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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Arts · #1762800
I write some pretty messed up stuff... Be aware please.
As it turns out,

Life isn't turing out.

I was born into this world for a reason.

All I see is death.



I stand in the dark,

This is where I am left.

This is all that is left of me.

I know its not neat,

And I am not pretty,

But I don't care.



I pretty much don't care.

I stand in the dark,

I am waisting away.

Slowly, I feal the pain.

Eating at me, As if I am no one.



When will this end?

Will someone finally care?

Will this face become a beuty,

Of what it used to be?



Don't kill me,

Please, lord of Dark,

I wish to live,

Survive another long day.



Or... Maybe not.

Maybe this is what I want.

I don't know anymore,

I don't know anything.



As I wake up, in the darkness,

I feel like something is creaping up.

To tear me up,

Making this room filled with red,

Blood, a beutiful creation.



I live long,

14 years is long enough.

Should I do what I want to do?

Is it to early for me?

Maybe so. I am young.



Then again, maybe not.

Maybe, as I stand in the dark,

I feel okay with the thought of perishing.

I am alone,

And that is okay.

I have no love,

And that is okay.



Maybe I'll end up six feet under,

But that'll all be okay.
© Copyright 2011 Kriss Talon (bringmetolife at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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