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
I Find MyselfI find myself in my bedroom walls,Silent and ever watchful.I find myself in the worn living room floors,Beaten down until used to it.I find myself underneath my bed,Understanding that I am my own monster.I find myself looking at the door,Wondering when it will open.I find myself peeping through the window,But night leaves nothing in my sight.I find myself in old conversations,My heart finally still.I find myself stamped into black words,Wishing for white paint.I find myself in moonlight,And beg for the sun.I find myself in a dream,After all of this nightmare.I find myself crying,Because you are still there.I find myself hoping that this,This is the last time.I find myself turning from you,There is no use lying.I find myself smiling,At myself.I find myself a lost cause,Because...I always find myselfWaiting for you.
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.
Rising from the ashesI sank downAll the way to the bottomAnd I thoughtI'd never rise againBut I've found my wayI relied on great friendsI fought hardAnd even if I still haveA long way to goI'll keep tryingI will survive
TransgenderI.)There was a timewhen he had long, curly hairto rival that of anyfairy-tale girl,his father called him"My little Princess"but he was always aPrince, and couldn't seewhy his Mother did notunderstand that.II. )There were two timeswhere he went to a churchonce for a Christmas service andhe couldn't understand how"God is love," when hehad been cursed with a bodynot his own -another a few years laterwhen his outsidematched his inside,but they turned him awaystill claiming that"God is love," and hestill couldn't understandhow that was possible.III.)There were three timeswhen other boys at schoolfollowed him home cursingevery bone in his body,calling him names, therewas one with blue eyeswho had a knife and left himfor dead,and the nurses in hospitalcalled him the wrong name -at night he cried bitterlyabout the world's ignorance.IV. )There were four timeswhen he wondered if therewas a special heavenfor boys like him and,hoping there was,he tried
ApartApartI couldn't see the consequences-As I tried to trust my heartI just couldn't resist-The blind love that ceased my warsHelping me let go of the struggles-That I foolishly held in my handsI freed the thoughts that quarreled-Tears fell in order for me to stand-Truth can be the worst enemyLies can be the strongest allyHarmony isn't immune to tragedyBecause you made a myth out of your apparent humanityMistakes can never be renamed! / Scars can never be erased!Compassion is used as bait! / Two sides to every face!A piece of peace is caged! / Watch the bridge burn away!I'll desecrate the meaning of “passion”You redefined my every moralThere will be no hesitationI won't need anyone -anymore--I ignored the risks-Of handing over my hopeKilled by a kiss-Turning my world to stoneI believed in your deceit-And I fell too hardMy mind endlessly screams-As I...s
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
The Bright Side of DyslexiaI was born with auditory dyslexia.I once heard of someone who wrote, directed, and coastguard in their own movie.I knew what the right word was, but it still got me thinking:About the invigorating music of waves crashing against my vessel,The challenge of serving to the best of my skills, The pride of keeping the shores of my homeland safe.That was how I found my career,And it's been just as rewarding as I had hoped.An episode of CSI mentioned literature marks on the vic's neck,Which inspired a fulfilling side project of poetry.In a later CSI, taunts were exchanged:"I'm the king of the jingle here! You don't stand a chants!""That's what you think! This isn't my first radio!"(It wasn't a very well-written episode.)Anyway, with that I tried adding tunes to my rhymes.The result was better than I expected;A local morning show even played one of my works on the radio!My girlfriend told me she needed a shoulder to crayon.This inspired me to
I won't cryyou can ask me how I am.that's okay I won't cryI don't know how I am, I can't correctly describe it.Other than to say there's a constant ache in my chestand a tightness in my throat,with swelled up emotions sitting somewhere at the back of my eyes.You should be careful what you saybut then I can't even explain what triggers these feelingsso say what you like,I'll just react in which ever way,cos I have no controll now.The way I feel everyday, has become so familiar to me,since I lost him.Sometimes it's so hard to bear,the constant ache in my chest threatens to crush meIt's hard to breath.The tightness im my throat burns,I want to wail out loud my inarticulate utterances of griefand release all my pent up emotions.But don't worry you can ask me how I am.It's okay, I won't cry.Written by Suzanne karbach21st may 2015
on the difference between life and livingotherkids grew up learning how to avoid obstacleswhile riding their bikes without training wheelsskateboarding in parks with the company of their friends loving familyand a thing called happiness,
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