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
Art and Other WeaponsI use words like an anchor.Tying myself down to a piece of paper.In books my heroes used swords,I use a pen.I got a mind as violent as a hurricane.I could use these words to build me a raft.Because it’s the only weapon I have.And this pen isn’t what it looks like.I finally found some sort of voice.I can use it. These thoughts inside our heads are like bombs, so let’s defuse it.It’s my torch.I could burn the shadows, set fire to these fears.I could use ink instead of tears.I could use books and poetry like a night lightBecause I never liked the dark anyways.I could use it like a head stone…Writing about all of my friends who couldn’t find a flash lightIn time.I could write and writeUntil my skin was stained with lilies made of ink.I write because I thinkAnd when you think too much there is no escape.So I say, when everything is too muchJust create.Little dream weaver, you have all the pieces.Arm yourself with a paint brush,We
Depression is an OptionDepression is a choice, my dear,And happiness the sameYou choose this illness, don’t you?What a tragic little game.Depression is an option, loveJust get up out of bedTake your tears and worriesAnd just smile now instead.Depression is a choice, you see,And so is suicide.Just sit back, kick your feet up, dearEnjoy this perfect ride.Get over your own standardsOf what everyone should be.Just smile for once, and maybeYou’ll be living perfectly....But...Depression is an illnessThat we feel so deep within.Why would anybody chooseTo write poetry on their skin?Unless there lies a reason, dear,I would not choose to die.If depression was an option...Well...I’d choose to say goodbye.
GayI am gay.I'm not a disease, I'm not a problemI'm not an afflictionI don't need treatment.I don't need helpI'm not sickI'm not confusedI'm not a sin.I am gay.I'm your daughterYour sisterYour friendYour co workerYour classmateYour acquaintanceA complete strangerI am gay.I need love, just like youI need smilesI need supportI need a hugI need a friendI need a familyI need acceptanceI need understandingI need youI am gay.I know what love isI know what pain isI know what hate isI know what life isI am gay.And I need you to love meThe same way you loved me before you knewI am gay.And I have experienced hateFrom more people than just youI am gay.And I wont change.I wont give up.I wont back down.I wont pretend.I wont lie.I wont deny.I wont hide.I wont hurt.I am gay.And that's okay.
you're much stronger than you thinkI'll be the first to tell youscissors don't need to be brought to a wristto cut deepbecause cutting off your heart from you head,or yourself from your dreams,is also enoughto make you bleedand there's ink spilled all over these pages,and at times it seems tearsare cheaper than water from a spout:these lines need diluted,these blots are a dark, dark seaand maybe I'm not too good at swimming,even if it's just through a pool of inkbut I've learned if you just keep paddling,you're much stronger than you think.
HetaliaxDepressed!Reader:Self-Inflicted AchromaticHetalia x Scary! Depressed! Reader: Self-Inflicted AchromaticI want to be a person just like you, don't you see?I want to be a person who is still being "me"A tired sigh escaped your lips. You were just so damn tired. The other countries said that you, (f/n) or (c/n), was scarier than Russia himself. But of course, you have lived 2500 years with wars and bloodshed always trailing after you. You just really want to be happy. But all those wars and blood imprinted on your mind, you really just released off a dark (a/c) aura and a stoic atmosphere.It really would be nice but I'm paying a price'Cause I'd really, not be me and that would not sufficeYou asked yourself, "I know my face doesn't show my pain. But isn't it obvious in my eyes? I'm lonely and hurt" You rubbed your numb (s/c) wrist, yesterday's cuts still had a colorless ache to it. You picked your silver knife, twirling it around watching the others argue. The said knife is the one you also use to cut yourself.A dream which
The Hero With Headphones The hero with headphones. He has walked a long, lonely road. He has lost his dad and that is never easy. He has loved deeply and lost almost all. He has almost ten million fans whoare striving to do good for thosearound them. To be the force for good. The light in the dark to those in need. Each of them look up to the hero in headphones,no matter how much of a goober he is. He wears a Warfstache and carries a tiny box named Tim. He plays video games and records himself screaming in terror as monsters fill the screen. He commits to charity work for those in need. Always humble. Always helping. He is OUR hero in headphones. Who is this hero you may wonder?He is the kind of guy people look up to. He is the leader of a force for good. He is kind, courageous, and loving. He is the hero in headphones..His name will be passed on for generations. His videos will be shared continuous
For My PeopleAs far as I can recall:I did not ask to be birthedInto a cycle of stagnation.I did not ask to be told,That my dreams are achievable;Only to see them limited by the scope of reality.I did not ask for a failing system,Passed unto me by half-dead corpses wearing suits.Nodding eagerly at one another,As they wait for an inevitable death.This I did not ask for,And I am certain that most of you did not either.But it is for that reason,And for that reason alone, I say:That it is up to us,We siblings bound by the chains of our forefathers,To create a system that is better,Than the bitter shackles of the past.Justice is what I long for.Justice for MY people.
An Angel's Promise'Thou art mine,And so thou shall remain.'I will not let you have any other before me, Nor can there be any after.For it is your soul that I have shared And it is your soul that I do take.Your worship is the blood that flows through me.Your praise is the heart that pumps life into my veins.I have accepted that which is torn;And if you are not whole before me,Then by my will and word,You shall be made whole.So fear not this frigid world,Though its cold bites deeply into your flesh.I shall take that which has been torn from youAnd weep life into it,Until only warmth remains.For thou art already mine,And so thou shall remain.
There is no beauty in love.Love isn't beautiful.Love isn't lilacs and roses and chocolate truffles of every flavor.It isn't for the weak, nor is it for those unable to support themselves.Love isn't finding someone to complete you.Love isn't finding money on the street.Love isn't trendy nor sexy nor fun.It's about as thrilling as a car crash.Love is a virus.It crawls inside you like a parasite, sucks on your soul like a sadistic disease.It warps your desires and twists your thoughts until you depend upon it, need it, thrive on it.Without it, you lose yourself bit by bit to your addiction as if it were nicotine wrapped in white, lit and smoking.Without it, you can no longer breathe.Without it, you stay awake all through the long and lonely nights, hoping and praying that one day you'll be good enough. Love brings lies and tears and depression and sadness.Love brings jealousy.Love brings lust.Lust that'll eat you up as if it were a ravenous, drunken lover.More, it'll say.And more you'll
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