When i reach down deep inside of me, buried beneath the drugs and weightless happy, I find her.
She is much like me, though contrary to popular belief, I am not like her. She is my darkness.
She wrote her fears in her skin and on paper, ink and blood making no difference
to the words that rushed from her anxious pores. A scratched black gem of sorts, if analogies could be so accurate.
Her self concious stature proved too much for many, this constant ring in the back of her head, three words always loudest: "never good enough"
When I let her talk, she's brutal. Bruises to an already marred mind, she's not kind to herself or anyone else.
I'll keep living 'till I'm perfect, a foerever-ageless circus.
I'll run 'till my lungs explode, until my pulse is no more.
When breathing interrupts the silence,
inhale
exhale,
Deaths' defiance.
Scars that carry across my eyes, truth bleeding from every pore.
I find the metaphorical stregnth to keep the stitches in their places.
The only things that binds my mind, little strings dissolving within sewd skin.
No where is safe for those left behind, disintegrating, deformed, defined.
Perfection as a corpse.
A perfect end.
I Want What I Can't Have by EbabIetiac, literature
Literature
I Want What I Can't Have
I fear his rejection. His absolute revolt.
I crave his time. His defiant attention.
His reasonable rebellion towards the idea of me and him is justified.
Nontheless, still painful to watch our friendshp crack as the attraction multiplies.
I want to stop hiding from how I feel. Start embracing the way looking at him makes my heart skip.
the fact that everytime i see him, regardless of mood, my day gets better.
I want to know when i will deserve enough respect in his eyes to be seen as his friend, and not his best friends ex...
but maybe it's wrongful of me to ask for such things.
She's scarred with broken promises and lies she could not hide.
Ex-friends and past relations all subside into her mind.
Bruised with doubt and hatred, she drowns in her own guilt.
Suffice to say, she died that day, splintered coffin now rebuilt.
Fortunetly, this story, does not end in tragedy.
She said sorry, moved on with her habits, obsessions that consumed her life.
Swollen knuckles show lack of self restraint, but she didn't mean to hurt what little she had left.
Shear accident lead her to a trench in the deep of her mind.
Leagues deep, miles wide, no air to breathe, she left behind a memory.
Dropped it down and there it sat
When i reach down deep inside of me, buried beneath the drugs and weightless happy, I find her.
She is much like me, though contrary to popular belief, I am not like her. She is my darkness.
She wrote her fears in her skin and on paper, ink and blood making no difference
to the words that rushed from her anxious pores. A scratched black gem of sorts, if analogies could be so accurate.
Her self concious stature proved too much for many, this constant ring in the back of her head, three words always loudest: "never good enough"
When I let her talk, she's brutal. Bruises to an already marred mind, she's not kind to herself or anyone else.
I'll keep living 'till I'm perfect, a foerever-ageless circus.
I'll run 'till my lungs explode, until my pulse is no more.
When breathing interrupts the silence,
inhale
exhale,
Deaths' defiance.
Scars that carry across my eyes, truth bleeding from every pore.
I find the metaphorical stregnth to keep the stitches in their places.
The only things that binds my mind, little strings dissolving within sewd skin.
No where is safe for those left behind, disintegrating, deformed, defined.
Perfection as a corpse.
A perfect end.
I Want What I Can't Have by EbabIetiac, literature
Literature
I Want What I Can't Have
I fear his rejection. His absolute revolt.
I crave his time. His defiant attention.
His reasonable rebellion towards the idea of me and him is justified.
Nontheless, still painful to watch our friendshp crack as the attraction multiplies.
I want to stop hiding from how I feel. Start embracing the way looking at him makes my heart skip.
the fact that everytime i see him, regardless of mood, my day gets better.
I want to know when i will deserve enough respect in his eyes to be seen as his friend, and not his best friends ex...
but maybe it's wrongful of me to ask for such things.
She's scarred with broken promises and lies she could not hide.
Ex-friends and past relations all subside into her mind.
Bruised with doubt and hatred, she drowns in her own guilt.
Suffice to say, she died that day, splintered coffin now rebuilt.
Fortunetly, this story, does not end in tragedy.
She said sorry, moved on with her habits, obsessions that consumed her life.
Swollen knuckles show lack of self restraint, but she didn't mean to hurt what little she had left.
Shear accident lead her to a trench in the deep of her mind.
Leagues deep, miles wide, no air to breathe, she left behind a memory.
Dropped it down and there it sat
I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I have to remember to breathe every time those words come, I dont want to believe it. I still cant believe it. I remember the first time my counselor looked at me and told me that my depression and anxiety might be something more. Great, I thought, What could possibly be worse than this?
Firstly, PTSD is not a disorder that only affects our war heroes, though that is what its commonly associated with. My own first thoughts were: isnt that a disorder for war veterans or someone who witnessed war first-hand? The truth is there are many causes for Post Traumatic Stress
they told me it was ok
they told me it was fine
but then they turned they're backs
they all told me lies
why do people do this
it only adds to pain
tortures me from the inside
until it comes out
i hurt myself
i want to die
it their fault i bleed
not mine
i make a cut
then another or two
until my wirsts are torn up
and i drip red
why am i meant to suffer
never asked for this pain
i've been good
i've been nice
but you continue anyways
you torture me
but no one can see
that all this misery
is affecting me
i fall into hole
am not able to get out
i want to be happy
can't with your help
want you to bleed
want you to die
can't you see how you're effecting me
I sit there in silence
As the steak knife calls me from the drawer
I look over at my clock ticking
3 a.m. exactly
All my loved ones went to bed long ago
There's no one to stop me anymore
I actually want it to happen
I embrace it
Welcome it
I get up from my comfy position
With the same dark intentions in my head
And I make my way to the kitchen
Inch by inch
Foot by foot
Like a zombie I walk
Eyes glazed over
I open the drawer as I see the knife justing sitting there
Waiting for me
I greet it like an old friend
As I take it in my grasp
Its metallic steel blade glowing in the dim light
But soon after the greeting is over
I b
Sarcasm Is A Wonderful Thing by EbabIetiac, literature
Literature
Sarcasm Is A Wonderful Thing
Dear Rich Consumer,
Hi there. To start off, I feel kind of bad for giving you the wrong directions. Accidents happen! But it's me, one of many people who provide income by doing hard labor. You probably don't remember, but that's fine. I'm just so ecstatic that i can be the tax payer basically handing you my monthly mortgage in dollar signs so you can enjoy a nice air conditioned, bump-free ride through my town you call a shit hole.
I absolutely regret that in your time of staying in this "pig-stye," you had to see real people do