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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.
Leave this WorldI will slit my wrists
to watch the blood fall to the floor
to end my life for good
and nobody cry a single tear
I will leave this world
pretend that I never existed
This life dont need me no more
I am better off gone from this world
I will slit my wrists
to ease the pain
I can't take the crying
I can't take this pain
There is no hope in this world
There is no reason to live
I will leave this world for good
Maybe someday I will be reborn
Traumas and LoveI have reached a point in my life where I no longer feel a need to talk about my personal life on the Internet other than funny little stories, both because from there very start people would misinterpret what I was getting at which made it feel kinda pointless, and also because I'm now more calm and at ease with myself.
But one thing I have never shared with you is why I joke about things. Obviously humor is very important to me, but I'm rarely completely honest about why I think some serious subjects are okay to joke about.
I deal with my own traumas that way.
I'm very much a Chandler ("Friends"). I don't do deep emotional moments. I make silly comics to get it out, and they are my equivalent of "You don't have to comment, just listen" and "It's okay, you don't have to feel awkward about this with me just because I've been through shit. We can joke about it"
Of course I've been an idiot, because how are people supposed to know it when I don't want to talk about it to random people on
My Scars Prove You Wrong (original song)Scars on the surface, on my skin
Look at the wounds to know, where i've been
Throwing me against, my own walls
But I've learned to fly, when i fall
And I know my scars are only on the surface
And I know that I, I, I am not worthless
No matter how they break me, i'm unbreakable
No matter how they hurt me, i'm invincible
You know a heart
Keeps on bleeding
When it breaks it goes on beating
I, I'll keep on keeping on
'Cause my scars prove you, wrong.
Fatal LoversYou and I are the definition of fatal attraction,
like a serotonin deficiency to the pretty side of the blade,
like the heavy-hearted pebble that wants to trails its lips across still waters,
like sun-bleached and wind-whipped birch paper to the lustful licks of shadow-dancing candle flame.
I expect everything to fail - us, no exception -
because having to hold my hopes up is far too hard on my limbs,
when my wrists just want to bleed out,
my shoulder blades still ache from tearing out my wing span,
and my fingertips burn from when they learnt to trust, and then couldn't hold on when that trust fell out from under them.
You say you carry far too much baggage whenever you take a trip to my heart,
when you trip,
and fall into love.
But I'll be your suitcase,
your luggage cart,
the entire fucking cargo hold of as many airplanes as you will ever need.
Because having no baggage means you're only here temporarily,
and I want you for so much longer than that.
I want you to pack up your
CanvasLet her paint a masterpiece,
Let her paint a lie
Let her paint a word inside the shining silver skies.
Let her paint a mystery,
Let her paint a sin
Let her paint the things that lie in darkness deep within.
Let her paint a masterpiece
(but this time there's a twist)
Make the brush a blade and let the canvas be her wrist...
the first poem i wrote since i told you i love youthe star-soaked stains
that covered our nudity
gives way at last
to a tequila sunrise,
so low in the sky;
it's still bright enough
to sting my eyes,
and yet i can't bring myself
to hate it.
your body next to mine,
every effort is made
to move a heavy limb
because any space
is space i don't want.
i am sometimes humbled
by my feelings,
the way they swell
in my throat
just how the ocean
tastes the shore.
there is always something new
to find hidden in my heart,
summoned by my words,
or the salt of your skin
wearing like wind on shale
i don't think i can ever tell you
i love you enough.
if i could, i would never get dressed
so that you could never be sad-
a rewind every time
my clothes touch the floor,
never anything but nude, not naked
because with you i can be bare
i can let you see my entirety
and leave my arms uncrossed,
i can let you in
and not fear that you will break me,
or force my inner things out.
i can love you with open arms
and my lip
on skimming the surfacedear ex-lovers,
dear ex-friends, dear little brother,
i have taken all the posters down and my room is a skeleton.
i wonder why you are sad and i am not.
i have taken time and care to grow into these walls
to plant memories here, first fuck
first sleepless night, first question of suicide,
i have collected bones-
here see them in my closet-
i have broken them all.
love was not strong enough to keep me here,
and love is not strong enough, after
yes i ami hope they get what they want and get married and i hope when he fucks her outside of the motel he's gone back far back into his head but his eyes are looking at her and they're bleeding red. i hope she cries and i hope she realizes that he's going to change and there won't be anymore. "you're pretty like stolen skin is pretty," or "sweetie please don't go to bed without me" it will just be her head hitting the back of the bed and their walls will be cream colored and his lips are betraying her for the blunt or the bottle or the bong
i hope they have three kids and i hope they're the most beautiful people anyone has ever seen and i hope their names are something like macy marina and matthew. i hope macy has his ugly mud eyes and i hope when boys look at them their feet get stuck and she rips them apart just like her mother. i hope marina braids her dishwater hair everyday and i hope every girl she loves loves her back because she's not selfish like her mother or a liar like her father
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