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Dead, Inside and OutI scream, but nobody hears
I cry, but nobody cares
I look, but I do not find
I try, but I do not die
I wake, but I never really sleep
I eat, but I never really taste
I long, but I never really know
I try to stay, but it is time to go
I slumber, but I do not wake
I crack, but I do not break
I gasp, but I do not breath
I swallow, but I do not sneeze
I am floating, through the pale air
I am moving, though I do not care
I am strangled with tears, yet I do not pout
I am dead, inside and out.
Eyes That Watch MeEyes that watch me,
eyes that don't.
Eyes that follow me,
eyes that won't.
Eyes in my family and
eyes in my friends.
Eyes in nature that
never seem to end.
Eyes that watch every move I make,
every breath I take,
every word I utter and mutter and stutter.
Eyes that judge me, love me and hate me;
Eyes that fear me, loathe me, pity me;
Eyes that want to be me and curse me for existing.
But the eyes that watch me the most,
always the most critical,
are the eyes that
I Am A...I am a survivor
Because I wish to survive.
I am a dreamer
Because dreams are my break from reality.
I am a lover
Because I yearn to love.
I am a seeker
Because I will seek for my joy.
I am an observer
Because I can observe my enemies,
and know the score.
I am a killer
Because I kill to save others.
I am a hunter
Because I will hunt for truth and lies.
I am a decider
Because I can decide if I can trust you.
I am a teacher
Because I teach the future.
I am a student
Because I still learn.
I am a fighter
Because I do not believe in surrender.
I am a hater
Because the world dispises my spirit
and wants to bring me down.
I am a rebel
Because when the world spits in my face,
I will spit back.
I am a leader
Because I refuse to break down.
I am a wise one
Because wise one's understand lies.
I am a child
Because I can still laugh at other's stupidity.
I am an adult
Because I can put up with you.
I am innocent
Because my heart throbs with ignorance.
I am robbed
Because I still feel the pain.
BurningNothing makes sense anymore.
The world is mashing together
in a swirl of endless colours,
colours so bright they could
knock a person out.
seems to be as it once was,
draped in a curtain of black
and grey. The cover has been
pulled back, revealing the
to me now, more than ever before.
Why did I sit arounf snf waste
time, moping around like I once
you have a wonderful After to be
exploring! This life is so diffe
Ocean of the DeadSurfing over the waves of the ocean
Floating in the dead, cold sea
Alive in my tide of emotions
Searching for a way to be.
My heart goes out with longing
As the waves lapse over my soul
Begging for a sense of belonging
But knowing that I will never be whole.
I am like a Zombie
Wandering, meaningless without ho[e
My story is nothing but an endless lie
My lifeline going down a bottomless slope.
I am dead, understand,
Floating in the depths of the cold
Drowning under the weight of society's demands
And now there is nothing to do except watch me
Cry, and die,
and let my story go unforgotten,
Dreaming of LeavingI've long dreamt of this moment,
the moment when I will be free.
Free from all the endless torment,
Gone from where those judging eyes can see.
I will take the final word of sacrifice,
To gain what I desire.
While others may call it cowardice,
I will never again have to burn from the fire.
For life was not meant to be a pity,
for life was not meant to be a waste.
But for someone who knows no love, no kindness, no amity,
life leaves such a bitter taste.
So I will take this final leap of faith
Into the next greatest journey.
So don't freight or hate me as I bathe
In a sea that will never again leave me burning.
Child of a MurdererThe thrashing of my daddy's screams,
echoing in my ear.
The way that my tears stream
speaking of all my fears.
The thump of mommy hitting the ground
pushes me to my feet.
I ran not to her but all the way around
listening only to my heart beat.
I hit the door running
and ran far away,
my stature anything but cunning,
caring only to escape as daddy begun to slay.
Midnight was when I turned around,
and twilight was when I came inside.
I saw the blood painting mommy's night gown,
and I learned that even a child recognizes someone who has died.
I curled up beside her
hiding within plain sight.
Knowing that daddy was far gone and a distant blur,
and that I would loose both of them, that fateful night.
We found each other in the morning,
those police men and I.
The air of the town full of warning and mourning,
And everyone kept asking me why, oh why?
So that was my story,
hope it wasn't a mess
as the mystery of that night turned quite and gory....
you figure out the rest.
Drip. Drip. Drip.DRIP. DRIP. DRIP.
I lean back into the white bathtub with a content sigh. The bath is filled halfway, covering the majority of my body. The rush of adrenaline that comes with the sense of control and power, that comes whenever I grab hold of my razor and cut myself, appears, but it is slightly different, stronger than before. Nonetheless of its differences, I like it.
DRIP. DRIP. DRIP.
The sound of my blood hitting the bath water leaves me strangely satisfied, and it makes a both haunting and thrilling melody to my sick ears. 'Why haven't I cut this deep before?' I think to myself. The water in the tub is quickly turning red.
DRIP. DRIP. DRIP.
My sense of hearing goes first, turning anything and everything to sound distant and faint. My body is growing weaker, and I feel like I'm a balloon, slowly deflating. That's probably because of the two deep cuts that wrap around my wrists like a rubber band, oozing out my blood, draining away my sense of the living. Pooring out of my body, leavi
I unintentionally use it almost every day.
In a sudden hiccup, I slip up and it slips out.
Even when I can’t think of anything else to say.
You can bet beyond a shadow of a doubt.
That exact word will seep and creep out.
It makes its way into any given conversation.
It’s probably the most used default abbreviation.
It requires no effort and rolls out with no hesitation.
It’s so universal it can be suited to every situation.
In an upsurge it will emerge with no indication.
How can one word have so many definitions.
And still have the same effect despite its repetition.
How can this same word blur all the lines of divisions.
Between polite pleasantries to abusive abrasions of affliction.
How can the tone and meaning change after every rendition.
This word sounds exactly like what it means.
You scream it, shout it and even mutter it under your breath.
No matter how big or little the occasion may seem.
Just unleashing it will take a load off your chest.
You say it w
WordsWords float on a thin line
Some scurry through
My cloudy mind
Never to be caught only
Leaving their essence behind
Give me writings to where
People can sometimes find
What I mean
No matter what I do
I can never seem to convey
The emotion of my poem to
A person despite who they are
I even doubt you
Will get just what I mean
When I finish a poem I rue
Make the stupid poem
My own words
Are twisting and forming
Into a poem I didn't make
Sometimes I feel like crying
The frustration is so great
I keep writing
Otherwise I'll always
Be just scribbling
An Oath to My Father
An Oath to My Father:
The chill of winter is nothing, when compared to the cold inside my heart.
A fire, once stoked by the warmth of family, has quietly died, five falls past.
I dream of my father, who watches from beyond the realms - and my ancestors
Who fought against an endless army of giants, to win the lands we have today.
Just as a devout man honours his God through worship, I honour them through my axe!
Each stroke of the whetstone, each screech of the metal, brings me closer to them -
Even as I draw closer to my doom. Oh how I can feel him, for the anger in my blood
Boils evermore as I sense him approaching my camp. He is hungry, he is eager;
Slacks of drool hang from his twin mouths, as a jarring roar shakes the mountain!
Though I shiver at the sight, it is not from fear - I shiver in anticipation
Of the battle that is to come. My steel may rend his flesh and break his bones;
Or perhaps I shall be sent to glory - but it is useless to think about such things,
Watcher of the NightHe waits in the shadows
Watching and learning
Trying to resist
His unconquerable yearning
An actor of rare disguise
Covering half-truths with unfinished lies
His plans twist and turn
Taking years for fruition
After which he disappears
A forgotten apparition
While lesser men succumb
To the beckoning temptation
He stands regardless
Steadfast by his station
Vigil of the darkness
Watcher of the night
Countless men have tried
To evade his inhuman sight
He is the sum of his fears
For he chooses what he wants to be
He has uncertainties, he has doubts
But is afraid intentionally
He tends the shades of the mighty
And the shadows of the weak
Stifling their deceit
And plugging up the leaks
He watches and learns
Trying to fit in
But he'll soon realize
It's a battle he can't win
The cycle repeats
However hard he fights
But his fate is sealed
As Watcher of the Night
UntitledThere was something of the night, she would say, which had always frightened her.
It wasn't the moonless shadows or the strange prolixity of sounds, but the way the skyline would shatter just beyond the city's crest, as if proving to her childish mind that nothing is truly limitless. Not even the sky.
Where'd the Monsters go.?We stopped checking under our beds
The monsters don’t live there anymore.
Figments of diseased imagination,
Or imagination, a doorway,
To stark, terrible reality.
Don’t close the door.
They warned us.
This switch is rigged.
On is off and off is on.
We turn on the lights,
By falling into blackness,
Stepping into darkness,
The monsters aren’t under our beds.
We turned our backs,
They’re in our heads,
They warned us.
Sky FallIt’s always when it’s raining...
She calls me on the phone.
Her voice worried and hysterical,
Compelling me to get home.
The sky is falling…
That everything’s coming down.
She can feel the whole world crying,
And she’s afraid she going to drown.
Hiding under an umbrella.
Isolated on her bed.
Maybe to keep the rain out,
Or the rumors that have spread.
Trying to ignore them,
Like the voices in her head.
She shuts her eyes to scream,
But silent raindrops fall
That one day,
The clouds might go away.
it leaves me stifled and choked,
When even on the sunny days,
it makes no sense,
that she's always soaked.
In the night.
She wakes to rain,
Hiding under an umbrella in fright.
Like the downfall causes her pain.
She tries to be brave,
Peeking up at the skies.
But she cant help herself,
So she just hides and cries.
and she says
I know i'm lost,
and I've almost lost it all.
Godchaser - Prologue Brother Francis’ foot caught on an uneven brick. He lurched forward, his breath caught in the stitch in his chest; he stumbled, and his dress shoes scraped across the wet cobblestone as he managed to stop. He straightened up, his chest heaving and his glasses askew, but his arms still anchored to Gabriel’s shoulders. His two comrades had abruptly stopped when he tripped; the bishops’ quickly whipped their heads around and stared at him, wide-eyed, their faces nearly as white as their robes – their fear seemed to emit an eerie luminescence to the early evening.
“Not now,” Francis gasped shortly as he urged the two onward, “We don’t have the time!”
The one holding Gabriel’s left leg nodded and turned around; the one on the right visibly gulped – his Adam’s apple protruding like a large white stone from his thin sweaty neck – and shot a
The AnswersThere are so many mysteries left in the dark.
Like what ever happened to Noah's lost ark?
Why did the Nazca draw there lines?
How did the Maya keep such good time?
Was Napoleons death natural or foul pay?
Is Amelia Earhart alive to this day?
What is at the bottom of the Money Pit?
Is the Holy Grail real, and were can we find it?
They say Lizzy Borden was devoid of all good,
And was there really someone called Robin Hood?
The crew of the Mary Celeste, where are they now?
We know the druids built Stonehenge, but how?
The Ark of the Covenant, were could it be?
Forever these questions will puzzle you and me.
Love is a DiesiesI am a mad-man, nothing more,
Who is too foolish to turn away.
Who dares to knock on the forbidden door,
Who doesn't understand why he decays.
A mad-man who does not understand
The grief the diesies brings.
Who grabs his untrusting loved ones hand,
Who answers when the Grimm Reaper rings.
No medications can cure the illness
Of those infected by the diesies.
For love brings no relief besides numbness
As it fullfils its deadly deeds.
Drowning, suffocating, undeniable death
Is what comes to those who are ill.
Who curse their foolish desires to love
Who try to reclimb but fall to Life's Hill.
I pity thee who falls so easily
Under death's taunting spell.
So maybe I am a fool to love thee so openly,
But I do so anyways, even if it means my
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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