My mother, моя мама.
Her life, her love,
Crumbling like the stars we once gazed at.
Her world, her country,
Falling like the stars.
My mother, my ima.
The mountains, the rivers,
Oh god the people.
They fall like the stars we once knew.
Моя мама, my ima.
My world, be happy....
TW: suicidal thoughts- I don’t know how to do trigger warnings but I thought this would be appropriate.
Just kill me.
Kill me because I am undeserving.
I deserve the bitter cold.
Please love me,
please please please,
Let me feel your warmth.
I’ve hurt you.
I think I love you.
But I think I might just want to kill you.
Please just kill me.
I am stuck,
Stuck in a cycl...
Every single family member was cramped up in my old mans small office space, sorting out all of his possessions and dusty papers, while a question bother me incessantly.
“Do you all know why pa hated me so much?” I ask, interrupting the silence permeating the room.
Everyone looks up with confusion.
“What do you mean? Your father never hated you.”
I chuckle, “Yes he did, when did he ever wil...
There will be a time where she won’t answer her phone.
There will be a time where you can’t pick her up.
There will be a time where her number isn’t hers.
There will be one last time where you kiss her.
There won’t be a time where you can kneel to her.
So give up on love, as she did....
I plaster my ass on walls for attention,
I am sinful.
I cry for a compliment.
Nothing ever works.
I strip myself of my dignity.
Just for all sluts to laugh at me.
I whisper for help,
I whisper for a drug.
It never works.
Because I was never real,
I am nothing but a pathetic piece of plastic.
Better luck next time....
We live in a land where the footprints of ghosts linger.
I know for a damn fact it’s true;
I’m one of ‘em.
You might see someone walking, but they’re gone.
You don’t know them, they don’t know you, and at the end you’ll forget them.
There’s not much difference to forgetness and death.
There might be a sun rising, but there’s still lingering shadows.
The sun only makes them brighter....
I am not a butterfly, I am a moth.
I am not colorful nor pretty,
I am plain and dull.
I am not the light in a dark room, because I have to chase after it.
I only step outside at night,
as no one must see me.
I am not pretty, I am not a shimmering light,
I am not visible;
I am a moth and you must not see me.
And never changes, unlike me....
There’s a rope for you and I,
But I doubt you’ll dream of it first.
Did you know the taste of the boot?
The taste of iron?
It’s everything to me you know.
It’s written on the wall, you can feel it.
The scary, the horror, of what?
The speed in which young men run or in which you’ll run?
You’ll need to be faster than the clock if you want to survive. Book it through another alley, anoth...