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Livet börjar någonstans och utvecklas redan ifrån starten till ett liv som någon har grundat som en förebild vilket kan vara en närstående.
We aren't afraid of the dark. We are afraid of what's in it. We aren't afraid of heights. We are afraid of the possibility of falling. We aren't afraid to try.
If you listen closely. To what the wind has to say. You'll hear a thousand secrets. Whistling your way. If you keep your ears open. Listening just hard enough. There are truths that are hidden.
What do you do when you feel sad. I feel like there's something heavy inside me. I don't feel like moving or saying anything. My heart sighs as if nothing is going right.
A frigid Monday morning, In the middle of the fall, I will hide within the shadows, Not a single soul can call.
I'm always reading and hearing the blues. I don't really know what they are. I know it's a colour and they write sad songs. And I'll play them upon my guitar. To apply a bright hue to your misery.
I sat there watching. The guests were mingling, scuffing cake and cookies in their face. They talked about the weather and the news and how the cake was so lovely.
Where am I,. With ceilings so high. Chandeliers fall from the sky. Where am I,. With the windows so big,. That the whole word can see me jig. Where am I,. People stare. Looking here and looking there.
At the thinning of the year Now that daylight seems embarrassed And skulks between wet street lights, Euphoria, hibernating, Is dimmed to warmth and comfort, And the clocks must pay for The sweaty,...
A silver eye, far away. keeps me hoping for. the advent of day. I slowly wade through. the smooth waters still. wondering at the moonlight. As it ripples around my. slowly soaked feet, I.
my wayward feet can't find the path. I'm stuck in a moment and fading fast. when all else fails, I look within me. neither you nor myself could believe what I see.
I don't quite know how old I am, But I have been alive for 15 years.
When I write. It doesn't come as freely. As I would like. My mind is at war. and Its for freedom I fight. An abundance of words. For my deliverance in verse. Within my mind. I acquire to find.
This is not technically a poem, just a...thing. I don't really know what to call it. I don't see the world the way you do. You have your eyes and I have mine, which is fine, just don't think I'm...
You thought I'd gone, I thought so too But something pulled me back Dancing on the edge of hell Peering into black I thought I'd gain my other life At the expense of words But poetry has drawn me...
#love Did you erase the memory of when you went wrong.
I dance in a pitch black room, No one can see me there. To only sounds, gentle cloth, Floating in the air.
Yea. That defines my current state of existence. 'On hold'- My prior excitement for homecoming has sizzled out, though it hasn't really progressed into a depressive mode, it is in a idle state.
I'm done. Not sure What all I'm done with But whatever Any of it May be presented as I'm done. Is it Opuss. Is it writing. Is it fighting. What may it be.
A little of what you like does you good... Or at least they say that it stood. But what if what like, isn't good at all. What are you then really. I suppose you're just a fool.
What if things were different. And I hadn't had made that choice. How long would we last, how long would this whole thing last. Would we do anything.
I love. I hate. I cannot control my fate. I laugh. I cry. I don't know when I'll die. I succeed. I fail. But I have never been to jail. I go silent. I scream. I see butterflies in my dreams. I give.
I live for yesterday, there's no time to plan my actions. Sitting on old leather, close my eyes and watch the patterns. Counting sheep to fall asleep, breathing slow but nothing happens.
Regular girls read romance novels, I read mein kampf. Regular girls have massive crushes on celebrities, I have a massive crush on Hans Christian Anderson.