I woke up with a hollowness in my chest that craved to be filled by the presence of you,
I could feel the places on my skin where your hands should of been
And the place next to me was just as cold and empty.
Suddenly my room felt too big and I realized how alone I was,
And that is when I knew I loved you.


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Secondhand Sentences

I Told you I liked poetry
You asked me if I write poems
And I wish I could say I can
But my mind is not clear enough and my fingers do not know what to do
They go astray like my thoughts and my words turn into run on sentences and I can’t seem to find a rhythm

I wish I could write you poetry
To write simple haikus that speak about all of the beautiful things I see in you

I wish I could spill out all of my pain onto a white paper with red ink instead of my pale arms

I wish poetry came to me like a second nature but instead it feels like I’m trying to breath underwater
Forced, choking, uncomfortable

I wish it was easy for me to put my thoughts into words but there is no correlation between my subconscious and this piece of paper

Words
Words have never been my friend
Unless they are someone else’s before they were mine

These second hand sentences
Draw me in like a moth to a flame
Because I find them beautiful
Even if they are searing to the touch
They are all burning with passion
So easy to admire


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I haven’t felt this happy in a while. I’ve missed this.


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I hate that every time I go to a funeral the corpse has a smirk that makes it look like they have a secret that no one knows. 


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I am afraid I no longer know the happiness that once tugged at the edges of my mouth and lit my sad, glassy, green eyes or the warm light hearted echo of laughter. I have found it difficult to kindle a fire of compassion when I seldom have a spark of interest to keep it lit. I have been left in the cold darkness of solitude and although I have become at peace with the black that fills me it is human nature to be afraid of the dark and what may lurk. I am afraid, so terribly afraid of being alone with whatever I may be.


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My lips are chapped from all of the kissing I didn’t do.


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I haven’t written in a while

Maybe because nothing has really changed. I admit I am happier, but I still want nothing more than some pills that will calm my nerves and get rid of my demons…But then again a bottle does the same… and so does a gun, or a train or blade.


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to be quite honest i’m lucky to be even the slightest bit smart considering that i have a sexist, alcoholic father who wants nothing to do with me and an unbelievably arrogant and abusive mother who has an IQ lower than a retarded monkey.


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I went out by myself today to buy supplies for a project, and i find it sad how when you’re alone doing such an unextraordinary and simple task such as buying markers becomes nerve-racking. You begin to notice everyone who looks at you and you can’t help but to wonder what they are thinking, and if you are even remotely as pessimistic as I am you expect the worse. You even consider the stupidest and non realistic probabilities like ‘she must be addicted to sniffing markers’ or ‘why is she buying to black markers instead of red is she stupid or something?’ And it feels as if every one is judging you when it takes you a few seconds to pull out your money and you get frustrated because your hands are shaking and your just fumbling around and it shouldn’t be this hard for you to go out in public alone.


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I’m afraid to grow up not just because of the unknown and the responsibilities i will have but mainly because of the fact that I will be truly and completely alone;
I’m not afraid of the lack of comfort because I have never gotten comfort from people,
But instead I’ll have to suffer through my anxieties to go to the grocery store alone,
That is if I am even motivated enough to eat since there will be no one forcing me to do so.
I will also have no more motivation or reason to stifle my cries because there won’t be anyone there that would be able to hear me or see me cry.
And there would no longer be people checking my wrists and arms for cuts and bruises.
I’m afraid that ill end up unreparabley broken, because if I think about it the people that are responsible for how broken i am already are also the people keeping me together.


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