beth_is_betty (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} beth_is_betty) wrote,@ 2005-01-19 22:53:00 |
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-It has become a silhouette-
There is a little box held in my palm,
in which my cold dreams dare to grow.
There is a little hope inside my heart,
though I should have killed it long ago.
There is a little world inside my head,
now it's so much bigger than before.
And these little cracks upon my sanity
happen to continue growing even more.
It has all become a silhouette now,
there's nothing left for you to see.
Sorry the spectacle is over, folks,
the freakshow once known as Me.
"She has broken," says the ringmaster,
"From all of your taunts put her way.
She has finally found the answers,
and they haunt her to this day."
There is nothing left for me in this world,
and I am seeing why I was worth leaving.
I know now that there is no power left
in things such as knowledge and believing.
So please do not wake me, I wish to sleep,
for much more than the bliss in dreams.
There is no more room in my broken heart,
and the pain is tearing it at the seams.
I want to believe them when they say
that there is truth that love is real.
But it's hard to believe in something
that I don't think I could ever feel.
So please think nothing of my unfeeling,
and don't ask about all my screaming.
I know that by now I am far gone,
so I spend all of my hours dreaming.
And in this world there are no ghosts,
and nobody left to keep me company.
I have finally decided why I am all alone,
I know there is nobody to blame but me.
Perhaps I am merely a dark shadow now,
or perhaps that is what I have always been.
Maybe there is nothing for me in this world,
for I've got nothing left to lose or win.
I wonder what's buried underneath the surface,
for we all have so many things to hide.
I need not know everything about everyone,
I just want to see who they really are inside.
Do not give me your words of wisdom,
do not even try to tell me what I should do.
I will figure these things out on my own,
and I will never need to listen to you.
There was a box held in my palm,
in which my cold dreams dared to grow.
There was a hope inside my heart,
and I didn't kill it all that long ago.
There was a world inside my head,
but I had it killed not too long before.
And these cracks upon my sanity
have continued growing even more...
~
Dear Rachel (aka Texan),
Yes, I DID steal from your poem.
I'M SORRY I'M SORRY!
OMG
See, I suddenly had the urge to write down these words, and then, afterwards, I realized that some of them were YOUR words!
If you want me to, I'll take this poem off the internet.
Just give me the word.
...::still feels guilty::
Waaah...
