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Literature Text
polaroids of you collect
dust and teardrops in
my dresser drawers,
remnants of the boy
you used to be.
[you never did what
you were told.]
damp cotton candy
clouds hover over
the hills where we
used to snort cocaine
and fashion music notes
out of grass blades,
throwing them into
the summer air.
[drowning our misery
and falling into an
artificial bliss now lost.]
the hearts I drew
on your ribcage in
indelible ink are
now as meaningless as
the leaves under my feet
in this tranquil cemetery.
I'll sit here for hours
with you until the stars
bring you back to life and
tell me it was all a lie.
[you were all
I had.]
Literature
Bipolar
Too young to grow up
Too old to be a child
These feelings pent up
For more than awhile…
Too quiet to be noticed
Too loud to be ignored
With all in this life
How can I be bored?
Too thoughtful to give up
Too selfish to care
How much more of this pain
Can my poor soul bare?
Too blessed to be abused
Too violated to feel free
How in the world
Could all of this happen to me?
Too united to be missing
Too lonely to be found
I barely know what
Makes my world go round…
Too happy to ignore
Too troubled to acknowledge
How did I end up this way
With all of my knowledge?
Too creative to be ordinary
Too dull to be unique…
All of t
Literature
Bipolar
Every day, wake up and take a pill
So you don't go looking for lethal thrills.
Haven't you ever wanted to go to the brink
Of destruction, just to see if you'd sink
Into the clutches of death or if you'd survive
Just because God still wants you alive?
You live on time stolen not borrowed
From some intangible thing called tomorrow.
Forget that white, round pill stamped 1-4-2
And you'll realize how much you can do
If only they would let you try
To jump off, spread your wings, and fly.
But even with the meds in your system,
You still aren't without symptoms.
Your working memory abilities
Are poor enough to come to futility.
Ima
Literature
Depression
I'm tired of being here,
all locked up in my head.
Every day I hear a whisper,
and I'm closer to being dead.
Something taps me on the shoulder,
something I can't fight.
When it talks in that low voice,
my eyes are shut so tight.
Once it gets to a cetain point,
and I'm still sitting on the ground,
it tells me to do things,
I'm trying to ignore the sound.
Its voice is harsh and filled with confidence,
and I can hear a hint of sorrow.
Even when it's telling me,
I won't live to see tomorrow.
I don't know what to say,
and I don't know what to do.
I'm still hearing it now,
and I'm still suffering too.
I can't tell what its weak
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Sorry about how blatantly depressing this is.
Don't critique it.
And please keep in mind that this in no way relates to my life.
It's just.... bleh.
Don't critique it.
And please keep in mind that this in no way relates to my life.
It's just.... bleh.
© 2009 - 2024 maniasdoor
Comments10
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You inspire me you make me want to be better at writeing, your work drives me to look deep within myself to try to find the words I've never writen and make something from them.
You are truly one of my favorite poets, you are a skilled writer.
You are truly one of my favorite poets, you are a skilled writer.