I cried for you
In the fires of hell
But you didn't notice
As the heat evaporated them
On my cheeks
You call me strong
While you twist the knife
But it's only because
You never learnt
How to read my eyes.
And when I tell you
I love you
Even I don't know
If I'm lying.
But you don't care either way
Because you never understood me
And I am simply too tired
To walk away
And too tired of you
To stay.
Damned Suicidal Gay Kids by mettlelark, literature
Literature
Damned Suicidal Gay Kids
I read a poem about gay kids and cry,
Thinking of all the times I tried to die.
No, it's not fair, but that is life,
Which is why so many want to end their strife.
Then one day, when I felt hopelessly shut out,
Another girl came along with a kiss and a pout.
We made a double promise that neither could die,
And I told her how badly I wished I could lie.
So happy she made me, I chose to come out,
But all my father did for hours was shout.
It was three months before he said another word,
But when he did, the whole world could have heard.
They said that they raised me better than this,
But what's better than love, deeper than a kiss?
I'd tried
Black or White.
Male or Female.
Whole or Broken.
Rich or Poor.
My favorite color used to be grey.
White was too plain,
And black too empty.
But grey was peaceful.
All my friends were boys
Until one day, they said
"You can't play with us,
Because you're a girl."
Happy or Sad.
Sweet or Bitter.
Foolish or Wise.
Healthy or Sick.
What if I'm neither?
What if I ache inside
Of no wound or sickness.
What if I'm me?
She was beautiful. The type of beauty you felt rather than saw.
She smiled at the stars and swore they smiled back.
She found science jokes funny and saw romance in the laws of physics.
She sang under her breath while walking down the street and felt every word.
She played the piano, her fingers dancing over keys of black and white, creating shades of grey.
And it was beautiful.
And she was beautiful.
And you listened, you remembered, all in the hope that maybe, one day, you would feel it the same way she did.
This night, this moment...
Time is moving backwards
How is that possible you ask?
I do not know
What I do know is...
I am currently lying on a mattress
And looking at your distracting pale skin
My eyes following the curve of your lips
I see your mouth move, as you laugh
What are you laughing about now?
I know that you are not happy
The laughs come from the joint, the one you had between your l lips
Just minutes ago when your eyes were yet filled with sorrow
The ultra violet light
Brings out your blue-green eyes,
Your black hair freely falling
Down your shoulders.
Tonight...
This moment..
Is nothing
Its the cloud of
not falling, but flying. by Kizin-of-kaplumba, literature
Literature
not falling, but flying.
It was fast and slow, all at the same time.
And I wanted it to stop or maybe go on forever.
I couldn't tell any longer.
All I knew was that I was falling.
The rush of air was near deafening in my ears,
And my eyes watered.
I couldn't tell if they were tears
But they were hot and cold all at once
And they fell even faster than I did,
Plunging down and down and down.
And I followed behind, waiting to hear the splash
moments before I felt the crash.
But it didn't come.
And I was able to believe,
at least for a little longer,
that I wasn't falling
But flying.
There was a melody
Inside that ribcage,
A dance that played
Along with her hopes
Her dreams,
Her loves.
There were notes
Inside that ribcage,
Plucking at the cords
Of her emotions.
Of that first peal of laughter
From an infants lungs,
Of that first surge of love
In her breast
Of that first tear of joy
Slipping from her eye.
There was a song
Inside that ribcage,
One that sang tales,
Of years past,
Of her smiles,
Of that first loose tooth,
Of that first secret sunrise,
Of those stolen moments
That none but her knew.
There was melody
Inside that ribcage
Before the world
Stole the beat.
The man was normal. That was really all that could be said. He was average, medium, ordinary. The only defining feature was the gun on his belt. Later, when years had passed, that would be all people could recall. A man, a normal man, with a gun on his belt. Half of them would tell you he was a killer, a mad man in a sane man’s skin. The other half would call him a hero.
Who knows what the truth was? Maybe he was both.
Yes, he killed a lot of people, and no I don’t remember him ever showing remorse. But he also freed hundreds from a fate much worse than death. He didn’t need to do that. He didn’t know a single one o
The door slammed shut behind her with such force the pictures rattled on the walls. She threw herself down on the sofa, before jumping up again. She just couldn't stay still! There was too much going on inside her, and somehow the self-pity that she expected to feel was being drowned with an overwhelming anger.
She threw a pillow, started with something soft, but the gentle sound it made when it connected with the wall was not what she wanted. So she picked up a book and threw it without looking, the crash as a lamp hit the floor was so satisfying, almost too much so.
Without thinking she ran to the kitchen and threw all the plates that she