FlatlineI can't breathe It's so coldI'm drowning I can't seeThe light's fadingWhere am I?Who knows I can't hearSirens scream in my ears,Wrapping their fingers around my throatI shout and yell Only to hear silence once againI'm sinking Deeper, darkerUnknown I'm bruised, brokenThe breakers, they're comingThey've always held my handBut now they're letting goI gasp for air as blood fills my lungsI cryMy eyelids feels heavyMy throat is soreThe pulse from my chest grow slowerDarkness surrounds meHope is dimI'm gone
That Child - 1.5-- "IT" --I don't know him anymore. He's not the same "kiddo" he used to be. Who are you now?...Why do I even bother. He can't hear me anymore, can he?He's not the same. He's different.Not because he hugs his torn, tear-stained teddy bear to his chest and needs a night light on 24/7 or he'll start wailing. The fact that there are demented drawings that seems to be drawn by a 3 year old child scattered across the room makes no difference. Only thing that was unsettling was his continuous and seemingly endless stare at a plain, blank wall, standing still before him. His eyes are hollow. He mutters quietly, softer than a whisper, in a language that I, and most likely anyone else, don't, or will ever know. From what I can see, he's only the cold, lifeless shell of my dear ol' "kiddo." Other than that, there's nothing left. Nothing left of him. What are you now?...He giggles. No, not "he", "it.""What are you, what do you see
ChangeMy very worst enemyIs that girl I used to be,And she visits me at nightBut I am stronger now,And I will fight;I will never be her again.Everyone can change;'We shed as we pick up' -Shed the badAnd pick up the goodTo be the best you couldBe.
Rusted CrownI wish they could knowhow you are inside.How you love to bait peoplewith suicide.How you love to hide behind aa face of ugly, disgusting lies.You're like their rusted King,or should I call you a queen?(Would I offend you,if I considered misgendering?)They'll follow you faithfully,despite the despair you bring.And your followers, oh they'reall fools too!Anyone who likes, or reblogsthe art that you do.You're falling apart,hiding behind a personalitythat doesn't exists.You're an embarrassment to suffersof actual mental illnesses.You make it a fad, like some treasureyou can proclaim on your dash.You're disgusting,like a once golden crown,you're now rusting.And I was privileged enough to see who you really are,so in the future, i”ll laughwhen you collapse like an aching star.But for now, they love you,a lie in disguise.And unfortunately,I'll have to wait until they discoveryour inside.But until then,I'll leave you with this.Fuck you,and your
How To Not Be Hated By Society: A Foolproof Guide1. Don't be anything but white. When you're black, people will hate you,because you look ghetto, and uneducated. But when you're white, people will hate you,because you look racist, and stuck up, and unapproachable. And when you're anything in between, people will hate you,because you're different, but not different enough, and there's no one to stand up for you.So actually, don't have skin.2. Let other people decide who you spend the rest of your life with. When you're gay, people will hate you,because it's unnatural. You should have control over your mindset, and so should total strangers. When you're transgender, people will hate you,because you challenge their religion and deities don't make mistakes, so obviously you did.Do I even have to explain this? It obviously shouldn't be your own decision who you fall in love with.Your emotional compatibility and well being doesn't matter at all.You'd clearly ge
The Girl Who Was Afraid To BeShe speaks to me fondlyof passions and talents,of guitars and stars,with such breathless intensitythen stops short andapologisesfor speaking at all.All because somewhere in her life,someone she loved broke her heartby ignoringher beautiful wordsand telling her toshut up,keep it down,nobody cares.People aren’t born sad.We make them that way.
A Sky Full of WordsA million different worldsIn black printFor my mind to sprintRight into;A million escape doorsFor me toGo through.Perhaps I'll fall down a rabbit hole,Or glide through Gion;Smoke some metaphors,Or wonder where She has gone.I might ride on a dragon,Or explore the thoughts of a dying man;Maybe I'll meet Mr Darcy,Or fly with Peter Pan.I could have a chat with Morrie,Or wander through Mansfield Park;I could fight vampires,Or make a revolution spark.I might rock out with LestatOr philosophise with Louis;Or maybe I'll go green,Or hang out with Harry.Sometimes I feel lost,Or alone,And that's okay;Stories of a million livesRemind me thatI will be just a storyOne day.
Can you cry in space?Once you venture into the jarthere's no place left.Light years close in on me.Each vein restricts, the heartbeats backwards, hair snaking;gasping, tears like glass beadsquivering in the voidaround me and within,feeling my eyes bulge and bleed,turning to ruby gemswith sharp angles,threading with my tears,coiling around my neck and hands,trying to fend them off.Am I in a clinical waitingroomin a hell afloat, which has alreadyseen and been the death of me.Through a portal, solar flarerotating as the capsuleslowly tumbles.The only sound left:the broken static from Houston.
Never Have I EverNever have I everBeen honest with myself.Never have I everAdmitted how I've felt.Never have I everShown anyone my tears.Never have I everAdmitted any fears.Never have I everChased into the light.Never have I everTried to escape the light.Never have I everBeen apart from pain.Never have I everHad something I could gain.
It Was Never You...It really wasn't...And I know that I can twist this truth as much as I want...Whenever I'm sober, when I know I can put up that fake plastic smile;Just a few formal words that burn like acid from a liar's lips!"Differences in personality, a divergence in ideals..."Please, fucking, SPARE ME!Because when I look in this mirror, I know.When I see myself looking back at me, I know.Right here, right in front of my own blackened self;Those eyes that both reflect and stare into my dingy soul.I was the problem.I was the instigator.I was the perpetrator.And when I had broken every last bit of her,I was the one, who let it all fall to pieces.So please, you don't have to feel sorry for me,I am a bastard and I've got a very special place in hell waiting for me...- Word of Chen, Darkest Hour, 16th February 2015
Soldier BoyOne day he came home,A man given freedom.He looked in the mirror,And liked what he saw...The days wore on,And he lived his life.Morning PT was a distant memory,So too were the shouts of a Sergeant.Training came thrice at first,Then twice, then once,Then none...The days wore on...And life became harder,Sacrifices were made.He looked in the mirror one day,And didn't like what he saw.Not anymore...Not the pot-bellied man working for a few scraps.Nor the slovenly fellow who'd forgotten how to clean his kit.He earned his freedom, but he had lost what he respected...And the days wore on...And so he went out running, one fateful day,His lungs burning with every breath.Yet despite the pain inside his chest, He resolved the soldier, would return to his best."You've been gone a long time Corporal Chen, what say we go once more around the yard!"-Word of Chen, One-shot, 24 February
TearsDon't cryYou have friendsYou have familyYou have loveDon't cryYou have shelterYou have foodYou have waterDon't cryYou have everything you needDon't cryFor there's still hope