Will live a life of crime that not even the law can end. Will spend the rest of our life's in the road,running from this dark world. Our journey will bring a burden to the people who don't want to let reality go but joy to the people who do.Ill show you a life without reality...
and I can't tell you. Because I'm not sure I want to either. When the one thing that's been here for me for so long is pain how do I let it go. When everyone else has left me it stays beside me. When I lay on bed thinking of my death it hugs me. When I'm on the brink of tears...
I think what hurts the most ..
Is when you give your all ..
To someone ..
Through thick ..
Through thin ..
Through big ..
Thought small ..
Thought hard ..
Through easy ..
Through the day ..
Through the night ..
You're there for them ..
You stick with them ..
No matter what...
and my eyes.
They do not see.
My limbs are heavy. My mouth, dry. I feel the soft grass benethe my fingers. Dew wetting my hands.
The physical can be ignored. Replaced. Endured.
The mental, the emotional pain, that destroys me.
My back arches. I grip the grass on...
of January 2015.I live in the northeastern part of NY state. The Adirondack area,I'm not writing to complain about the weather.I'm writing to just write. Weather and sports the two daily topics that most people start a conversation. How cool would it be if you saw somebody you...
it's dying..Like a love that seems to endYet, perhaps only fading into dormancy.Just as that tree shall burst forth into lifeon some warm spring day.Perhaps that love also never quite dies,But is lying in quietude, stillness..Waiting to be reignited in some brilliant ray of...
and fears from all the years,
That I have screamed but no one hears.
My heart is broke, it aches for you,
The thing is that you never knew.
I'd love you more and more each day,
I'd never run out of things to say,
For if you gave just one kiss,
It'll be my eternal bliss.
I'm mad for always being nice, always apologizing for things I didn't do, for getting attached, for making you my life, depending on you, wasting my time on you, thinking about you, forgiving you, wishing for you, dreaming of you,
But most of all, not hating you, which I know...
If you do not write of things from deep within your own heart, your mind and your soul,
What’s the use of churning out so many words?
Unless you got lost on purpose
Would you have ever gotten this far?
There's no way
We can't hold it back ~
Why, then, do...
Christmas memories. Thought Id share.
My mother was a very conflicted person. she would fluctuate between episodes of blind rage and violence, and incredible compassion.
She would take me to bring gifts to poorer than us kids, (mind you, we really didnt have much). She would...
An unnatural light hung over the familiar town of Lowur’s Valley. My skin prickled with the strange feeling of a thousand eyes resting upon me. There was not a whisper to be heard, even the blacksmith’s shop was silent, a rare occurrence...
I came out of the milk-house wearing a old coat with strips of bright red material pinned (with big, yellow ducky diaper pins) to the hand-me-down, mismatched buttoned coat. The red is to protect me from deer hunters should I get out near the big woods...
christian boy. Always taught to treat women like the princesses they are. He knew he was lucky. Dad was a powerful, imposing man, but he was confident in himself, so much so that he allowed his vulnerability to be seen.
He danced with his little girl at Father Daughter dances...
and depressed people should just get over it. For me when your a 6 or 7 year old little boy and the person you look up to the most*was my father* turns on you and you watch him beat your older brother who has always protected you. Then because you have always looked up to him he...
and every night he did not sleep because ever night he would wish he had a gun. No one knew because he didn't let them. he did hurt him self but in a place no one would ever see he was destroying the one thing he had left his mind. A long time ago he tried to hurt himself in...
I write, certainly. The problem is that what I write disgusts me. Disgust is not a strong enough word, actually, more like I loathe the words on the page with every fiber of my being.
I look down at a poem I have written and there are a thousand tiny little voices telling me...
shadows fall across a barren landscape devoid of hope
scattered shards of broken dreams lay glimmering in the fitful light
my heart rent asunder, it`s contents fall away bleeding into the parched earth
no dreamer wakes this day, no light beckons this weary soul
Shadows danced across the valley as the echo of laughter drifted on the cool autumn breeze.
Just reflections and memories of what would never be again.
A myriad of familiar scents pulled her back into another time.
She stood swaying softly, her eyes closed, breathing them...
If you are like me, you want your life to mean something more than an accumulation of days and nights passing in a melancholy blur of mundane tasks that include nothing more meaningful than the biological performance of breathing in and out. If you are like me, you want more, you...
when you weren't supposed to. Offering thoughts of kindness, of care for a shattered, broken bastard. Faking a laugh at a lame joke when nobody laughs except you.
You were very clear. I didn't even try or think or plan to grab you. I understand that you love her and well, you...
just words. Things that were and are yet to be, stories from a life ongoing without set goals other than living it.
I'm no Karouac, no Dickens or Twain but the truth is none of that matters to me, just the stories, the memories, the dreams of what may yet be.
I once knew a woman...
I was without mine for a couple weeks while it was getting repaired. No matter how much I tried to adapt and write anyway, production had ground to a halt! I'm working on being productive again. Wish me luck!
Love on one side, hate on the other, how is that, which to choose..Like a magnet i'm pulled to your negative, always playing the positive fool.Can't do it but I want to win, you make me crazy, putting bullet's through friend's.What's funny to you makes me want to die, so feed me...
What would you say?
Would you think of me someday?
Would you think once I depart?
Would you remember from the start?
If I died,
Would you cry?
Would crystal tears form in you eye?
What would be the words you speak,
For comfort that I doubt you'll seek?
I know by now just who...
I have loved you; it seems, since the beginning of time – so deeply it feels impossible to have begun with my relatively insignificant life. My longing burns when we are apart and consumes when we are together. The more I have of you, the more I want of you, until all that is...
as I am still ten hours away from home.
I sat at the right side of a 2 by 1 bus, the 1 side. I don't feel alone though. I feel so close to me for the first time since I have arrived in Manila. I guess it means my business in that busy place has filled me with worry. Not only...
Writing makes me feel depth and more alive. I am always composing. Sometimes I am kept awake at night just writing stories that have never met a pen. I choose the words like some woman fret over shoes and dresses. Every word must match and flow together much like picking an...
It’s so very odd hearing the people in the room next to me chattering. These strangers speaking as if they were old friends, as if a connection of some odd kind actually existed between them. They chortle and chuckle, smile and smirk, how very odd indeed! They offer up the...
I use writing as my stress relief. I write poems according to how I fell especially when I'm upset about something. It's how I get stuff off my chest that I can't say out loud. It's easier for me to lay my feelings on paper then it is for me to speak them. Honestly I think that's...
perspective. Even if the situations are my own, I will write them in 3rd person. It's easier for me to write things outside myself in a less personal way. It creates a degree of separation that makes it more comfortable for me to write it all down. Today I'm not going to do that...
As tears stream down his cheeks,
Ready to bury his father,
After two long painful weeks.
His father was a soldier,
Brave and strong and true,
Who fought for his country,
For people like me and you.
Slowly he moves towards the grave,
Where his fathers company stood,
I Cannot Contain Myself
When In Your Presence
I'm So Humble
Don't Hide Our Love
Woman To Man. . .
One Thing In Life
You Must Understand
The Truth Of Lust
Woman To Man
So Open The Door
And You Will See
There Are No Secrets
Make Your Move
How could I ever
begin to explain
the spontaneous laughter
or when the tears fall like rain
What else could you do
but just walk away
when I want to tell you
but there's nothing to say
* so I cry or I laugh with no reason or rhyme
I spend thoughtless silence...
but when it comes to getting down to writing something more important it's pathetic? Like it's so annoying! I can write this without much thought but when I get out my pencil and paper and began writing out my.. Story? (I guess it's called that lol.) I get all jumbled up and...
Wind through the window blows my hair,
The room is dark as I sit alone,
Waiting for my friends to phone.
Loneliness is darkness,
It removes all signs of light,
No matter how you fight it,
Your day still seems like night.
Loneliness is solitude,
Shelter from the pain,
Pain Is My Guilty Pleasure.
Others Have Experienced
The Pain I’ve
Brought Unto Them.
Are Out Of Control
And NEED To Be
I Sit Here Wondering,
What Does Pain Really Feel Like ?
Staring At My Arm
I Slowly Pull Back My...