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Literature Text
I want to be dust
Floating in the care free air
Free to roam on breathless sighs
Empty, yet consumed
I want to be skinless
Shoulder blades etching like swans
From my decomposing back
So beautifully created
Under my delicate decaying mask
Painting red skies onto my skin
The pain-staking sky washes over me
Brushing through my pores
And leaving trails of crimson secrets
That my lips daren't ever tell
Deliverance, decadence, fragility
A breath taking numbness
Cold to the touch, and lifeless to the bone
My frayed mentality, forever wearing away
With each battered and weathered memory
Etching themselves onto my brain
Like an artist's masterpiece
That encompasses his soul
Forever waiting....just waiting
For that masterpiece to be understood
As beauty, and not a delicate mess
Floating in the care free air
Free to roam on breathless sighs
Empty, yet consumed
I want to be skinless
Shoulder blades etching like swans
From my decomposing back
So beautifully created
Under my delicate decaying mask
Painting red skies onto my skin
The pain-staking sky washes over me
Brushing through my pores
And leaving trails of crimson secrets
That my lips daren't ever tell
Deliverance, decadence, fragility
A breath taking numbness
Cold to the touch, and lifeless to the bone
My frayed mentality, forever wearing away
With each battered and weathered memory
Etching themselves onto my brain
Like an artist's masterpiece
That encompasses his soul
Forever waiting....just waiting
For that masterpiece to be understood
As beauty, and not a delicate mess
Literature
Suicidal
Blood flows from our wrists,
Making our hands turn into fists.
We only feel the pain and sorrow,
Have we given up hope for a better tomorrow?
The rope is hanging from the ceiling,
Helping us end that miserable feeling.
The pills are scattered across the floor,
Maybe we need to swallow just one more?
Others might refuse to see the cruelty of life,
While others try to end it by the knife.
Trying to get out of this cruel dream,
Sometimes all we can do is scream.
There are others like you out there,
You might not yet know where.
But they try to overcome it,
That's something not all will admit.
Every one of us needs a helping hand,
Literature
Suicide Note
The article in the paper said that she killed herself by jumping off an eight-floor apartment block. He felt that something was off there. Not in the gesture itself, but in its details.
Her mother told the journalists, crying, that she wasn't the sort of girl who would do such a thing. Her best friend said that she had her depressive episodes, but nobody could possibly have expected this. But he? He didn't find her taking her own life all that surprising. Still, something wasn't right. No suicide note, no sort of message to him. No strange actions, no frantic love-making or dispassionate 'my head hurts' statements. Everything had been normal
Literature
Body Speak, Mouth Don't.
"I need a favour. You got a minute?"
No. No I don't.
My heart feels ripped out of my chest and trampled on too often.
My ears open to screams in the morning.
My eyes close crying every night.
My mind always turns dreams into nightmares.
My lungs contract too soon for me to catch my breath.
My worries far outweigh my years.
My brain feels overworked, overwrought, so tired.
My stomach cramps every night and I curl up in pain.
My knees weaken often but I'm still standing.
My mouth goes dry and I can't speak.
My hands dampen because I have too much to think about.
My bones feel weaker than they ever have before.
But I don't think it
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This is an old piece of writing, but it is one of the pieces that I am proud of. I'm not entirely sure why, but I am.
© 2012 - 2024 MouseMakesMess
Comments23
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I Enjoyed Reading Each word
Nice Job And Very Well Written...
Two Thumbs Up
Nice Job And Very Well Written...
Two Thumbs Up