Thoughts.
- Locked due to inactivity on Aug 4, '16 4:28pm
Thread Topic: Thoughts.
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I guess you could call this my poem thread, or online diary, or whatever the heck you want. I'll warn you now, I'm no poet. I'm not looking for feedback, but I guess you can comment with feedback. Not all my posts are gonna be poems, and like I said, the ones that are won't be good. Anyway...
I'm never alone
I'm never free
They're always here,
Watching me.
Waiting to witness my next mistake,
And I'll plunge back into that sorrowful lake,
Where all dreams die and all hopes fade,
And I'll swim and I'll search for why I was made
This lake has no bottom, an endless mystery,
There's so much to find, but much more I can't see -
What's the Point?
What is the point in living? Does one even exist?It seems, week after week, I exist only to survive the days which lead to forty-eight hours of freedom. Even those days, preserved for peace, seem constantly disrupted by the hatred-driven arguments among us. I lack purpose, which, from what I have gathered, is a true terrible thing. Our world a machine. We are the parts. All parts have a purpose, if I am not mistaken. And if I lack a purpose of my own then why am I here? I have contemplated this for years and still have come to no sort of solution or explanation besides the theory that I might just be a mistake. It would be believable enough. The word has been thrown at me often as it is. Too frequently, to me life feels so pointless. Perhaps not life itself, but my own life. I am not so utterly stupid as to try anything myself, as doing so attract much unwanted attention. And so I continue to exist. A life without meaning. A machine without a purpose. So painfully, desperately broken, but so past the point of calling for help. Instead I perform. It is simple. I would even go so far as to call it easy. Force a smile at the right time, laugh when it's expected. That way they'll never see that inside, there is a dying spirit. -
CharityChase NoviceHi LuckyFirefly! I don't think they're too bad, but then, I don't like poetry so that's actually a pretty good compliment. I like them a heck of a lot better when they rhyme though. Don't write any haikus! and limericks aren't so bad either.
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A Simple Question
Do you know what it's like to be me? The answer is simple, of course not. However, some of you may think you know what it'd be like living my life. You don't.
Do you know what it feels like going to school everyday, having to act like everything is okay while on the inside you have no idea whether or not today is the day your best friend will choose to kill herself? I do.
Do you know what it's like laying awake at night, your heart pounding, trying to recover from nightmares about guns and knives? I do.
Do you know what it's like to have your heart aching, longing unbearably for death? I do.
Do you know what it's like to be a performer everyday, knowing that if you drop the act for so much as a second, you'll be totally and utterly alone? I do.
Do you know what it's like to imagine what would happen if everyone knew your secrets? Do you know what it's like to count down the secrets and the number of people who would still love you, until both hit zero? I do.
I do, I do, I do. I live that every day of my life. It is hard.
What is it like to be you?
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