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amytheinvalid - 26-30 years old

Posted by amytheinvalid
on December 3rd, 2012 at 4:35 PM


Two poems, one poetry confession .
First, is titled 'How?'

How?

How do you…

Keep trying? Keep on hoping? Keep going?

How is it that you are able to keep up this act of hope? When in reality, there is no reason to?

How do you do it?

Everyday, you see more reason than not to just keel over, and not move anymore, not try, and yet, you keep on trying, with hoping.

How do you keep letting that make sense?

When you know that…

You live in a world that’s designed to hate you for who you are,

Every single last person you trust gives you false encouragement,

And everyone else, as well as yourself, instills false visions of hope.

How do you pull it off?

I ask myself these questions everyday. One thing I know for sure is this:
As long as my body continues to physically function, I do not have a choice. But inside, I am already dead, torn apart, and bleeding blackened blood, and no one cares, not you, or you, or you, and especially not you.
And if you do care, you sure as Hell do a damn good job of proving it. *sarcasm*

Second poem is titled 'My Pain'

My Pain:

I’m so sick of all my efforts being made into a laughingstock, and I’m sick of living a lie. I know my life is a lie, because a real person, born into a real, and normal, unscripted life, would not ever be subject to horrendous, unfair, unjust, and sinful torment like this.

My living situation is total chaos, and I can’t stand it, but I have nowhere to go but the street. Thanks a lot you deceitful idiots aka so-called ‘friends’!

I wish to die in my sleep everyday. I’m trapped in a horrible life, and can’t escape. The Labyrinth From Hell, keeps me running in an endless circle.

I don’t show my pain, but inside, I’m crying and screaming like an unwanted, unloved, ugly assed infant.

Every effort I put into bettering myself, explodes in my face, and my dreams and hopes are constantly thrown to the ground, and destroyed by everyone.

YOU HATE ME! NOW ADMIT IT YOU LYING SACKS OF GARBAGE!

Or better yet, please just do me the favor of ending my suffering. Kill me, please KILL ME!!

*cries, sobs and screams from a broken, bleeding soul*

I’m 26, nearly 27, and I’ve hit my mid-life crisis several years too early.

(Even though this is how I truly feel, it is only poetry. Not enough dark, disturbing poetry can be found here, so I thought I'd share some).

Thank you, thank you. *bows*

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