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do you really have a choice???dont condemn them
for they do not know what they ask
i knew what i was asking for
so i deserve this sufferen
but do not take their innocence
we all reach that point
where breathing just get to hard
you pretend you care
then prove to me you dont
im lyeing hear in this fatal position
wait for these tears to leave
and its you fault!
to believe in angels
you must believe in
dont burn to bright...
just bright enough for me
they play in grave yard
without knowing it
disturding the dirt
and the people under it
I'd tell you to go to hell
but i know sending you home
wouldnt do anyone any good
I am dirty & discarded
a memory to easily forgotten
i might aswel be a figment of your imagination
existing for the breifest moment in time
It's a heartbreaking feeling
while I know you love her
I hope she realizes how special you are
in the dreams of the immemorable
answers plead to be spoken
but the question
seven secondsin the last seven seconds i realized 3 things
well actually i miss a lot of things at the moment. i miss the sun and the sand on the beaches mixing together. i also miss the feeling of adventure when i go somewhere i haven't been before. but when I'm talking about what i miss i was actually thinking of you. I'm not exactly sure what i miss about you, maybe it was the green in your eyes that was almost invisible behind the brown or maybe it was how your hands never seemed to get cold, maybe it wasn't any of these but i know it has something to do with how we would sit somewhere and talk for hours and we would both seem so happy, i remember meg asking me later what we had been talking about (she always had had a crush on you) and i would never be able to tell her, not because it was private but i could never have been able to sum it up. i remember sitting next to you thinking about growing old together. some how growing old with you didn't seem so bad you s
her diaryher diary sits on the bed,
where he discarded it hours earlier.
she had sent it with a parcel,
that she said contained her heart
(he didn't dare find out what it really was).
the dairy she had started writing when they were together.
(a month before she left)
2 years of her life were held in its pages
followed with sticky notes and falling out pages
when he found it lying on his bed
he had secretly hoped that it would reveal where she was.
he seamed to have forgotten that she wrote in poems
about how she felt
the only clue to where she was is a small note
on the back page
to find me u must find the place where
my best friend...she's scared to feel...
to fall in love,
to believe in people,
they have ALL let her down
one to many times.
she's looking for an escape,
a way to enter the blackness
that is reached just before you wake up.
the place where nothing can find her.
the place that feels free
the place of nothingness.
(she doesn't see the prison bars
in my headi have a confession to make...
i don't dream when i sleep
for some people that could be normal
but for me i think its strange
I'm supposed to control what happens,
so why do most my favorite characters die?
my so called dreams...
they are my little fairy-tales
but they grow and Grow and GROW
until i cant control them
i know it may sound weird that
i cant control my own thoughts
but it just starts to overwhelm me
i try to stay with reality as much as i can
but after awhile of trying to block them
they turn into nightmares and ruin me
they make me moody, hard to get along with
and then REAL people are also getting angry at me
not just the people in my head
its hurting me...
i think that its all gonna kill me
I'm trying not to be dramatic here
Ice BabyYou should live in the Arctic, baby.
where the sun don't shine to often,
with animals so dangerous and cute.
you would fit right in there, baby.
you could dance in snow
and maybe find something
more dangerous then yourself.
oh baby you would love it there,
where it can never get to hot...
but without me you would have to live,
you would only have animals, baby.
I'm sorry i could not come with you
but your baby is joined to the sun.
I'm so sorry...
my ice baby.
I am a MouseI am a mouse.
I am quiet, I am nothing.
I am a book that nobody has read.
I am an eclipsed sun and a cloaked moon.
I am irrelevant and unwanted, a broken toy in an attic.
I am the dust in your rear-view mirror that you leave behind.
I am the air that you breathe in and spit out as something different.
I am the palest white. I am the darkest black. I am the dullest, emptiest grey.
I am the old man with forgotten memories and the baby who has yet to make them.
I am a forgotten word, dangling on the tip of your tongue, hanging on the noose of your lips.
I am a dried up stream. I am a felled forest. I am an abandoned cornucopia of resolute nothingness.
And there is Hell burning in my eyes.
PainParalized by the suffering
A shiver down my spine
Images of my past haunt me
No one can save me from this hell
A void within meAlone on this inhospitable night, once again
I let my memories guide my lost steps,
Wandering amid the ghosts of my past.
As I walk along the quay,
I stare at the feeble Seine flowing:
She's dying by the street lamps' hands
While the whole city asphyxiates.
Reflecting my own lack of humanity
Over the river's lighted surface,
Griefs come and go at the water's rhythm.
Once again, on this breathtaking night,
My feelings are sealed and my chest hollow.
Purple rain, chills of cold.... Or regret? I crave
My musical drug, my remaining salvation,
Spreading a sweet poison within me and
Eroding the remaining happiness I still have.
I plug my headphones...
A grin of relief appears on my weary face,
I flee to lenient lands, where a familiar Angel tucks me in.
These notes of violin split the immutable silence,
Fill the hole in, lit a bonfire to my soul.
This mermaid sings my dreams to me,
i can't keep walking on these dry-rot bonesoh, i am not a poet;
like the ink scratches
of plath, i am
specter boy: decay,
dispose, & disappoint
because this is the way
that writers wane -
(this hangman head is no
survivor story, & gods
do not burn out
you talk like a travestyoh, mercury boy, you can't
write your way out of this
body or out of this mind;
you can pray like it's high-fashion,
insist you're only burning yourself out
(but tell me - do you feel like a god yet?)
if only for murky mirrors &
silver cicadas caught
in your ribcage, you've
got a knack for decaying
to me you are perfect
I do not know the reasons
for all those scars burning
against your bright skin
you've been soaking
a pain reminiscing from past
we both cannot recollect
yet you are so beautiful..
when night gets darker
and I am the one...
who's hungered to undress
the spirit of you
slowly revealing the layers
coming off from shadows
disguised in desires
craving to be fulfilled
I will caress every corner
of your silhouette
until I figure the true shape
of your heart
I will rub those blisters
softly until every nerve
of you gushes into a river
and you moan into a life
I had promised you
years ago when we began
to breath into each other
for all the truths
I must swallow
and lessons I must learn
you are the one
I am destined to discover
what it means
to love in perfection
california wintersthe tears
I rationed have all
run out. Tuesday comes
up behind me and steals
my breath; my cat snores.
she can’t sleep soundly
since she lost her seventh
life. I’m like that, I’m always
worried someone will try to steal
what I’ve already given away.
I miss color. newsprint sobs
washed me out. I am a
blank canvas, I am a faceless,
I am one
of you. I wake up sweating
and it’s winter and I can’t
sleep because my memories
follow me between my sheets;
jake still won’t listen.
we never knew we were the
lucky ones, we scarred, too. don’t
touch me. don’t want
me, don’t bare my bones
when you think I’m not
watching. I’m afraid of
myself. breathing loud
enough that others know
I exist; you follow me,
needing, laughing, it’s
a game. who has lost
the most, we all want
to win; I’m so tired, so scared,
there’s no one in the world
who sees me. I can’t cry.
we’re in a drought.
Hold the HeartI.
Your heart is like the old wall,
at the end of the street,
filled with random scribbles,
of names and dates.
Though yours smells of wine and scented candles,
cluttered with faulty promises rather than garbage.
I watched you toss it so many times,
like a useless rag ball, but this time hurt didn't it?
She couldn't bear to see her name,
topping the list of a million others,
nor the lipstick print you forgot to wipe,
mixed with the scent of another's perfume.
She added a new smudge to your wall,
a line of black carefully drawn
across the memories and faces,
and firmly stated:
"No more littering allowed at all".
Then she took a hammer and ripped a hole,
wincing in disgust at the decaying flesh hiding below.
Hold your heart in your hands,
the patches can no longer sustain,
there are too many pieces now,
I think you're even harming it more,
with every sting of the needle,
while you desperately try to sew it whole.
no 11:11 wishinghey say he likes her,
and shes cant help pray
that they were right.
his eyes are like
the months between summer and autumn,
specks of green hidden behind a gentle brown.
and his voice seems to melt even her heart.
she doesnt want to love him.
but she cant help herself
and she cant help hoping
that someday he will want her back.
she may hope yes,
but she will never let herself wish
because her wishes seem to get lost
on their way to heaven.
so tonight she will go to bed before 11:11
and HOPE that one day...
he will love her too.
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Lilyas has dedicated herself to making our community a brighter place with her vibrant artwork and infectious enthusiasm for interacting with others in our community. It has certainly paid off, as many deviants flock to her page on a daily basis to let her know how much of an inspiration she is. We absolutely agree, and couldn't let all that hard work go without recognition, so it's with great pride that we bestow the Deviousness Award for March 2014, to ... Read More