Jump to User:

myOtaku.com: gothicserenity


Thursday, November 9, 2006


Found this poem, dated july 12, 05, I feel it still aplies to me now
There is a freedom in being able to say that death sounds pretty fucking great.
I lack that freedom
Once I could wrap my suicidal ideas around me like a blanket
Now it leaves me cold
Maybe its knowing things can’t really get worst that brings comfort to a depressed soul
…I…don’t know
I don’t have anything that reassures me I’m still alive, not anymore at least
Why?
What is it that turns my soul that jaded color with years of pain?
I cry but my tears are not salted like normal…
A sweetness caresses my throat when I swallow them back.
How do I turn it to salt?
How do I cry…for real?
I ground my pain into powder and unleash it to the wind.
Cut the locks and chains that hold me to a place where there is no reality
I fear, I cry, I hate, I lust, and I to love, but to feel alive is not part of the deal.

Comments (0)

« Home