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Someone asked me what is love
is it good, is it bad
is it awesome, is it terrible
I honestly didnt know how to answer them.
I finally desided love is the most complicated of all emotions
Love is kind
love is harsh
love is wonderful
love is terrible
love is a cure
love is a sickness
love is LOVE
love is hate
love is meaningful
love is pointless
love shows the best in people
love shows the worse in people
love makes us speak truth
love makes us lie
love understands everything
love confuses everyone
love builds your life
love tears your heart down
love makes you smile
love makes you cry
love makes us cuddle
SuicideSuicide... they call it sin
They say it is a death in which no-one wins...
They encourage you not to do it, they say it is wrong...
But who is there to encourage you when you can't be strong.
You feel like you have no-one, not even a friend.
No shoulder to cry on, just one last letter to send.
tragedies - collab.you deserve all the cobweb dreams,
fairytale hopes, and explosive love
in the world, but i know that i
will never be the one
to give them to you.
you need notes that end with
'ps - you're brighter than
twenty-seven silver stars'.
i can't bring myself
to write them, though.
it's not like you'd read them,
i cut out paper hearts and
dreams and gave them to you, but
you only ripped them up and said
'these aren't good enough.'
when i painted you a picture
of golden skies and sunshine smiles,
you handed it back and told me
'next time, paint realistically.'
so i wrote you a story
filled of starless nights and
the speed addictthe speed addict knows if he stops moving,
he will die. so when inertia takes hold
his heart falters and his head slams against
a future, lit by the dashboard. he hears
his veins stuttering like gears grinding out
a staccato refrain, while the wheel spins and
goes numb. as his breath twists away from his grip,
rasps a hollow plea, he slides on a rail
towards impartial angels leaving rainbow sparks
in his soaring wake, and meets blazing lights.
the addict dies twice. one is nev
heart song.this is the song
to your heart.
why are you locked inside
a bathroom stall? no one
to hold you, tell you sweet
lies and say you are
beautiful, say you are
perfect? it's not the end of
the world, not yet. if it was,
wouldn't there be
your heart is not yet
dead; please do not
say it is. if it was dead,
it wouldn't hurt this
your heart is only sleeping.
when the only melody in your head
is a break up song, and the only thing
your heart seems capable of doing
is twisting itself into knots, and the only
thing you want to do is hide a
DementiaThe old man sits with stooped back.
The room is cold, just like his hands.
Thoughts have wandered like small children.
He wonders if he will see home again.
Thoughts have wandered home again,
with stooped backs and cold hands.
The room sits with the old man.
Like small children, he wonders if he will see cold.
Back stooped with thoughts, he wanders.
Like a child the small room sits, wondering.
Home again is cold.
The old man will see with his hands.
Thoughts have wandered with stooped backs.
The cold hands sit with the old man.
He wonders if he will see like small children.
The room is home again.
you can't feel through fabrictonight the rain becomes the earth
falling from hidden spaces in the sky and swollen clouds
i hear it make mud of dirt, and lovers of friends
and ask, quiet, where are you going but down?
im not all there in the head
youre not all there in the head, my mother says
im not all there in the head i repeat
sometimes im there in my toes and fingers and heart as well
and now - in this downpour moment- i lie on the street
so warm that i think well thats where loves gotten to
but where is your shirt n? oh someplace else
and is that a light flickering in the house across the road? hide!
i rush in soaken w
This PainTears roll down my face,
As I cut myself,
To release the pain.
It hurts so much,
But feels so good.
The pain is draining from me,
In drops of blood.
As I watch my pain leave from me,
"How can this be,
That I have so much pain
When I'm only merely 16?".
Then I remember the past that I've had,
Memories of yelling,
all the awful scars.
I've cried too much,
I've hated so many,
That I don't think people will ever get me.
I come back from my world of thoughts
And realize that I've bled too much,
It's all over the counter,
It's becoming messy,
But I don't care.
I just want this pain out of me.
Sunday in the Kitchendear mother,
i ask you how far we are from heaven.
hunched over the sunday paper like a patient gargoyle.
your eyes blinking too often, and tongue snaking
around in your mouth, as if the answer is hidden between your teeth.
you hum holy bars in the kitchenette.
say "hallelujah means praise yahweh, praise the lord"
say "angels must rest on the tongue of that word"
say "angels, oh angels hallelujah, hallelujah, rest in me"
but you haven't slept in weeks.
i hear you sob sigh into the night like a prayer.
like your table lamp is the closest thing to heaven-gates.
sometimes i still wish i could pray with you
We met in a room full of crowded people
who knew my name
they knew my face
and they knew things I didn't
Most people there knew his parents
and that was about it; the knowledge ended there
He said, Come with me
and I said no
I made friends with social rejects
and I made enemies with people hard to avoid
We kept in touch
Depressing PoemsSorry --
What if she died?
And at the funeral her parents told you,
"You could have saved her from herself."
How would that make you feel?
And that night you went home
Sat in your room alone
And killed yourself
Just to be with her again and tell her
Why do people try to help me?
Do they care?
I guess they do
But all I do is hurt them
She keeps trying to help me
But all I do is push her away
She's my best friend
Why can't I just let her help?
What if I died right now?
How would you fell?
Sad, depressed, torn apart?
Or would you feel nothing,
But an empty place that
when i look in the mirror.one.
things you touch turn silent.
hearts can be blacked, burnt, ashy - but you take the ashes and burn, burn, burn them until there's only a memory left, a memory that's all edges and icicles.
you leave me cold, empty and
i don't want to breathe anymore.
'darling, you would do well to remember-
you can't have a light at the end of the tunnel
if you have no tunnel.
darling, you would do well to remember -
you are not empty. you are not empty.
[it's still hurting, after all. it's still hurting
and you don't want to live,
but you're not empty.]
darling, you would do well to remember-
they love you. they love you,
before she met you, she would reach for the sun while standing on the branches of trees, arms stretched towards the sunlight, reaching and waiting.
now, happiness is like a summer memory in the dead of winter - still there, but fading too fast to hold onto. now, she sits on rooftops with you at night, and the two of you watch as the city lights go out one by one.
sometimes, when you laughed, she was reminded of the wind rushing through trees in winter - melodic and beautiful, but still cold, unforgiving.
the two of you watched the waves of the ocean take away the beach, piece by piece.
you were the waves.
she was the sand.
Feeling Adventurous?Oh God...
He's about to pass me,
about to brush me,
about to touch me,
I'm about to die.
He's about to move,
about to look,
about to smile,
I'm about to die.
He's a God.
he's a fever,
he's an ache,
he's a healing,
he's a break,
all I want,
are those lips,
all the time,
come to me,
and let me be,
just a little...
But only if you're feeling it,
the way I feel it too,
all I want is you,
come to me,
let me be,
just a litle crazy.
Put my hands in your hair,
put your hands on my waist,
hold me close,
pull me near,
then I'll k
blowing bubbles.last night we
watched the clouds
and you said:
you are beautiful.
and i am afraid
that i might one day
actually believe you
sometimes i feel like
i'm just this big bundle
of problems and i have
been searching and
i can't find the answers.
you told me that the answers
are in blowing bubbles and
tying shoe laces and chasing
dreams, but honestly i just
understand. i have tried
to chase my dreams but
they only run away.
you told me that you can't
stand how i sound when i
give up and the hope
is knocked out of me and
you can't stand me when
i am busy counting
the empty spaces in the
the evening newsdeadbeats in debt
and our shoes are
only clean at funerals
THE EVENING NEWS DOESN'T CARE ABOUT US ANYMORE!
it's always global warming
or a dirty priest
a suicidal child actor
and an incurable disease
tell me about a cure for the:
tell me where to get the cheapest drink in town
tell me where the cunts go when the sun goes down
tell me anything but the bullshit you've told me lately
I found myself asking the bums for change last night
we shared a bottle under the bridge and everything is a
hey, charlesqueer foot on the brake and
I'm pissing the bed again, buk
there's two men in the street
yelling about a dead dog
I'm down to my last dollar
and last call was an hour ago
it's getting serious, buk
dollar tuesdaysthe birth control mistress
and her money making schemes
I tell the bartender to bring me
something stiff and cheap
it's whiskey on the rocks
it's my first love
behind me the heroin day jobbers
are drooling themselves to sleep
lined up on their barstools waiting
for the firing squad to take them home
the whores swoon to the filthy
orchestra of drunken twenty somethings
and everything is in it's right place
these drinks would go down smoother
if you were here to share the guilt
but I'll continue looking for you
at the bottom of my first love
to deteriorate means to worsenwith a dry throat
I finger fuck you
my bone splinters
and I beg you to keep it
not even the heroin aficionados
know an addiction like this
they don't know the fucking half of it
what they do know is
that this street is my bed
and where I spit
is where I lay my finished head
they know our names
and they know about
the time I molested myself in public
they know about the
prescription drug love affair
and the night I amused myself
by throwing empty beer bottles
from a second story window
but they will never know
how good it feels to
decompose inside of you
the night I choked you
and fell asleep in my car
paint the bridge, ryanstockholm syndrome and a collapsed lung
these wire wrapped women are examined
it's a sexual parade for the sarcastic cunts
last night my lungs and liver were a canvas
the nicotine mistress spreading her intellectual aids
painting an offensive masterpiece for the mob of leeches
I'm a fly on the wall in this city
and this city is killing me, darling
my american dreama walking mess, we must confess
room smells of no sex and I am a beached whale
declining in a sea of 400 count sheets, no shit, just sleep
pillows swell with dead weight, no wait
gray matter, take me home
my american dream rapes, lies and drinks too much
my american dream is no different than yours
gray matter, pass me a bottle or a bullet
america, you cunt
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`anmari has been spreading her infectious positivity throughout our community for over 6 years. Throughout this time Ana has been at the core of all things devious, passionately developing an eclectic gallery, helping organise devmeets, participating in chat events and also recently completed dedicating her time as a Community Volunteer. We are absolutely delighted to bestow the Deviousness Award for May 2013 to `anmari, congratulations! Read More