i feel emptyand ache all over my body,my mind, my soul.my back is scratchedfor sleeping in the cold street.my thigh is bleedingand the bloodis brimming a big holeof my dark soul.oh,i am betweenalive anddeceased.
she took the painkillerand drank a bottle of waterthought all the screams that stuck on her headwould go away as she laid on bedher eyes were so blackand her soul was pale blueshe was there, alone in the darkbut not a single body knewshe smiled, but rippedshe kept all the wounds, and not ever lived
And in the street people stop and take shelterI like it when it rains hardAnd I watch it through my windowI like it when it rains hardAnd I can stand beneath dark skies pouring rainsAnd I cryAnd no one will noticeI like it when it rains hardAnd my insecurities fade awayI like it when it rains hardI will run outside and walk for an hour or twoAway from homeTo look for rainbowI like it when it rains hardAnd it is so coldLike I feel
blank.she sat waiting quietly.staring at anything she could stare.listening to everything she could hear.blank.among the crowd, she felt the blank inside of her.a blank which could be crammed by something she never witnessed before.she almost witnessed it.butblank.she knew it. she knew it.oh, blank.she was blank.and that was all she knew.
The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind is wailing,The bare boughs are sighing, the pale flowers are dying,And the YearOn the earth her death-bed, in a shroud of leaves dead,Is lying.Come, Months, come away,From November to May,In your saddest array;Follow the bierOf the dead cold Year,And like dim shadows watch by her sepulchre.The chill rain is falling, the nipped worm is crawling,The rivers are swelling, the thunder is knellingFor the Year;The blithe swallows are flown, and the lizards each gone
I never lost as much but twice,And that was in the sod.Twice have I stood a beggarBefore the door of God!Angels -- twice descendingReimbursed my store --Burglar! Banker -- Father!I am poor once more!
The weight of misfortune has stooped my shouldersBut I don’t intend to stop for a good while yet;I afflict my own destinyAnd don’t want anyone to mourn for my fate.I’ve made peace with God on my lossesAnd agreed with him on the epitaphsThat should be written about my senseless wars.