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Lo, How She Lie, Still and BrokenI'm trying so hard to get better,
So hard to be strong.
I'm trying so hard to keep smiling,
So hard to go on.
But I'm getting tired,
This happiness drains me.
The walls are closing in,
It's getting hard to breath.
Goes in and out.
The room goes black and white.
I can't take much more of this,
I think I've lost my sight.
Moral of the story:
You can't do it all,
Because no matter what you say or do,
Even the mighty fall.
For the BrokenThis is for the ones like me,
The ones who are broken but none can see.
This is for the ones who've been lost,
The ones who've paid a high cost.
This is for the broken souls,
Whose lives have washed up on barren shoals.
This is for the ones who were broken in another's hands,
The ones who've cried enough tears to cover vast lands.
This is for the girl who has become unclean under his touch,
For the boy who's suffered just as much.
This is for the people shattered on the ground,
For the ones who suffer without making a sound.
This is for the broken ones,
For all the daughters and sons.
MessEverywhere I go
Every single place
The troubles seem to grow
Every smiling face
Eventually frowns with woe
Why can't I do
I just screw
Up everything despite
The happiness I try to spew
Is it me
Am I the source of this ache
Does the pain flow free
Is this what I make
Should I go away and hide
Never to see others
Or the outside
But would I stop another's
Pain and be the only one that ever cried
What is a life with no grey
When everyone is sad
I'd give it all away
It wouldn't be that bad
I would finally be able to say
I saved a life
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.
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.
I am Hetalia!Draw your knife out, slice and dice~
Lick the blood off, tastes so nice~
Laugh it off, as they cry~
Show no mercy, 'cause it's goodbye~
I've finally lost my mind~
Before I Can Become a WriterDevelop insomnia. Develop
problems with substance abuse,
nothing serious, but enough
that I can say “write drunk,
edit sober” and mean it.
Drink tea. Write about drinking
tea. Take up smoking, ignore
the thoughts about it being
a slower suicide. Write about
suicide. Don’t mean it.
Write about sunsets and
ink veins. Mean it.
Fall in love with someone
who will never love me back.
Lament. Write a million
crappy poems and two good
ones. Never show him.
Move on. Write a few more
bad poems. Fall in love with
someone perfect. Screw it up.
Fall in love with someone awful.
Call him perfect. Screw it up.
Cry. Cry for the inevitable,
the way my family never
loved me right, the way my
first kiss was regrettable
at best, the way my therapist
says my depression is a demon
taking over me. Cry for the
changeable, the way
I hate my body and my writing
and everything I live to be.
Use clichés. Live clichés,
breathe clichés, be
a cliché. Write a poem
Falling ButterfliesThere lies a girl in a forest so dead
With a thought, just a thought, living inside her head
A thought of a world with no furious knights
A world with a dream in the darkest of nights
There lies a girl with a thought in her mind
Something the others simply left behind
A thought of a world of imagination
Where everyone lives in their own creations
A girl living in an imaginary place
With fire in the rain and a smile on her face
There lies a girl with a new point of view...
There lies a girl looking up towards you
There lies a girl, with a knife in her flesh
Life was not a place filled with happiness
What was the point of surviving at all
If every butterfly flies only to fall?
SorryI'm sorry I'm a mess.
I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment.
I'm sorry that I don't get your "jokes".
I'm sorry they sound more like insults.
I'm sorry that my grades aren't perfect.
I'm sorry you don't help me.
I'm sorry that I'm not perfect.
I'm sorry you taught me I couldn't be.
I'm sorry your house isn't clean.
I'm sorry you didn't tell me to clean it.
I'm sorry that I act to strong.
I'm sorry I learned to survive.
I'm sorry that I don't share with you more.
I'm sorry that you are ignoring me.
I'm sorry I don't know what I'm apologizing for.
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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