Forgotten Phrases

Do you remember,

That sunny day you said,

If tears occur,

To  ask for a helping hand?


Well, it’s storming.

The rain used fall on the outside,

But inside, it’s pouring.

I think you lied.

                                                                                                            “  “  “  “                                                                                                                             “  “  “

I’m drowning.

Suffocating on misery.

You could pull the plug to the drain.

You could end the agony.


Hand over your ears,

Is this how it always was?

Do tears fall unnoticed?


I’m Screaming,

But my words fall short.

I’m leaning,

But with no support.


Hear me out.

I’m begging you to listen.

Even when I shout,

My words are stretched thin.


The way out?

I’m well aware.

The preferred route,

Simply needs you to care.

Vague memories,

When Hell was only a word.

Suicidal cries,

Don’t seem so absurd.


Icy Snow,

Bitterly missed.

It numbed the pain I know.

Rain only creates Mist.


Beautiful Atrocity

I love writing. Not because of the words or passion, although I like that too, but because of the manipulation. My words can be anything I want them to be. If I want to make something that most consider repulsive admirable, I can. If I want to distort beauty into treachery, I can. I have control for once in my life. I’m stable and secure. I’m home.

Beautiful drops fell to the floor, my own crimson rain. It even smelled like rain on the cool tile, sweet, newly fallen serenity. I felt no pain, I felt sensation. The silver blade was such a sight, glistening, silver on crimson, such a contrast of color. I was smiling, enjoying my peace, my sensation. I went out of my way to feel this moment, to know what is in my heart— literally.

Independent Footsteps

It’s so much more than just wanting to leave, it’s wanting to claim the independence I’ve always exerted in everything I do and putting it to use. I hate having to deal with them and their consistencies. I hate the look on their face when I’ve succeeded in myself, but failed by their standards. I am my own person, in my own mind, with my own value, a value they have yet to, and may never, understand. I can be my own hero just as I am my own support. I can succeed by the standards I grant myself, but only if I set those standards. I shall not reach unattainable heights, unless they are simply unattainable for you. Your limits do not apply to me, as mine do not apply to you. We are our own people with our own paths and I’m tired of walking on theirs. I want to walk a new journey, a new trail they have not paved for me, and as it is now, I walk beside their trail among the weeds just so I will not have to follow, just so I can have my predefined independence for when I have the chance to turn off into uncharted territory and make my own way with my own path.