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Literature Text
I am a perfect paradox
I can't help but cry
As I sit in my own sorrow
Thinking of you, dreaming of you
And I cry "When does the pain end?"
They softly reply,
"Don't worry. You'll get over him soon."
And that hurts me more than anything else
That means they don't think you're coming back to me
They think I need to get over you
I will get over you
Because you're not coming back
Is that my choice?
Either hold on to the hurt forever
Or experience the pain
Of letting go for good?
Which pain do I want more?
You're never coming back, are you?
I can't help but cry
As I sit in my own sorrow
Thinking of you, dreaming of you
And I cry "When does the pain end?"
They softly reply,
"Don't worry. You'll get over him soon."
And that hurts me more than anything else
That means they don't think you're coming back to me
They think I need to get over you
I will get over you
Because you're not coming back
Is that my choice?
Either hold on to the hurt forever
Or experience the pain
Of letting go for good?
Which pain do I want more?
You're never coming back, are you?
Literature
Depression
I'm tired of being here,
all locked up in my head.
Every day I hear a whisper,
and I'm closer to being dead.
Something taps me on the shoulder,
something I can't fight.
When it talks in that low voice,
my eyes are shut so tight.
Once it gets to a cetain point,
and I'm still sitting on the ground,
it tells me to do things,
I'm trying to ignore the sound.
Its voice is harsh and filled with confidence,
and I can hear a hint of sorrow.
Even when it's telling me,
I won't live to see tomorrow.
I don't know what to say,
and I don't know what to do.
I'm still hearing it now,
and I'm still suffering too.
I can't tell what its weak
Literature
Hate.
I hate myself.
I mean someone has to.
I look in the mirror and all I see,
Is someone ugly.
No matter how hard I try,
And no matter what I say or do,
I mess everything up.
Nothing goes right,
Everything goes wrong.
I can't do anything right.
I want to please everyone,
If I can't be happy then
I should at least make others happy.
I mess everything up.
I can't make anyone happy.
I hate myself.
So do me a favor,
And hate me too.
Because if you hate me,
Then I don't have to hate myself.
Literature
Suicide
You called me up,
crying,
down the phone,
you said you'd taken some pills,
and didn't want, to die alone.
Is your life,
that messed up,
you had to take steps,
to make it stop?
I cried to you,
to call 999,
you said you couldn't listen,
to voices other than mine.
your voice sounded weak,
fighting for breath,
the silence was noticeable
as if i was deaf.
The streets of heaven,
are already full tonight,
full of souls,
souls of angels,
souls like yours,
souls of people,
whose life ended too soon.
Your death,
has brought nothing but pain,
upon this world.
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Still in the emotional vein.
I've got a lot of sorting out to do.
I've got a lot of sorting out to do.
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Comments5
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I wish I could convey my emotions this well. Great work!