she didn't believe in anything but cigarettesmy mother tells me notto cry over spilled milkbut it makes it so mucheasier to forget aboutthe bloody bird layingdead on the bathroom tile
seaside lettersone.i was never good at starting these thingstwo.did you know some flowersonly open at night?they must not be very afraidof the darki wish i could say the samethree.i can't light my candle anymore,maybe it's telling methat i should stop tryingi didn't really like that blisteron my thumb anywaysfour.i noticed that my veinswere the same color as the oceanand i made myself bleedmy veins lied and blood is red, not bluei guess i just thought i was differentfive.i wish you could read thesesix.i don't know how to write anymoreand i always knew this would happen sometime.but god why now?i still haven't figured out what i wanted to sayseven.this will be my last letter to youand i thought i'd let you knowthat i will never know what i wanted to sayi was never really good at ending these either
SonnetMy world has gone ahead and left me hereTo keep myself awake through lonely nights.I cannot help but wonder, wait, and fear;And fight between the weights of wrong and right.Warmth has left, and in it's place --a shiverNow keeps me from the realm of blessed sleep.You were once my strength, but now I quiver,For when you left you took with you my peace.So my heart will try to beat --but faintly.I'll sit in patience 'waiting your return.The life I felt before --a distant mem'ry.With every breath I take I feel the burn.I made the choice to love and set you free --Embracing hope, I wish you back to me.
hide and seekeveryone looks to the starsfor inspirationbut maybe if we focused moreon the grains of sandbeneath our feet we mightjust find something a littlemore original
NotI want to pluck off every one of her petals and leave behind the shell of a flower.He loves me. I want to rip out every piece of his hairand make him ugly,so she won't call him beautiful anymore.He loves me not.
I Want to Get Out of HereI think I have grown in the shape of a squareThat is the shape of my box.My feet at my chest and my hands in my hairbound with no keys and no locks.Inside my box is cramped and tight,And when I breathe it rattles.During the daytime I see no lightIn here I fight no battles.My breath is stale and my hair is tangled,All I know is the dark.I fear that I am horribly mangledFrom living conditions so stark.I want to get out and see the oceanFor there is a world to see:The sun and the moon and the stars in motionAll laid out for me.Being stuck in a box is bad, I believeFor my muscles and my bonesBut my body might fall apart if I leave:This box is all I know.In here I feel little sorrow or painInside and out I'm numb.I feel not the wind, nor the cold, nor the rainIn silence, I am dumb.A terrible ache settles deep in my soulPast limbs twisted far backShut away from the world, I can never be whole:All that is living, I lack."How hateful, how horrid this box is!" I crie
Cracked LipsI cut my own tongueon it's razor sharp edges.Lacerated words arisefrom hidden places.The sweet salt dripsdown my cracked lipsand onto myheaving chest.What have I done?
wendy was the lucky onedrowned by somberin a sea of atramentalemotions."black as November,"my mother saidhe went peacefullyin his sleep, they wept17 is too youngfor the hands of deathbut death reached anywaysi knew why he kepthis window open inbelow zero temperaturesand let the cold inevery nighti wonder if his tearsfroze to his cheeks