Running to stand still,When you look upDo you see the blue sky of what might be?Or the darkness of what never will?Do you see me?You ask me to not run away...But I'm already gone.
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Living in the shadows.It is a life of hate, anger, disgust.Watching them be better.It is a life of rage, frustration and hurt.Not being enoughA stake, to the soulThe perfect poison for your heart,The perfect poison for your sanity.Doing your life's best,and not being enough,Forever a dissapointment.My life is black,their praise are lies,How dare they!To my face, they say with a smirk, "that was amazing"...they never do add the 'but'.
It's too quiet here.Come closer.You can't hear me cry.Come closer,you can't see my dreams all diefrom where you're standing on your own.It's too quiet here.you promised-then, weeks later, when i fellyou smiled maliciously and said "broken promises are the best kind"'broken hearts hurt the worst'its too quiet here.i feel so cold-relief exists though.when i am cut.crippled anger,
Broken girls,Housed in a broken bodytheir pieces scattered, some buried, some floating in the middle of the ocean,None of them are whole.But you'll never see a single frown,Long sleeved shirts cover up the scars,bracelets hide the bandaids,fear, a tightly knotted restraint on their lips, as good as any mouth guard,Smiles on the outside,bright, tinkling laughs,hide the pain on the inside...When school is over, and the last question answered with the last lie,she walks to her favourite place;Always secluded,she sits on the grass, watches the leaves fall, and lets the tears drop too.There is no specific reason for her tears, but that black hole in her body that she felt grow today
My God (oh, let me call Thee mine,Weak, wretched sinner though I be),My trembling soul would fain be Thine;My feeble faith still clings to Thee.Not only for the Past I grieve,The Future fills me with dismay;Unless Thou hasten to relieve,Thy suppliant is a castaway.I cannot say my faith is strong,I dare not hope my love is great;But strength and love to Thee belong;Oh, do not leave me desolate!I know I owe my all to Thee;Oh, TAKE the heart I cannot give!Do Thou my strength--my Saviour be,
A Pit -- but Heaven over it --And Heaven beside, and Heaven abroad,And yet a Pit --With Heaven over it.To stir would be to slip --To look would be to drop --To dream -- to sap the PropThat holds my chances up.Ah! Pit! With Heaven over it!The depth is all my thought --I dare not ask my feet --'Twould start us where we sitSo straight you'd scarce suspectIt was a Pit -- with fathoms under it --Its Circuit just the same.Seed -- summer -- tomb --
What does the hangman think aboutWhen he goes home at night from work?When he sits down with his wife andChildren for a cup of coffee and aPlate of ham and eggs, do they askHim if it was a good day's workAnd everything went well or do theyStay off some topics and talk aboutThe weather, base ball, politicsAnd the comic strips in the papersAnd the movies? Do they look at hisHands when he reaches for the coffeeOr the ham and eggs? If the littleOnes say, Daddy, play horse, here'sA rope — does he answer like a joke:I seen enough rope for today?