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Literature Text
She stares out into the world with empty eyes.
The scars on her wrists will never heal, nor will her heart.
Her past haunts her in ways most people don't want to imagine.
The pain lingers still, long after the blade was dropped.
She'll never really recover, never truly find release.
There will always be a piece of her left behind,
A piece of her trapped, strangled by her own thoughts,
Her overwhelming emotions, or does she feel nothing at all?
She doesn't really remember. She feels empty now.
But did she used to? She doesn't think so.
She remembers pain. Suffering. Loneliness yet being smothered all at once.
Tears prick the corners of her eyes and slowly cascade down her cheeks.
She's not sad now, not really, at least she doesn't have a reason to be.
But did she ever really need a reason? With harsh words spoken
Or sometimes, with words being left unsaid,
What hurts more? A beating or a verbal barrage?
You're not good enough.
You'll never be good enough.
You're useless,
You're stupid.
You're nothing.
You're a dirty whore.
You've accomplished nothing.
You've helped no one.
You will never mean anything to anyone.
.
.
.
But that's behind her now, right?
So why does she still feel so empty?
The scars on her wrists will never heal, nor will her heart.
Her past haunts her in ways most people don't want to imagine.
The pain lingers still, long after the blade was dropped.
She'll never really recover, never truly find release.
There will always be a piece of her left behind,
A piece of her trapped, strangled by her own thoughts,
Her overwhelming emotions, or does she feel nothing at all?
She doesn't really remember. She feels empty now.
But did she used to? She doesn't think so.
She remembers pain. Suffering. Loneliness yet being smothered all at once.
Tears prick the corners of her eyes and slowly cascade down her cheeks.
She's not sad now, not really, at least she doesn't have a reason to be.
But did she ever really need a reason? With harsh words spoken
Or sometimes, with words being left unsaid,
What hurts more? A beating or a verbal barrage?
You're not good enough.
You'll never be good enough.
You're useless,
You're stupid.
You're nothing.
You're a dirty whore.
You've accomplished nothing.
You've helped no one.
You will never mean anything to anyone.
.
.
.
But that's behind her now, right?
So why does she still feel so empty?
Literature
Letter to Markiplier
Dear Mark,
Well I guess a friendly letter should always start out with telling you who I am…Hello I’m Morgan. I’m a ‘fangirl’ just like all the rest I suppose…but hey I’m not afraid to admit that. I’m a ‘Fangirl’ of you for many good reasons. Though I don’t like to bring up the things that make us sad I do wish to say that our lives run on a few very prominent parallels. One of the parallels I speak of is one I hate the most…I know the feeling of helplessness when those who are closest to you are on the verge of death and there is nothing you can do. I was
Literature
If I Met Markiplier
We meet at last
You are YOU
I am no one
to be remembered
Merely one of
countless thousands
to have had the honor
To you it is nothing really
all in a days work
To me it is everything
A dream come true
A warm smile, a handshake
It is done
Your parade moves on
The pedestal gleaming
All in a days work as you
smile tiredly at the next fan
Heaven can not compare
Thinks I
The daydream over
I move to the mundane
It was Heaven while it lasted
Literature
I promise I'll remember...
I promise to remember Sky,
Whenever I see someone courageous.
I promise to remember Bodil,
Whenever I see something outrageous.
I promise to remember Ty,
When rage-quitting is guaranteed.
I promise to remember Ashley,
Whenever someone's living their dream.
I promise to remember Jason,
When I look to the stars.
I promise to remember Gizzy,
When Cop's 'n' Robbers goes too far.
I promise to remember Jerome,
When I die of laughter.
I promise to remember Preston,
Whenever I see a PVP master.
I promise to remember Mitch,
When Hunger Games is won.
I promise to remember Ryan,
When Morgan Freeman comes on.
I promise to remember Quentin,
Whenever I see
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A painful past, a sorrowful present, and an uncertain future.
It is hard to carry on with a weak heart and tormented mind. Sometimes we cling to vices, addiction, self mutilation, hysteria,,, anything to keep the pain away. Anything to keep that feeling away.
But there is always hope. And it is that hope, that little light in the darkness, that keeps us alive.
Great poem. I loved it.
It is hard to carry on with a weak heart and tormented mind. Sometimes we cling to vices, addiction, self mutilation, hysteria,,, anything to keep the pain away. Anything to keep that feeling away.
But there is always hope. And it is that hope, that little light in the darkness, that keeps us alive.
Great poem. I loved it.