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trying2forget

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About trying2forget

  • Birthday 03/18/1989

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  1. I don't cut anymore, I used to and still get urges to so this time instead of going into a downward spiral, I just wrote a poem about it. It really is an addiction just as real as alcoholism or substance addiction (I haven't cut in almost a year!) Some call it late night bathroom surgery Some call it making love to pain Ripping sleeves off old t-shirts And dancing broken in the rain Cracked skin, chapped lips All the scars the same Some call it harmless numbness I call it ending my own shame Keep a diary nearby to record your suffering Some use just a notebook I use my own apendeges Averted eyes and dirty looks Take the blade away, take the pen away Amber essense drifting down the hall Carpe Diem just one more endless day You know babe this is not your fault Hold my hand baby, hold my hand This endless addiction Is bringing me to shame This story is not a work of fiction It's my effing life Don't try to save me I can't even save myself Just run away and flee Just like everyone effing else
  2. I'm okay, seriously though thanks for all of your feedback and thanks for taking the time to read it. I feel like people care for me here.
  3. The webs weave as the Small spider crawls into your ear And wraps its silky habitat Around your brain and Pulls it just tight enough So that you lose total control But you never had control That was taken from you That day The day in the woods When you couldn't stop... Him His hands invaded you just as The small spider has His thoughts were obvious As he groped what he thought Would give him pleasure And now His oily fingerprints And perverted scent Lies forever In your hair As with every breath You remember the spider On that cool afternoon And when he stole Your innosense And knew that You would never forget him You feel gross You feel as if everyone can see Where he has touched... Where his lips left traces of Their poison The spider continues to weave A silky web through memories Though the day the spider invaded Has long passed.
  4. The lips of the angel, and the lips of the one cursed with eternal sin, touched lightly as the imperfect one thought about how the angel’s lips were soft, her wings were fragile and the kiss was passionate. As the angel crossed her arms she spread what once were her wings as her final silver teardrop fell onto the ground.
  5. For some reason they censored out the word p-r-i-c-k-s but I didn't mean it in a bad way
  6. I wrote this a long time ago. I was going through my old poetry and I can't decide if I like it or not. Unwinding The thread has reached the end of the spool Which falls to the ground as the thin thread winds itself around every aspect of my life sitting inertly in this room As the needle * * * * *s the delicate piece of skin under your nail Yeah it hurts like that. Nothing can make me feel better than a pain like that. The confusion oh, the utter confusion Wavers through the endless emotions The agony that is the epitome of bewilderment I am done And I’m just gonna keep writing emotional poetry Until my fingers bleed And my nails fall off And the drops of blood fall to the floor Forming the shape of petals that have fallen From the orchids that bloomed where my crimson past lies.
  7. simple but amazing. it sends chills down my spine. keep up the awesome poetry
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