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- Sep 18, 2006
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Poems and Unfinished writings
Since everyone's been show casing their writing, I decided to dig up some VERY OLD writings of mine and share them with you i used to be a VERY depressed person. Keep that in mind. I'm no longer sad anymore. but here's a few of the writings I like and if anyone calls me emo, I'll hurt you. :ninja: :ninja::
A Song
The piano plays it's melody,
And my eyes begin to cry,
I see a distant memory,
And begin to wonder why,
My hands move swiftly across the keys,
A sound so gentle and sad,
My soul travels the seven seas,
I think of happiness I once had,
The tune slows it's pace,
And the lights begin to dim,
My time of praise is over,
I lost and didn't win,
The moon shines brightly through the window,
Reflecting on the objects of my past,
It all went by so quickly,
It all drifted away so fast,
The song is now over,
But it will start again,
You can hear it drifting solemnly,
Gently on the wind.
Shy
I turn on the shower and sink slowly to the floor, letting the hot water pelt against my skin. It is the only place where I can get away. Just sit until the hot water runs out. Sometimes my dad will knock on the door, asking if I'm still alive. I answer of course, but sometimes I don't want to.
The shower lets me think, just think with no distractions. Lots of thoughts float into my head, like keeping silent. No one wants to hear what I have to say, or the fact that when I'm with my love, time stops and lets us dive into our own world. After he leaves and I am left to the house, I begin to think again.
I wonder if I belong in a mental institute sometimes, watching movies like that put ideas into my head. I'm almost like the crazy people in a way, yet I'm not. I'm "Different" as some people tell me so often. I'm "pretty" they also tell me, yet I still manage to avoid mirrors whenever they are near. I don't see what they see, and I don't know why.
I have no talents either, though some people say I can be anything, how do they know? They don't hear the voices in their head. Though some people have it worse than me. I don't care, I don't know them, I know me. Or do I? Do I really know who I am?
Stupid thoughts, stupid thoughts, I can feel the water growing cold. I stand up, feeling myself get a little dizzy. I turn off the shower, I open the door and the cold air slices through my skin like frozen snow does. I grab a towel, wrapping myself up quickly .
I sit there later in the kitchen, my dad ignoring me as usual, keeping himself busy with the history channel. My step-mother hums away while cooking.
I walk into my room, the smell of incense tickling my senses. I close the door tightly and collapse onto my bed. I lay back and stare at the ceiling. the sound from the cartoons on the TV pierce my eardrums and I pull on my headphones, closing my eyes, turning the volume up and drifting away into the music.
Music is my life, I imagine things happening with each song. Imagining things that happen only in movies. I try to be creative, but that's bad to do. Imagination doesn't prepare you for real life, it only prepares you to get hurt.
Note to self: Don't be creative.
Since everyone's been show casing their writing, I decided to dig up some VERY OLD writings of mine and share them with you i used to be a VERY depressed person. Keep that in mind. I'm no longer sad anymore. but here's a few of the writings I like and if anyone calls me emo, I'll hurt you. :ninja: :ninja::
A Song
The piano plays it's melody,
And my eyes begin to cry,
I see a distant memory,
And begin to wonder why,
My hands move swiftly across the keys,
A sound so gentle and sad,
My soul travels the seven seas,
I think of happiness I once had,
The tune slows it's pace,
And the lights begin to dim,
My time of praise is over,
I lost and didn't win,
The moon shines brightly through the window,
Reflecting on the objects of my past,
It all went by so quickly,
It all drifted away so fast,
The song is now over,
But it will start again,
You can hear it drifting solemnly,
Gently on the wind.
Shy
I turn on the shower and sink slowly to the floor, letting the hot water pelt against my skin. It is the only place where I can get away. Just sit until the hot water runs out. Sometimes my dad will knock on the door, asking if I'm still alive. I answer of course, but sometimes I don't want to.
The shower lets me think, just think with no distractions. Lots of thoughts float into my head, like keeping silent. No one wants to hear what I have to say, or the fact that when I'm with my love, time stops and lets us dive into our own world. After he leaves and I am left to the house, I begin to think again.
I wonder if I belong in a mental institute sometimes, watching movies like that put ideas into my head. I'm almost like the crazy people in a way, yet I'm not. I'm "Different" as some people tell me so often. I'm "pretty" they also tell me, yet I still manage to avoid mirrors whenever they are near. I don't see what they see, and I don't know why.
I have no talents either, though some people say I can be anything, how do they know? They don't hear the voices in their head. Though some people have it worse than me. I don't care, I don't know them, I know me. Or do I? Do I really know who I am?
Stupid thoughts, stupid thoughts, I can feel the water growing cold. I stand up, feeling myself get a little dizzy. I turn off the shower, I open the door and the cold air slices through my skin like frozen snow does. I grab a towel, wrapping myself up quickly .
I sit there later in the kitchen, my dad ignoring me as usual, keeping himself busy with the history channel. My step-mother hums away while cooking.
I walk into my room, the smell of incense tickling my senses. I close the door tightly and collapse onto my bed. I lay back and stare at the ceiling. the sound from the cartoons on the TV pierce my eardrums and I pull on my headphones, closing my eyes, turning the volume up and drifting away into the music.
Music is my life, I imagine things happening with each song. Imagining things that happen only in movies. I try to be creative, but that's bad to do. Imagination doesn't prepare you for real life, it only prepares you to get hurt.
Note to self: Don't be creative.