Not writing poetry any longer
Combusted Vital OrgansCombusted Vital Organs You set my heart ablaze Leaving scars, wounds, and burnsCombusted Vital Organs
That smell like spoiled mayonnaise
You made me develop a severe eating disorder Straining on the toilet, I shed many tears I'm not getting a heathy recommendation fiber You left me constipated here for years!
Shattered hearts are monotonous I've got a fragmentized interior! "I'm stuck in the lawn-mower!" Mournful cries proven to be inferior
Though you hurt me certainly With every little thing I still think of you What's that repulsive smell? Did you pee
Thank youYou've choked me with bitter lies Its becoming too hard to breathe You've stabbed me with cruel words With every short breath I take, I cough up blood. You've spat on me, you've kicked me You've cut out my heart I'm lying here bleeding When I cry, you'd smile coldly Now I'm crying you a fountain of gore What bliss! What ecstasy! You've hollowed me out with a spoon You've scooped and ripped out my insides There's nothing left but Shattered dreams and broken hopes But I am thankful to be here dying For when I am dead You can never hurt me againThank you
My SuicideA sole flower weeps gently so Softly beading, wilting in dispair Pick it up, crush it, break it Peel each petal from it's fragile stem Shove it down my tender throat Spit on me, watch me choke Slicing me with relentless words Bleeding wounds, shreaded hopes Silent tears, broken heart Nothing to live for No reason to continue Stupid, useless A failure, disapointment Unloved, unwanted Endlessly taunted Many is the night I cried For my suicideMy Suicide
Suicidal Loveim feeling better now as the days go by no longer am i beaten to the point that i cry i now have a future that gleams crystal clear so full of love rather than this pain that i fearSuicidal Love
i wanted to die, there was no reason to stay i fucked up so bad all my dreams slipped away i had nothing but flesh and my beautiful knife id sit and pray for the cut that would end my life
where i stand silently gazed on the empty obyss slower and deeper i slit down to each wrist as the sun sets i drop with my blade held so tight watching blood pour so quick day fades into night
Hard to believe you are just 12 ... hell, if you are this good already you will be writing songs for some moody and highly successful goth band before you leave school!
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May the Gods of the Norsemen watch over you!
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"I'm not an artist, I'm a fuckin work of art!"
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"I'm not an artist, I'm a fuckin work of art!"
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"I'm not an artist, I'm a fuckin work of art!"
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