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Echos of the forgotten children
dance along the
breeze.
With tired eyes and weary smiles
as they
sleep along the streets.

No kind words or helping hands
from the strangers
passing by,
just echos of forgotten children
an
endless
hopeless cry.

No where to turn, no place to run.
Just lonely
damaged souls.
They try to hide or numb the pain
of being left out
in the cold.

Years its been, since they
felt warmth;
most do not remember love.
So the echos of forgotten children
are quietly
swept,
under
the rug.

Their tears trace familure paths
across their
*****
cheeks.
The echos of forgotten ones
that sleep along
the streets.

Its cold its dark, they are alone.
They fear the end
is soon.
So they numb their pain
in any way
even if it brings their
doom.

The echos of forgotten children
forced to grow up
much to fast,
dance their way
through
lonely streets.
Reminders
of
their tragic
past.
Dancing in the spotlight
Was how I envisioned our love,
Forgetting the steps didn't feel right
So I put you above.

I let myself fall,
Just for you to have it all..
So I had to let myself think
Right step, left step,
Couldn't even get the time to blink
Let alone try to accept
That our dance was rhythmless.

Guess I could say that I got lost
Through all the steps that I was taught,
And all the promises you made
Left me wondering if our dance will slowly fade.

The trainer said "let's not give up"
But my mind would get disrupt,
And flood me all about this thinking
That our dance should just keep shrinking.

So now I come here, just to ask
Was this dance used like a mask?
Just to cover all the mess-
Should I have asked for something less ?
Would I be happier? Would it be better?
If we didn't do the dance together,
Cause I'm sitting here, and I don't know
If it's worth continuing the show..
Watching old Anthony Bourdain
and I hope the uneaten food gets donated to his staff
like how the great feasts of young King Henry VIII
got thrown to poor, after He had a bite or two
of foie gras done 12 ways


Never mind
After all that's happened
Tony should be beatified
I remember laying on the floor of my parent's room
when I couldn't get to sleep in middle school
and we'd watch a back to back block of No Reservations
on a 13 inch box TV on their nightstand
The next thing we knew, people grew more open for a time
Wegmans' got sushi, and Dad loves it
The parents weren't so ashamed of the city they fled to the 'burbs from, just for a second
Took them to a bespoke restaurant during pride month
and they thought it was a gay bar
just because they flew a rainbow flag out front
They grew to welcome it
for a few years at least

Thanks Tony
Wish you were here
and I had more to say about that
than a ******* postcard script
Your voice is still echoed in my house
on an endless nightmare streaming channel
kept on mostly for my chiweenie
You'd be horrified, but
still I know your take
could help reinvigorate our hope in a connected world today
Anna 2h
I feel like a stranger in my own skin,
like a paper marked by hands that shouldn’t have been.
You painted on me with borrowed strokes,
colors I never asked for, lines I never spoke.

I tried to erase it all,
scrubbed until I bled.
But no matter how I try,
the red remains instead.

Why do I feel this shame,
when none of it was mine to claim?
Or is that just another lie—
one you left behind in my name?

Go on, throw another shade,
brush another lie across my frame.
Add one more mark on my arm—
pretend you never meant me harm.

Are you satisfied now?
Does silence taste sweet?
Is it peace you feel,
or just a hollow retreat?

The stains, they never fade,
they follow me—like ghosts that stayed.
I feel ***** in a way soap can’t cleanse,
not even the rain makes any sense.

I hope the paint on your hands never dries,
I hope guilt sleeps where your comfort lies.
And when you close your eyes,
may my tears echo in your skies.

My hands tremble still,
my voice quiet and thin.
You touched beauty and broke it—
I was never meant to let you in.

Run.
Let shame chase your steps.
Lie.
Wear your mask again.

Stain.
Things that were never yours to touch.
March.
Through lives you’ve broken too much.

Paint a little more.
Maybe that will hide the cracks.
Paint her, paint me—
but never give the colors back.

Your fingerprints are pressed on pages of my life,
you signed a name I never gave you the right.

Run.
Lie.
Scream.
Hide.

Paint.
Stain.
Break.
Divide.

Yo­u stole my innocence like ink on stolen lines.
Does your guilt whisper at night,
the way your memory haunts mine?
Anna 2h
Sometimes I think of going back,
when my mind begins to scream.
When my body loses power,
and I fade into a dream.

Sometimes I'm close to giving in,
when laughter doesn't stay.
When everything feels heavy,
and the light just slips away.

And when I go back, I wonder:
was it worth that brief escape?
A second of still silence,
for a year of endless ache?

I go back... but I don’t speak it.
I hold it in and fake it.
Don’t want to hear their questions,
or see the way they break it.

I know I made a vow,
but I broke it, somehow.
Once again, I crossed that line,
once again, I said "this time."

To you, it’s been nine months.
To them, it’s still unknown.
To me, it never ended.
I’ve faced this all alone.

It returns when I get angry,
it returns when I just stare.
It returns when tears come easy,
it returns when no one's there.

It never really leaves me,
it hides in every mirror.
It speaks inside my silence,
it echoes every fear.

Red eyes, like every time I fall.
A guilty mind, behind it all.
A heart that whispers what I hide.
A soul too tired to even cry.

Going back feels automatic,
living feels so problematic.
Pain is loud, yet I stay static—
and healing? Never truly magic.
Andrew 5h
Always dream that I’m yours
And I’ll dream
your mine
Great lyrics
bella 5h
why didnt you take my heart with you?
sobbing so violently my ache breaks
b
      a
              r
                        r
                                 i
                                         e
                                                 r
                                                       s
windows b r e a k once the note hit me where
my hurt is out my chest now

delayed   but sumcummed to
where my heart is only ha lf
sound is silent once i reach our home
as
     loud
             as
                 my
                      tears
                               can
                                      be
                                           now
but they cant break between the b a r r i o r of
dead and alive
and im broken but alive
ur
     dead
               and
                      broken
ha lf my heart with you
if only he **** my art with
i would be set free
he and me

comfort in no more future possibilities
a sore heart without he
each throb burning
i hope till theres nothing left
your only form now
a
    s
        h
           e
              s
my childhood dog died and it led to dark feelings :c
Rain 8h
Come,
and find me
underneath the willow tree.

For you, I have waited an eternity.

The stillness of the river,
sings for you still.
it ripples,
a bittersweet hum of your name.

Don’t you remember?

How we lay amidst tulips and lilies,
the amber of your eyes melting into green
olive skin, caressing rosy cheeks.

An autumn leaf,
forever stuck in my spring.

Don’t you remember?

How we hid in the tall grass,
surrounded by multicolored hues,
of red, white, and blue.

The grass hugged us close,
the air carried your coy whispers,
you confessed me your love,
but you left come November.

It was a hot midday of June,
when we shared our first kiss.
The sunlight scorched our skin,
as our lips met in sweet sin.

Don’t you remember?

The day you said goodbye,
I was by the edge of the creek,
and you on the other side.

The river carried away my tears,
as I watched your eyes barely blink.

You spoke of your pain,
of the tall grass that felt like vines,
trapping you to the soil of where we used to lay.

You told me of your disdain,
of the flowers I grew,
of how all you could see,
was your blood on their nails.

You told me all of this,
without even saying my name.

Do you remember it still?

My name that is.
Or did it die on your lips,
when you whispered goodbye?
Charmour 17h
how come I'm the one left unloved?
How come I have no friends to turn to?
How come I'm always the one they judge —
never truly seen, never truly known?
How come there's no shoulder for my tears,
no arms to hold me when it hurts?
How come I keep wishing someone,
anyone, would care?
How come I still want to fit in,
even when it means losing pieces of myself?
How come I'm not me,
but who they want me to be?
And how come —
in the quietest moments —
I wonder if I should even exist at all?
should i exist .......?
Charmour 17h
If tears were red,
they'd have seen —
my white pillow stained by morning,
red marks blooming on the bedsheet,
on my face,
on my shirt.
My eyes, still puffy,
still red
from the bleeding of the night before —
not from wounds,
but from weeping.
Eyes not meant to bleed,
yet they did.

And still,
no one noticed
the colourless blood I’ve spilled.
i wish my eyes never bled.......
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