I follow the sweet voice
Of a song bird that sings to me
A voice so melodic, it lures me in
And captivates me entirely.
A bird with such vast beauty
Surely has no business nesting here
But each morning he sings me his song
Its everyday he will appear.
You see, all I want is to show him
A place where he can thrive
A place where he can spread his wings
And soar into the sky.
And I know a special place
A place I’d love to share
But if I can never catch him
I can never take him there.
He won’t know how I will move mountains
How much I obstruct the earth
Just so I can hear his music
One tune being gold in worth.
And even as I cre
I’m tired of living. I’m sick of not dying. A snapped silver cord, is defying. A desire to cut the red needled thread. A constant loop, bringing me dread. Of singing, chanting; a mirror that shows horrors. To peer inside, it leads me sorer. I wish to reap what I have sowed. No boat provided for me to row. Hell or Heaven, on the other side. Alas, it’s not for me to decide. Yet when I plead, I always compromise. I beg for you to name your price. Anything will do, I’m not capricious. Anything, as long as it’s propitious. It will suffice, no matter the subject. A clean or messy method to disconnect. Colorful explosions of a body burned. Ashes scattered in an urn. Flesh particles soaring, falling like rain. A kettle pouring on the blame. Like molten mush of a carbon form. Now melted into puddles after the storm. Swallowed up by seafoam waves. Or being punctured by angry knaves. A stinging inside of my lungs. With the precise cutting of my tongue. Detrimentally indisposed. An aching
Your embrace ghosted around me. The sweet smell of funeral bouquets flooding through my memory. Everything I do judged and surveyed by you. You are the only one who ever truly stays. You must think, “how foolish of him?" As you watch my mistakes being made. Time and time again your presence lingers. Taunting me with morality that you know I irrefutably have. And you shake your head in disbelief. And I can hear your voice, “you can do better”, You shake your head and my tears flow with regret. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t being watched so carefully. Why won’t you leave me? Why must I be stuck with you? An apparition of your form haunting me. A shadow creeping upon my back. I know it’s you. It’s always you. Is it a sin to wish that you weren’t my crutch? Hindered by your memory and the guilt it consumes in me. I wish I wasn’t stuck with you. Paralyzed with fear, as your eyes are ever watching. I can’t escape your damning clutch of revenge. But I am never really ever alone. You’re
Every year I bring you roses; I shan’t ever forget. And every February reminds me of how we met. The way you were so fragile, the way you felt too much. I once was the same exact way, but since had lost my touch. You taught me that I wasn’t alone, there were others just like me. But until it was too late, I wasn’t allowed to see. I never understood, only until after everything ended. And so without you, my heart has never mended. Late nights bring me sorrow, as the clock strikes three. That number will forever be the time in which you left me. As I think back to when we were both young and alive. I never thought once that I would have to say goodbye. Those times are lost, and are never to be had again. And when I’m alone sobbing, is when I pick up my pen. And I write to you the words I never said, ones that will never reach your ears. I start to tell you everything I wish that you could hear. ‘I’m afraid because I didn’t leave with you, I’m afraid because I believe I caused it
Loved? I’ve never been... loved.
They say love is found in the warmth of your mother’s embrace.
But I’ve never been loved.
They say love is found in the hands that are clasped together in a hold between childhood friends.
But I’ve never been loved.
They say love is found in the gentle reminder to not forget your belongings as you walk out the door.
But I’ve never been loved.
They say love is found in the coziness of a sweater that was lent to you on a cold night.
But I’ve never been loved.
They say love is found in the carefully prepared meal given to you after a long day’s work.
But I’
The journey has been rough, my eyes are tired, I’m sick of always feeling wired. The days grow long, my feelings longer, suicide is even wronger. The guilt, regret, and my grief These things inside my head don’t cease. I always make myself remember That he was February, and I not December I was meant to stay here and made to suffer That’s why everything had gotten tougher And why the things done to me and things I’ve done Weigh approximately three hundred tons Self-hatred is all I’m allowed to know, Its law, I can’t feel peace before I go It’s true, I am not allowed to experience rest And I think, honestly, it’s all a test If I do not torture myself, There would be others to blame upon the shelf But how there are things I wish could redo The actions, words, to avoid now that I knew My realization was, myself is all there is to blame And others are from people I cannot tame Their conscience is up to them or from above My life is the one I have more control of And although, yes
When winter is close to ending and the temperature hits something reminiscent to the feel of spring, the light glows while the strength of the wind changes, and the air smells a certain way.. I am reminded instantly of the time where I was content with my world.
I remember those days where it felt just like this one, except I was almost happy.
But time has passed, and now things feel much different, and I don’t know what today will feel like until the next season..
So I embrace the nostalgic feeling until I am convinced this bitter sweetness is actually my reality, and not a memory.
do you remember when
you didn’t know
your right from lefts,
or green meant go?
do you remember when
you learned for the first time
that you could be
whatever was in your mind?
remember when you
were so eager to explore,
a naive mind
that yearned for more.
you never once
began to think
that maybe everything
is linked.
you never once
paused for the thought
that maybe pain
is what you’ll wrought.
but now you know
so many things,
and those things you wish
could be unseen.
but you can never forget
what you have done,
or what you saw,
or thought, or none.
so everyday,
we all regret
and wish for a day
where blood will let.
I wished your touch was more tender, and I wished your words tasted more sweet,
I wouldn’t have to know what I’ve been missing if we never had to meet.
I hate that I still miss you, and I hate that it still hurts,
My least favorite part is feeling like I’m less than dirt.
I wanted it to be perfect and I wanted you to stay,
You saying what you did were words I never wanted you to say.
I hate you and I love you and you teared me apart,
But I wished that even when we were together that I had a full heart.
I am selfish for my thoughts of wanting you to be better,
But if you had never worsened first, then I never would have met h
To be in paradise while feeling miserable is truly awful. I don’t ever suggest going on a mentally-exhausting vacation..
It was bizarre to walk to the ocean and feel the water you could see directly through while feeling completely hollow inside. It felt so surreal to walk along the beach at night and stare off out at the endless waves, while an ache in your heart remained. The sand stuck between your toes as the waves licked your skin, and all you could think about was how badly you wished you could instead disappear and not exist anywhere at all. Of all the places that people dream of when they think of “escape”, I was rig