i think, if i had to choose between porcelain eyes and plastic teeth, i'd curl up in the silverware drawer and listen to the sound of the dishwasher screaming. i'd try to pay attention to what the forks were picking apart, or what the spoons were dishing out, or what the knives were viciously ripping apart, and i'd try to see if any of their petty rumors and shit-talking were about me and my fragile state.
i'd listen to see if the plates in the cupboard were talking about the bedside lamp upstairs, or if the chandelier in the dining room was talking about the fish swimming lethargically in the bowl on the counter, and how the orange one had
I feel your hands in my hair.
I feel your breath on my neck.
I feel your body pressed so close to mine.
I feel your lips on my throat.
I feel your hands move to my back and your lips work their way up to mine.
I feel you and I love it.
I hear you say you love me.
I hear you whisper my name.
I hear you tell me I'm the only one for you.
I hear your breath in my ear.
I hear your soft snores as I fall asleep.
I hear you and I love it.
I see you as I run into your arms.
I see your face break through my world of darkness.
I see you fight away my fears.
I see you wipe away my tears.
I see you're in love with me.
I see you and I love
Pushing yourself just that much more,
beating the clock,
taking a deep breath,
stepping up the pace when you feel you can go no further.
The movement of your body as you race against yourself,
testing your strength and your willpower.
The regular pounding of your feet against the ground,
faster and faster,
constantly increasing,
until you feel you cannot find strength to go any further.
But you do.
The exhilaration,
the feeling the wind in your hair,
the sun on your arms.
The meditative state of mind as you continue on,
step by step.
The way all your worries vanish,
focusing all your attention on your body,
your ru
A man is walking down the road
The rain is dripping from his coat
His eyes are hidden under his hat
But I can see that he feels bad
Tears are falling down his face
His shaking hands can barely hold his suit-case
His steps are so hesitating
Why is he so scared?
He askes me where he can find the graveyard
While he's speaking, I can hear the breaking of his heart
I show him the way, and there he goes
Torturing himself
Cause after all I'm sure he knows
He should actually ask for help
I see his shadow growing darker
And wonder why I'm still here
While I could be at home by now
The next day someone tells me
That last night
A yo
not much we can do about it by zoa-boo, literature
Literature
not much we can do about it
Don't you remember when you were young?
When the world seemed so bright.
The stars shined ever so bright every night.
You were happy to just play all day,
Never knew you were wasting your life away.
You were a child,
and to you the future was so bright.
You couldn't wait to grow up and make a difference,
to show the world who you were.
But then you grew up.
You had to go to school.
Your wild spirit was labeled as a mental defect.
You were told to shut up and sit down.
They didn't care what you stood for,
because you were a child,
and children don't know what they're talking about, right?
Through the years you were told you
I'm Not That Type of Woman by MusesDaughter, literature
Literature
I'm Not That Type of Woman
I'm not the type of woman
That men write poetry to.
I don't inspire great works,
Or words of beauty and romance.
I'm not the type of woman
That men look at twice.
Too round in the hips
Too grey in the hair.
No.
I'm the type of woman
Who gets things done
Runs the show
Takes care of you (and you, and you).
I will LOL you until I'm crying
And even then will lie
No, really I'm fine
Must be a lash in my eye.
I'm the type of woman that men come to
With problems and questions
Of lovelife or health.
And they cluelessly miss the fact that
While I'm dispensing this advice they require,
I'm alone.
Who am I to talk?
I'm not the
Written on My Arms by Retrubutionist777, literature
Literature
Written on My Arms
I can see you have that look in your eyes.
I turn my head away so I won't have to speak more lies.
In my heart I know you suspect the truth.
But I can't bring myself to tell you.
I've written all my pain on these arms.
But I'm so afraid you'll see the scars,
White and jagged carved in my flesh.
Each time you glance I hold my breath.
Because I'm so ashamed.
What will happen if you see my pain?
I did this in the middle of the night,
When I wept and longed for someone to hold me tight.
Every secret drop of blood releases the harm.
All this history is written on my arms.
I never wanted to scream aloud.
So I made myself bleed them o