For YouI would do anything for youGive an arm, a legAnything you could ever want or needI would give to youI would sacrifice my life for youSo many things I would doI am here for youI love youMore than you’ll ever know
Another Damned SoulThe only reason you’d be sorry if I were to die is because you’d lose your favorite vent. A vent that isn't new or old, your favorite one that works the best in the whole house. Vents are your favorite thing. They’re always there for you because they can’t speak or even make a noise or you’d just change them until they’re quiet again. And vents can’t leave, or break, because you’d just replace them without a second thought in your mind to their feelings. Another damned soul into the lonely, empty graveyard of the forgotten dead. The ones everyone abandoned. No one really, truly cared about. The ones that every night cry out just for someone to reach out and ask, “Are you okay”. Not to be the vent, but the friend. To not just have to listen, but to be heard. To be able to say, “I’m not okay” and not be judged. To be able to be human.
OpheliaDo you ever have the feeling you were destined to do something great? To make your impact on the world? Fight crime. Find the cure for cancer. Save all the puppies. Well, I never got one of those feelings. I just go to school, go to the mall, hang out, eat some food. Nothing special at all. I have a mom, dad, and even a little sister. A typical family. Sister is Lily, stepmom is Denise, and stepdad is Steven. My sister looks like Denise, brown eyes and hair; only thing Steven has different is the hair, black like a stallion.Oh right, probably should introduce myself. Name is Ophelia. There is a little difference between them to me... I have blonde hair and green eyes. Just a small difference right? Well, it's kind of because I'm adopted. Thing is, mommy and daddy didn't think they could have kids of their own when they adopted me at four. But nine years later Lily pops out. Guess it took a while to kick it into drive. Steven and Denise knew my real parents from college and they couldn
There goes my heartThere goes my heartYou keep breaking itThere goes my heartThe aching painThere goes my heartSmashed into piecesThere goes my heartInto dust it turnsThere goes my heartNever to be seen again
Surrounded by LoveSurrounded by darknessEncased by fearNothing but screams to bearCold as a desert nightLonely as the single wolfEndless tears to fallTime ticks slowlyA light can be seenToo far to reachClose enough to teaseA tired soul cries outNever to be heardSurrounded by darknessEncased by fearNothing but screams to bearCold as a desert nightLonely as the single wolfEvery tear to be shedLight overcomes the darknessSurrounded by loveWarm and safeNever lonelyAlways togetherNot a single tear to be shed
Love...Through it all.All that we do.Do what you must.Must you say that?That you don't love,Love is so stupid.Stupidly in love I stay.Stay never leave.Leaving me alone?Alone I am.Am I really?Really I am free.Free at last.
Ugly Scars“Why do you cut, dear?”“Doesn’t it hurt?”Of course it does –It hurts more than I’m worth“Why do you cut, dear?”“Aren’t you ashamed?”Of course I’m embarrassed,But I’m used to the blame.“Why do you cut, dear?”“Why don’t you stop?”Can you stop a dead bodyFrom starting to rot?Because, darling, you see,I’m not even here.I’m only a corpseWith no hope, and no fear.“Why do you cut dear?”Well, don’t you see?There’s a pain insideSo deep within meAnd it’s coming to the surfaceBut no one understandsSo I put that painInside my hands.And I lay it outFor all to seeOn wrists so redAnd forearms that bleed.“Why do you cut, dear?”“It’s ugly, you know.”Ha.“ugly” is exactlyWhat this is meantTo show.
bullets in a shot glassAgain the archers are aching,again their bones are breakinglike the cracks in the Colosseum.Death does not defendeager-eyedfighters; he does not fulfillgodly goals ofheaven and halos.I am inverted, introverted,a jester jeeringat kids who kisslike life is long enough to fall in love.my mouth is a machine,a new nightfallordering our soldiers outinto pits where they pray for peace.the quirks of ourridiculous readings rule us,sand us into sculpturesthin and tall, trembling.our universe is built on uncertaintyand vicious virtueswritten by long-dead warriors whoexpected to live forever, andI do not yield to yourwell-read zombies.
he saved me, but he killed me._i. first light- i met you in a crimson forest. it was a rose garden summer, and out of a black mercedes you walked out, your five year old eyes greener thansunlit saplingsyou reached up to pluck a rose from its stem, and offered it to me."what's your name?"daddy told me that i couldn't tell strangers my real name.I looked at the rose in my hand."Rose."you smiled, you were a seastorm of now long-gone innocence.i didn't understand but I knew.ii. i forgot about you for 1562 days, 11 hours, and 22 minutes,you shoutedmy name, but i didn't recognize youuntil i saw your eyes.iii. my father fell and didn't stand back up again.i screamed, and you carried me home.iv. i didn't talk for a week. i stared at the gray of the sky. it was the color of my father's eyes.you sat next to me in the pouring rain,your war
Self-Harm Isn't a HandbagPick at the scabs of the ghosts of scarsOn the insides of my wrists,White hot pain memories shoot up my veinsAnd the tear vapour creates mistsIn the lenses of my glasses.My world narrows down to thoseWhite stitch marks that keep thePatchwork of my forearms and thighsTogether,Keeping the dark ugly hurtOn the insidesForever.How could I have done this to myself?Could I blame you?And him?And her too?No.I’m a big girl now,And the blame rests on my wrists,That flicked the bladeAnd sprayed the blood,And the mind that forbadeMe to ask for help.I’ve said it beforeAnd I’ll say it again;It isn’t beautifulTo put yourself through such pain.When your head is buzzingFrom the hit of the highOf a new cut on your thigh,Or your mind is lost in a mistOf ecstasy from a new sliceOn your wristAnd you’re dependent on itA junkie needing a hit,It isn’t pretty or cute or special.No amount of kissesWill undo the cutsOr absorb the scars.No
Anxiety attackAs the attack begins,I feel myself slipping away again.And I question things that are better left unsaid.And contemplate if I am better off dead.My anxiety is killing me,I feel my hands shaking.And I am sobbing.And am I dying?I am just trying,To get a grip.But I feel my reality slip through my finger tips.Nothing is real,Except every bit of pain my mind forces me to feel.Every memory that I had shoved away.Is now racing around my brain.It's driving me insane.And my limbs turn to jello.Every time my head hits the pillow,Before I go to bed.I start to panic and I am wide awake instead.More thoughts are swarming around like a hurricane.Please,Make it stop!And just like that,The attack is gone.
The Wrong Side Of MidNightOn The Doctor's TrainI Met The Princess Of The Dawn,But We WereOn The Wrong Side Of MidNight.
Was It Love?She holds on tight,but he lets go,She needs him,but he doesn't need her,She believes,but he gave up,She loves him,but he never loved her.