A beauty that blooms in many colors to please:
Orange, yellow, purple, pink, even red. Quite known to put even the harshest at ease. Sought by few, happiness received, all dead. Often seen to help the badly sick and deathly weary, Great taste, style, perpetual, and known to all, She made an impact to help every Joe and Mary. Are there bad sides to even recall? In fact, she caused an abundance of trouble. Aches,restlessness, vomiting, and pain. She leaves many of her victims to mumble, Too late to realize that there is no gain. She brings to the family much sadness and only harm, Leaving nothing but a needle in the arm.
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Rip my heart out,
Tear at my eyes, This is all your fault, You and your lies. If you want to find pain…
Be tricked by a rose’s beauty If you want to find pain… Listen to Three Days Grace, and hear Adam’s stories If you want to find pain… Look at the world around you If you want to find pain… Be fooled, listen, and look in every corner and crack I’m falling
falling falling. the colors hurry by rushing rushing rushing, Nothing but a blur. I’m falling falling falling, But I’m smiling. Air rushes past soaring soaring soaring Lights flash, and the sky lightens, and I realize that I am not, indeed, falling falling falling. But instead, I am flying flying High above the trees Never to come down. burn your dictionaries.
slice up your thesaurus. because the very moment that words can be found, they falter, fail. as your explanations, your justifications begin their voyage, ready to spill from your mouth to whichever poor soul you’ve enlisted as a confident, they begin to wound, betraying their puppeteer. The harsh angles of the Hs (Hurt? Hatred? Help?) begin to scrape against your throat, and the slants of the As (Alone? Apathetic? Apologetic?) get lodged between the curves of the Bs (Breathless? Bruised? Bloodied?) And eventually they’re all stuck, jammed into your throat without means of escape. It sounds too poetic to be true: I cannot scream. You cannot hear me. Thrust into a goddamn horror movie, where everything’s scary because everything’s real. Silence. Black cement snaking on,
wind blows under humming tires as they pass over the road, once a river. A yellow light beating on refineries and factories Silence is meant not heard as millions mechanically fly together clanking in separate clawed cages on a road, blackened and used, signs with nothing but words litter the surface, hairline fractures lie just below in wait How imperfect, how fitting is a road slicing through mountains And on roads we skid, we fly, we illuminate our illusion of control by metal screws and whittling paths in wilderness Maybe, we think the cement immortal, maybe we think us the same, melted to the wheel, but yellow lines and scattered white painted by methodical hands can be melted and the trees, blurred together by breakable windows; They breathe. i can see you.
i can feel each word, on my tongue. i pound, i scream, i beg, to be free. to be heard. you can see me too. but at the same time you don't. you look past, seeing only yourself. turn off the leave. withdraw from the room. and leave me trapped. bruising my fists, above the bathroom sink. i tap a finger to the glass. cracking the mirror, while you sleep. i enter the room. i occupy your dreams. we must no longer beg to be heard, in our dreams. we are free.
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