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Literature Text
Siting here, wasting life away
writing stanza upon stanza
hoping to god or whoever's above that the pain will go away
but it wont.
Wasting life away hiding in the shadows
scared of every sound as if its a gun to my final breath
scared of every touch as if I were paper
crying to myself silently
wondering
when will the pain end and the beauty commence?
when does the sun to my horrid day set, revealing a new, beautiful day ahead
why is it like being stuck here
thinking of knives and guns
wondering what word will be my last.
screaming in pain to the skies as if that will help
and praying to god that I can stay hidden forever
away from the drugs and smoke of this world
hiding in the underlying plane beneath
but
forced to live every day as if it were my last
thinking every night about the end of this all
screaming every day in eternal pain
Some people don't get that being drug free has more to do with sanity than addiction,
and that words hurt more than broken bones
that a shattered soul still makes a sound when no ones there to hear it.
no one believes in me
no one believes in the psycho poet
who wastes her life away typing at her screen...
making every breath count in this world
and living every day as if it were her last.
writing stanza upon stanza
hoping to god or whoever's above that the pain will go away
but it wont.
Wasting life away hiding in the shadows
scared of every sound as if its a gun to my final breath
scared of every touch as if I were paper
crying to myself silently
wondering
when will the pain end and the beauty commence?
when does the sun to my horrid day set, revealing a new, beautiful day ahead
why is it like being stuck here
thinking of knives and guns
wondering what word will be my last.
screaming in pain to the skies as if that will help
and praying to god that I can stay hidden forever
away from the drugs and smoke of this world
hiding in the underlying plane beneath
but
forced to live every day as if it were my last
thinking every night about the end of this all
screaming every day in eternal pain
Some people don't get that being drug free has more to do with sanity than addiction,
and that words hurt more than broken bones
that a shattered soul still makes a sound when no ones there to hear it.
no one believes in me
no one believes in the psycho poet
who wastes her life away typing at her screen...
making every breath count in this world
and living every day as if it were her last.
© 2016 - 2024 hnsauber
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