever /were/ to reciprocate my affection, we would both have to pray that my stupid crush-obsession turned into something real.
As in, before you discovered how emotionally stunted and unhealthy I am.
As in, maybe I can’t feel real things for other people, and maybe trying to touch you would only reveal you to be smoke.
Unrealistic, unrealistic, unrealistic, unrealistic, unrealistic.
As in, I think you’re wildly uninterested in me;
I think I’m the opposite of your type;
I think I confuse any type of fondness for a faint glimmer of hope;
I think I should ******* give up;
But I have an addict’s brain and it keeps chasing the idea of us round and around and around, wearing grooves into the earth.
As if by doing so I can tire myself out of the idea.
As if by doing so the cracks will bleed into reality.
I think I should ******* give up.
Apr 8, 2021
Apr 8, 2021 at 4:27 PM UTC