Before you kill yourself... by MikkiMarie, literature
Literature
Before you kill yourself...
Before you kill yourself,
Remember just one little thing.
There are places to go,
Where you have never been before.
How can you be sure those places are bad?
There are things to see,
Things you have never seen before.
How can you be sure those things are ugly?
There is a new tune to hear,
Something you've never heard before.
How can you be sure that tune is scary?
There are words to be said,
Things that have never been said before.
How can you be sure those words are hurtful?
There are dreams to be imagined,
Things you have never dreamed before.
How can you be sure that they are nightmares?
Darling, please don't give up.
Please stay st
Curing Depression in Seven Easy Steps by intricately-ordinary, literature
Literature
Curing Depression in Seven Easy Steps
1. apologize profusely to
the ones you were honest with,
the ones who believe in you,
the ones who never cared,
the boy who thought you were
worth it, the girl who stayed up
all night to hear you breakdown,
the doctors, the nurses, the stars,
your scars, your little brother
who told you he hoped your sad
would go away, yourself
2. fall in love with someone
who doesn’t understand you.
write poems about his eyes being
a lighthouse, and his hands
being sirens. tell him he is
your happiness, he makes you
better. tell him his scars are
beautiful, he is so breathtakingly
beautiful that it’s reasonable
you should cry; love him
infin
Yes, roses are red
And violets are blue
But you have to understand
Who said they had to,
Its about imagination
Emotion and orignality
Not the reiteration
Of dead men's practicality
These words,
They are your sentence
To a world that has to listen
As you create the difference
Whether it be
With angst poem against love
Or how you set your heart free
To fly like a dove,
For these words
Whether or not they be true
Their beauty and ideals
Will be used to define you,
So yes,
Hope ,in fact, has feathers
And like a caged bird it sings
But these words will only be tethers
That strip you of your wings,
Those are their words
Meant for their time
And me
I've got ink throbbing through fissured veins,
poisoning every atom of my soul.
"Bite your tongue," they say.
How I'd love to chew the damn thing off
and suck down every filthy syllable
just like the rotten bone marrow it is.
They'd all watch as my body spontaneously combusts
and becomes nothing but convoluted karma.
And so I wrote,
"Dear poetry,
Teach me the ways of ripping out a human heart,
and stitching it onto ink-stained parchment."
The answer that came was rasped from a cauterized throat:
"Read your future in the collapsed palm of the stars;
find the abandoned pulse of your lionhearted muse;
steal their conformed scalpel and mak
Want to know if your work was stolen? by neverdying, journal
Want to know if your work was stolen?
I'm sure a lot of you know this already, but for those who don't, with Google you can trace back your pictures of the web. This is pretty scary as I found some of my works used a printed book cover, an electronic book cover on Amazon, cd covers, used on Youtube as cover images for music and on various other websites. Most of the time, copyrights and/or watermarks were removed, the images altered, etc. Well if you don't know how to look for your images, here's the link that's explain how on Youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t99BfDnBZcI . Thanks to ~MaliciaRoseNoire (https://www.deviantart.com/maliciarosenoire) who sent me the link in the past. To look for your pictures, you nee
"I'm fine" is a dirty lie.
The truth is that I want to die.
"I'm tired" is not even done.
It really means "I'm tired of being no one"
"I'm better" is but a curse.
The truth is that I've never been worse
"I'm just cold" is what I say
so my sleeves can hide my scars away.
"I already ate" is said with a frown.
I starve to see the numbers on the scale go down.
"I'm okay" is probably the worst.
It really means I'm about to burst.
All these things are lies to me.
But you take this as the truth because what else would I be?
There sits the girl with the things in her eyes
Monsters, destruction, and sweet butterflies
Hopscotch and daisies, surrounded by screams
Beautiful dresses now torn at the seams
Crayons and paintbrushes, villains and grins
Young, gladsome innocence, hatred and sins
Little red houses on roads left to fade
Gorgeous moonlight shining off of the blade
Blood pouring out as she cries her own name
Knowing she's forced to take each bit of blame
She could have stopped it and left it behind
All of these things in her troubled young mind
She could have saved them if she dared to try
Rather, though, she left herself there to die.
Now, others watch as she