|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
When I'm GoneI don’t want you to remember me.
I don’t want you to think of me.
I don’t want you to hurt over me.
I don’t want you to dream of me.
I don’t want you to cry for me.
I don’t want you to miss me.
I don’t want you to love me.
I don’t want you
What Happened?I used to think make up
Made people ugly.
Now I think I'm ugly without it.
I used to think people
Always loved me.
Now I think everyone hates me.
I used to think everybody
Was my best friend.
Now I think no one truly is.
I used to think
Boys were icky!
Now I wish I had one.
What happened to being
DisappearWishing to disappear
never to existed in their mind
no reason to cheer
this is why I was designed
there's a cloud over me and its raining knives
all smiles are faked
no one hears his cry's
as he sits there shivers and shakes
doesn't even try to reach out because there's nothing there
only my own numb stare
no desire to fight the devils wrenches
would anyone notice if I could disappear
because Im starting to feel warm in these trenches
would they even shed a tear?
Sick of the acting
let me compost with the dirt
live????..... ill think Ill be passing
lets make sure this hurts
still wishing to disappear
lets seal this coffin with a drop of blood and a tear
I'm Fine"Are you okay?"
No. I'm dying. I have to push myself to wake up in the morning, and when I finally do, I want to go back to sleep. Even my best dreams are becoming nightmares. I can't taste food, I can't stand the things I used to love. I'm breaking. I'm fading. I'm dying.
You're Not A PoetYou’re not a poet because of strung words
Together on row upon row again
Of blank verse or perhaps liberal rhyme.
‘Slam’ all you want, other poets wonder;
Your ignorance of couplets a blunder?
Yes! I speak harshly, but it’s no gross crime,
To point with honesty failed verse of thine.
No real poet discards upper case words;
Lets prose crawl on paper like listless worms.
You seek to free verse of those stern letters,
Sever away bleak capital fetters,
But it doesn’t sing of great speech sublime,
Rather, it sneaks of writing in spare time.
Wait! before you throw me in the icy Rhine;
It’s hard to put verse together in rhyme,
To make our dull words sound great all the time,
Hear them ring out loud, like a clear clock’s chime,
Heralding a poet’s summer prime.
Yet the sacred muses weep at your crime;
Your pentameter mangled thick like slime,
The subject not gilded in raiment fine;
Your bold ink font, crystal waters divine
Tastes bitter to the ton
Keep in Touch!
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