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Looks LieI’m ugly and fat
But I can deal with that
‘Cause it means people like me for me;
Not for what they see.
Another Fallen OneThere was a lady on telly today,
Talking from a land far away;
Her kid had died,
Torn apart from the inside.
The kid had hung herself in the family bathroom.
The lady was crying,
You could hear her heart dying
And mine did too.
I could've been that kid,
What with all the things I did
And my family could've been her;
Left with nothing but despair.
I envy the kid
For doing what she did.
I thank the kid,
Making me think about what I nearly did.
I mourn the kid,
Gone because of what others did.
Don't ever think you wouldn't be missed,
Because there's always that person
Who'll miss you,
Praying you'll pull through
Until memories of your smile is all they have.
Such a ContradictionI'm just that fat kid
Starved of hope.
I'm just that cutter
Reaching for rope.
I'm just that dumb blonde
Reading all night.
I'm just that coward
Bleeding for a fright.
I'm just that child
I'm just that girl
With messy hair.
I'm just that burner
Wanting to be cool.
I'm just that geek
Scared of school.
I'm just that emo
Smiling with glee.
You're just another drone
But you'll never be me.
Hope (I Won't)I won't let a razor blade
Take away this life I've made.
I won't let the shame and guilt
Ruin everything I've built.
I won't let being wrong
Stop me from being strong.
I won't let sorrow and pain
Resurrect the demons that I've slain.
I won't let ugly spite
Tell me that I'm not right.
I won't let the dark past
Make my endless hurt last.
I won't let this noose
Leave me hanging loose.
I won't let the world win;
My life is only just about to begin.
Forever YoursI'll always be your little girl,
And I still need you here
It's become so clear
That I can't handle things alone.
Every time I think of you
I try to forget
Because everything I never said
Is everything that I regret.
I wish I was the one taken;
I know they miss you more
And the world would be less shaken
If it'd lost this blonde bore.
You were my mother,
My sister and my friend
And no other
Will ever replace that;
Why wasn't I there at the end?
Sometimes I wake at night
Crying for you like a kid
Who doesn't understand what they did
To be left behind.
TodayI saw something in the mirror today that kinda creeped me out.
It was a girl wearing a smile, not a frown nor a pout.
Her eyes were wide and shining, just as a summer sun.
Her laugh wasn't wooden and fake, but true and full of fun.
Her irises reflected happiness, not a trace of pain.
She was under perfect skies; not a drop of rain.
Angels swam around her, keeping the devil at bay.
Her life was precious and she wasn't throwing it away.
Her lips were red and shinging with a pure smile.
It was a sight her mirror hadn't seen in a very long while.
She wasn't at all pretty but a care she did not give.
Because today she woke up and said, "Today I am going to live."
Things I'll Never SayThere are certain things I’ll never say,
Like how I thought about killing myself today
Just to keep my own scary thoughts away.
Like how I stay awake way too late
To be sure I don’t awake in a bloody state.
Like how I soaked white into red last night
And turned myself into a ghastly sight.
Like how it hurts too much to breathe
When I make my own skin seethe.
Like how I Google things I shouldn’t
When I want to do things I couldn’t.
Like how I’m scared of being alone
Yet I’m only happy when I’m on my own.
Like how I know I’ll wind up killing myself
And turn into just a dusty photo on a dusty shelf.
Like how I make myself bleed every day
Even though I know I can’t go on this way.
Like how I maybe want someone to see
And for them to somehow help me.
But nobody will ever help me,
Because those are all the things I’ll never say.
Life ItselfThe only time I smiled today
Was when I thought of dying
And how good I am at lying
Each and every single day.
I've got a box of painkillers
They sleep right by my bed
For when all I see is red,
They'll numb it into darkest white.
I've tried talking to people,
But I can't word what I want to say
And maybe I like living this way,
Knowing that I'll die soon.
I know I'm self-destructive
My crosshatch skin screams it
But inside there's a little bit
That still aches to be saved.
I've tried before and I'll try again
To put my worthlessness away
But fate forced me to stay;
Death's a bitch like that.
Life makes me want to die
Yet it won't let me leave
Or grant me a reprieve
From that which it's made me hate;
Chained and ShamedNobody gets it.
I don’t want saving,
I don’t want ”friends”;
I just want all ends
To be met in red.
I hate how plain my skin is,
How it should be painted;
I’m the addiction’s harlot,
I do as it must dictate
And when it tells me to seal my bloody fate;
I bloody well will.
I’m too full of blood,
I need to let some out.
But know this isn’t a shout
This is me coping
With how I’m hoping
Nobody’ll care when I go.
Cutting isn’t for attention;
It’s for a brief suspension
Of everything else.
It is mine and I’m its,
It doing as I want
And I its slave
Until there’s nothing left to save.
I don’t fear death
Half as much as I do breath.
Because I’d be lying
If I said dying
Wasn’t on my list of things to do today.
trapped back in time like
a sinner on something sweet;
don’t ask me to move on
kaleidoscope eyes never knew left
from right. I’m different, I’m different;
bleeding white and crying black and
flying out in a storm with paper wings)
I fell in love with a broken idol--
bruised throat and splintered fingers,
the most beautiful shade of purple
to ever fade out. He never knew
maybe I’m dumb.
maybe I forgot the way the world spins backwards
and that happy endings only come from fairytales
rewritten so that children can fall asleep.
in all my years I never quite learned
how to disappear completely,
this sickly escapism justified by the
promise of all my missing pieces:
a runaway’s prayer on shooting stars,
oh, please just take me
regret in seven stagesi. attraction
when my negativity finally
found something beautiful,
charged up like a bipolar
thunderstorm waiting to come
(you were everything
i ever wanted and i
was entirely selfish) then
like the way our smiles blended
perfectly together and how we’d sway
to rhythms that never existed;
your eyes were a springtime day
decades before we were born and
happiness became an instinct
instead of a defense [until]
like a jail sentence worn
around the neck. spine
contorted and screaming
bound too quickly by the uns
and nots and fear you never
quite kept at bay, we were
guilty of so much but
wrongly convicted because
iv. i was not meant for this
and every tear i shed was
another prick to your heart,
my darling voodoo doll, you didn’t
decipher the warnings, oh sweetie
v. natural disasters
predictable and uncompromising,
earthquakes rent your fragile
ecosystem and floods made it
even harder to breathe.
in which I try to forget my dreamswith Sunday-heavy lips, she calls me
selfish and means it. I remember
dreams better than people, strangers
greeting me in the grocery store over
a common past and sorry selection
of red grapes. I remember Katie
being beautiful and happy and
wearing the same abnormal toe shoes
and being a few decades older than time
would allow, I remember Emily
being alive. I remember me
escaping to France to defy logic
and stow away in a pretentious,
overpriced tourist resort where
I’d learn to speak a language
I’d never use and love people
who’d never know me; I remember
she tells me trust is not a virtue.
responsibility is gained and
taken away when you prove
unable to learn to be normal and
defiant at trying to breathe. she says,
I love you, but I don’t understand,
and she cries, saucer-eyed,
and this time I can’t
pre-subliminationa few years back you drowned
yourself nightly, face-down
and bloated, infatuated
with the moon's pearly depressions.
in darkness, I’d remembered you as
the theoretical portrait you used
to define death to different
philosophers. but now, a long
and simple time exceeds your careful
skin, your embryonic forms bruising
beneath quietudes where i had promised
you absolution and developed things,
and you kept still like a planet.
the letters you wrote from loved to lonely
were there when you peeled back my teachings,
because the skin beneath my thoughts
was your one taste of honest stillness
without newspaper words calling themselves
over, heady and apologetic, like lineal
beauties mating with the ambience.
you prophesized your own downfall
and romanticized it, noting only
the longevity of the paper doll people with
champagne sincerities frothing from their lips,
instead of the muffled pulse they carried
in weakness. and when you scar,
not beautifully, you will begin
to honor the treas
reasons why I don't fly awayabove half-hearted streetlights and industrial flooding
and vague misinterpretations, I cut
a little too deep.
it always comes to this; hungry shivers,
dry voices, heavy breaths as your eyes
fixate upon a set point in the distance
which you label as happiness, a nirvana
in plain view but too far
for your rubber legs to take you there.
back then we were theorists developing
a new frontier; we were two dreamers,
two corpses on a collision course in
the desperate season. you warned me
there weren’t enough words to say
beautiful; as it turns out, we
were a slip of the tongue.
I woke this morning
a butterfly. you would like
the sun pouring through my wings and
the feathers collecting
at the foot of my bed.
dreamergirlThe Last Time I saw you,
you were down in the dirt,
[literally] on hands and knees,
looking for the bit of magic
your father had promised was toiling
just underneath the surface.
You feel it, you whispered in
a cotton hush like the vibrancy
of your voice would intimidate the
dreams you scraped at beneath the
faultlines. Daddy never told a lie
[excluding the usual good things
come to those who wait, and 'tis better
to have loved and lost, and every end
is a new beginning]. You feel it,
you whispered, trembling at the hands
the same way you did for the Pills
that couldn't quite fix the Problem.
I never really understood all the ways
you crumbled. Ours was only
a simple appreciation, the kind
you see in dog-eared romance novels
and time-old photographs but never
real living people. And The Night
you swore to me you loved everyone
in the world, imperfections and
jaded natures and judging eyes and all,
for the simple fact they were alive,
I called you crazy. You said
they were impossible
ghostwriterhere, everyone’s pupils are dilated
and skin is stretched too tight
to expose the wind-swept spider webs
writhing beneath their porcelain composure
here, the shadows are afraid of us.
(and it is our desire
to finally come down to that place
at night, the rigid ghosts rock me to
sleep. their cardboard hearts and
inky eyes just begging to be seen
(it is only in the
darkness that I am
perceived to be more
than I am; holy
star to guide them
the current carries my name,
I have spent too little
too long on rivers that
only flow south
I vomit up saltwater and
try to remember,
existentialism and shoddy metaphorsI was violet-cheeked and
diamond-hearted; a work
of art in reverse,
tearing between my ribs
and calling it beautiful,
and I wonder now why they
never taught me this in school;
the sepia-saturated glow life
gives out some point after
you’ve realized wishes are
for those who’ve not yet
woken more alone than when
they went to sleep,
they never taught me all
the reasons why or that
sin tastes sweet. I met
my maker once in a backalley
bar, stormy eyes and peppermint
breath, charming off a hangover;
he sighed, “I know how many
days it’ll take you to give up
completely. I know how many
dreams you’ve sold away and
how many lies you need to
swallow before you can fall asleep.
I know that you’ve never quite
grown up and I know that
you’re afraid of me” he
smiled silent and downed
another drink, losing himself
in the ramblings of a solipsistic
existence where “I” am finally all
that matters (and sometimes
I believe I was built hollow
Little Miss It“Do you enjoy her company?”
That, Avadaci concluded, had been the extent of his grandfather’s kindness. Thank the stars he had broken his neck after a failed attempt to ascend the castle staircase. Not that many were privy to this information. The official listing on the cause of death involved something along the lines of falling in battle after slaying at least a dozen demons, although this was treated with quite a bit of skepticism by the general populace. Yet, interestingly enough, a decent portion of the locals believed a tale about the cannibals of Unkhtom devouring him whole.
Not that Avadaci really cared how his grandfather had died. He was just glad he was dead. And if he was glad his grandfather had died, Avadaci wondered, why did he have to attend his funeral? In fact, the whole kingdom was glad his grandfather had died. Why did they have to attend the funeral?
“Oh Avad,” proclaimed his mother, “obv
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