II. In A World...In a world of warPeople are dyingSoldiers are fightingCitizens are prayingFor the war to endFor the peace to come back
I. In A World... In a world full of happinessPeople are contentWith their friends, families, and love onesSmile on their facesMoments are cherishMemories are treasureWithin their hearts
LoveLove is the greatest feelingLove can bind us togetherLove can unite usLove can makes us inspireLove can make our life betterLove is the greatest thing of all
I carei.your words drip with crimsonas you bite your lip;you always liked to pretendyou held the strength of metal,and now all that’s left is the aftertaste of coppertrickling down your throat- what happened to the child throwing pennies in the fountain? ii.hidden under the threaded sleeves of your sweater,I can picture your hands shaking like earthquakesand your fists held clenched;I worry your fingernails cut dashed linesinto the palms of your hands,like the ones painted on back roads and highways-I’m worried where you plan on goingiii.viewing your puffy eyes and hearing woebegone-winded wordstangle on your trainwrecked-tongue,I can’t help but wonder how many puddles of saltsoak your sodden pillowcase from sleepless nights;I know you’ve always liked to swim,but this time darling- can you leave the water in the ocean? iv.I bet there’s charcoal cloudsgathering on your bed sheets-an aftermath of the fire burningin
Washed away.His lips werealways bitterblue; hislungs spentso long drowningin the weight ofhis gaspingwindpipe hedidn't know whatcalm seas feltlike.(breath slowly, slowly, slowlywas all they ever said.)Washed-up onempty shores, hisdriftwoodbody lay brokenon the sands atdawn, feelingsin two and lipsstill bitter blue,but this time therewas nomovement as thewaves lay weeping,finallycalm.(and the lonely sailorwandered forevermore, neveragain to touch the distant shore.)
Dirty Brother KillerMy bro...He believed thatYou were good...But I know the truth...You enjoy seeing us die,Covered in the color crimson,While laughing at us,Screaming in pain,And agony...Frisk...All of us cared,Protected,And even loved you.But after Papyrus-...I know...In this very moment...You're going to hell...And there's nothing...That will stop me from doing it...DIRTY BROTHER KILLER!
PerfectionYour ego wants.It is sometimes disguisedas your heartor your mind.butYOU don't want.you simply A R EYour worldly desires tell youthat you could bericherprettierhappierwhen everything you needyou already have.
n.i.in the mornings i wakelike faded candlelight -soft and unsure, blown by the windfrom the open window becausethe heat resides within the bedframe and themonochrome moments.in the mornings i pray for lights-outand an empty sink to sharemy dreams with beforemorning becomes dayand day becomes lonely in the flashof the sunlight seeping'round the blackout curtains.some days i want to sleep foreverand only wake wheneveryone is comatose withintheir dreams; i want to be the ghostthat causes chills in the nightso i can say i made othersfeel something(because i feel so much i've gonehalf-numb).some days i wish i couldspeak ten languages -maybe then i could stop the ststutter in my breastand the hitching in my heartat the thought ofeverything --maybe learning ten tongueswould let me learn to whisper in the nightabout how my dreams haunt meand i, them - i ammy own bogeymanand i think i've missed a breathor three trying to figure out whatit means.when nigh
if only for the night.she did notwant love, she wantedthorns twisted in hersteel fingersdigging into thesharp metal. sheneeded to b r e a kpeople. and she hadthe devil in hereyes and death onher skin:a walkingdisaster. shetasted likedanger incarnated;i knew by theway she wrapped herhands around mywrists she coulddestroy me. sn / ap mybones at will butshe never did andthe blue of her eyesdrownedme inchangingtides ofliquid fire. we spent one nightstaring at theceiling tracingconstellationson paper-skin andpretending to beartists of the universejust to feelalive.(before she left welay side by side at dawn withour chests splintered.)
Depression Isn't RealDepression isn’t true, my dearDepression isn’t real.It’s just a silly tragedyYou’ve forced yourself to feel.Anxiety is fake, my friendYou wonder why it’s there.But others have it worse than you!Stop forming false despair.Cutting is dramatic, love,It’s ugly, and it’s dumb.Why not just get over it?Is the attention fun?Suicide is stupid, dear,And selfish, if I may.Get over yourself, darling,Can you hear these things I say?Why aren’t you replying, love?Oh, where could you have gone?I never meant to hurt you, love,Did I say something wrong?Why aren’t you replying, dear?Depression isn’t true!…Oh, but yes it was, “my dear”...Just maybe not for you.
HetaliaxDepressed!Reader:Self-Inflicted AchromaticHetalia x Scary! Depressed! Reader: Self-Inflicted AchromaticI want to be a person just like you, don't you see?I want to be a person who is still being "me"A tired sigh escaped your lips. You were just so damn tired. The other countries said that you, (f/n) or (c/n), was scarier than Russia himself. But of course, you have lived 2500 years with wars and bloodshed always trailing after you. You just really want to be happy. But all those wars and blood imprinted on your mind, you really just released off a dark (a/c) aura and a stoic atmosphere.It really would be nice but I'm paying a price'Cause I'd really, not be me and that would not sufficeYou asked yourself, "I know my face doesn't show my pain. But isn't it obvious in my eyes? I'm lonely and hurt" You rubbed your numb (s/c) wrist, yesterday's cuts still had a colorless ache to it. You picked your silver knife, twirling it around watching the others argue. The said knife is the one you also use to cut yourself.A dream which
your poemyou tell me on a thursday that you can’t findthe god inside of yourself anymore, thatyou think that you are finallytoo much honeycomb and not enough humanbecause lately everything has been slippingthrough your fingers, and you don’t know how you cankeep holding yourself together anymore.if today is the day that you lookat the stars and you no longerfeel their burn beneath your bones,i will show you the blanket i tried to makewhen i was eight, and i will tell you all i knowabout the string theory, which isn’t much, i admit,but i do know the basics,and that’s that everything in the universeis composed of strings that somehowloop onto each other infinitely.so whenever you feel like you’rewalking a tightrope without a safetynet below you, know that you arethousands of tightropes strung together,and one fall will not kill you.i have never told you about the wayi can feel my pulse skitter to a stopin my wrists whenever i hear you laughing
LonelyI feel so numb as if I'm emotionlessI feel so empty as if an empty void is around meNothing but darknessNothing but emptinessNothing but loneliness