gears2dude

I see your picture, all I remember is that I miss you. You never said goodbye, so... Can I miss you? I remember feeling a urge to kiss you. I hardly remember your voice. This has been a choice, but it has not been my choice. I cannot recall your touch. I know that I miss it so much. I no longer know if it is you I miss. maybe it is that soft, passionate kiss. The giggle that made my mind wiggle, or the way you said three magickal words. I can not be sure though, I do not remember what I believe I know. I am not sure I even knew you.

You arms          w           r          a         p around my back, and light words graze my ear. "You are beautiful." I wonder where a man like you could've come from, Heaven? I find that you are my angel but, you're from somewhere much larger. You come from creations belly. With a soft heart, and a determined look resting upon your face.

Hate is; a strong word, but one I fully mean. I hate your voice, and bowl shaped hair. I can't stand your rude comments, and how you yell or stare. I hate how you feel you are better than everyone there. You're a sexist pig and a cocky bastard. I hope when you hook up with the work slut crabs crawl all over you and pierce your skin in a pattern that reads "it was in vain." Or maybe, just maybe it can say "don't be an idiot at work" Stop yelling at me! Stop yelling at them! I snap right back because I can't take your crap.

Don't ever look back over your shoulder, you've got nothing to be sorry for. Just walk away and don't look back. Don't look back at me. I'll be fine. left, right, left, right. keep walking don't stop. I'm tempted to call you, admit everything, but something stops me. I turn around and just cry I scream my heart out as the rain lashes down on top of me. I fall to my knees and shout at the sky. I'm absolutely soaked, yet I don't seem to care. my head in my hands, I sit there, shivering with the cold. and I think you fool.

I pretend the pulse of rain is a lullaby — when I say your name it feels like thunder in my lungs — and the howling wind, sometimes, sings me to sleep.

He has danger painted on his lips and a terrifying truth hidden under his bed. And I'm the only one who knows he got a tattoo for his thirteenth birthday that makes his skin look like it's on fire. You know, girls say he's the hottest boy in ninth grade. He's burning up. But he doesn't care for them because he's secretly in love with Sam [who, obviously, doesn't have a clue]. No one does. But how long can you keep your secrets, pseudo-boy, before you lose yourself? He takes a look around him and destroys as many people as he can so he won't be hurt again.

The new girl gets bullied and teased every single day. She's lonely. The freaky girl is used to the teasing by now. Some ignorant person walks by the new girl. She looks up as they approach, but they call her a dyke and walk away laughing. She has to pretend that she's strong, but she's not. Everywhere she goes people stare in disgust. No one gives her a chance, no one will try to see if maybe there's something special to this girl. She goes home in tears constantly. Then one day this girl doesn't come to school. She's gone and nobody misses her... except for the freak. The freak knew what the lonely girl was going through. The freak always t

 I promise to be stronger, to be honest with my emotions. I can't control it, I can't show it, but I can talk about it. I promise to get better. I cut myself because those emotions that I can't express sit inside me and rot, leaving me to either a) feel empty and numb, leading me to make myself bleed, just to feel something again or b) feel so much emotional pain that it's physical, I cut those emotions out, letting them leave with my blood. I promise to not let every bad thing anyone says about me get to me. I promise to let you help me, to take your advice to heart and remember that you are almost always right. I love you, and I owe y

Here I am. Why don't you see me? The real me. Do I have to scream for you to hear that I'm dying inside? I'm trapped here, inside my own head. You see my mask. The one I don't even realize I put up. You never ask me what's wrong. You never ask me about the cutting. It makes me feel like you don't see me. I know you love me. You guys are my best friends. Don't get me wrong, I don't want you guys on top of me all the time, asking if I'm okay. But it would be nice if, just once, when I lie and say I'm great, if you would look me in the eye and say "No your not, tell me the truth" I am an eccedentesiast, just a big word meaning I fake a smile.