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#sad poetry

i do not ache with beauty. i do not hurt with grace. it leaves me guilty and it leaves me feeling shame.

i hurt like car wrecks and floods and fires enveloping places you’re told you should feel safe in.

i hurt like your least favorite songs played on the highest volume in a room you can’t escape from.

i hurt like i belong in a hospital bed that will turn into a casket or an urn.

i hurt like it’s the first time, every time, like i’ve never felt such agony.

i hurt like, “how could you do this to me?”

i hurt like, “i hate you and i could hate you forever.”

i hurt like, “i will never forget this.”

i hurt like, “i hope you hurt too.”


- “i hurt ugly”

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I hope you have fun with her

I hope she is exactly your type

A strong personality

with light coloured hair -

unlike my brown strands

I hope you trust her

and find her comforting

I hope she still gives you freedom

and the smiles you desire and deserve

I hope all of these things

and while I no longer wish it was me

I just hoped

wished

you liked me for more than just a night


I never wanted us to be strangers

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Inhale Her.

image

The moonlight reveals a lonely broken heart,

Staring up at a starless night.

He’s smoking his last cigarette.

Waiting for the first mornings light.

In the smoke he exhales he sees her face.

He can still picture her body draped in lace.

The alchole doesn’t numb it all,

So he chases his liquor with white lines and pills.

The pain is breaking him down, forcing him to crawl.

He made a mistake.

Time seems frozen.

Forever trapped in this empty room.

Memories echo in his skull.

All the colors have drained to gray.

His life is dull.

And its all saved for repeat every day.

image

Originally posted by le-immorte

image

Originally posted by bellesgrey

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We act like every single one of us

Is going to be in each other’s lives

For the rest of time

Yet I know that this is but

A fleeting moment in the vast

Space that is the time of our lives

Yet I’ll make these promises

That I’ll still be her in 5 years

Maybe even another 15

But this is nothing for than childish hope

And wonder holding our relationship together

Because one day we’ll be having

Our own lives and this will be

Nothing more than a memory

From childhood

- don’t tell me this is going to be forever, when aren’t even sure about tomorrow

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The ruins of me aren’t beautiful or romantic. They don’t inspire awe or wistful nostalgia.

It’s a maze, you see. 

Fractured and bloodstained from all my escape attempts. There are traps everywhere – gaping holes in the earth where vital pieces of me once proudly stood.

The graveyard is to the left, filled with all the things I used to believe in, and the possibilities of who I might have become.

A battered altar still stands on the highest ground – surrounded by souvenirs that take the shapes of everything I used to fight for, all the causes I suffered for.

The fires that ravaged their way through me are still burning in pockets of scorched embers.

Legend has it, if you listen hard enough, you can still hear me screaming.

>K.E.

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maybe next year, the people who hurt me this year, won’t hurt me anymore. or maybe next year i won’t care if or when they do. maybe next year, the songs that make me cry this year, will just be songs and their lyrics won’t feel so invasive. maybe next year i won’t think about people who don’t consider me. or maybe i will think of them, but just a little less.

maybe next year i will write not only when i’m aching, not only as i weep, not only when i feel so stifled i could burst. maybe i will write for someone nice or maybe i will write of something nice and maybe i might write any and all the time. maybe next year i will like myself a little or maybe i could just hate myself a little less. maybe next year i will not have to “face” the next one to follow, like a beast baring its fangs. maybe next year i will learn to settle into each day as it comes, unperturbed by both my past and my future.

- “maybe next year”

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Creía que ya había superado todo esto, todo lo que hubo, todo lo que fuimos pero creí mal. Anoche por la madrugada un canción te trajo a mi mente y con el humo del cigarrillo intenté llenar ese vacío que había pero no pude. Recordé nuestro primer beso, parecía un niño asustado y emocionado al mismo tiempo. Fue una noche de muchos recuerdos, recuerdos que sacan una sonrisa caprichosa.

Joder, te echo tanto de menos.

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Your hands,

Crushed my wrists.

Your palms,

Left marks on my face.

Your words,

Are still in the back of my head.


The bruises you left may have faded away,

But the memories never will.

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