Thursday, Jul. 11, 2002/2:44 pm

untitled

This is a weird poem i wrote last year. It's very random, dosnt rhyme or make much sence really. You could describe it as just stupid confused ramblings.... If you want to understand it a bit better, what made me write it, read the previous entry that i just wrote "friends".

Sometimes I just feel like I�m falling, down

into a pit

of relief or maybe even death

down to denial

down to hate

down to hell, and i cant stop it.

I know u think i�m stupid but I know, oh, I know

when u feel so low and u don�t know what to say or to do to change it, you�ll think of things, that scare you,

friends, they don�t know or maybe they don�t even exist, I don�t know anymore.

Concern never shows. Care, I�ll never get, no one does, and you see it and you like it

Smiles are just another thing that you have, and I don�t. Happiness is a distant memory. Your the amnesia.

I see knives, blades, scissors. They�re pointing at me and i know i should change, and leave.

But I can�t because I know you�ll always be there, and you, and you, occupying my mind, my thoughts, my wishes.

I can feel the needles scratching at my skin. The deep scars you�ve left. I�m marked, branded. They�ll always be there.

If words could harm I would be bleeding.

I can hear your laughter ringing in my ears. Laughing at me not with me.

Telling me I'm odd, weird, annoying and pathetic, you make me feel like a horendous freak show.

If I pulled a rope around my neck or threw myself in front of a moving train, would that satisfy you? or would you feel guilty at all? maybe it wouldnt even affect you.

The real me is invisible to you. I keep her hidden. You�ve pushed me down so far and now she�s stuck. She can�t escape and she running out of air. Soon she will become the old me. She�ll be gone.

A doormat does not speak, or have views or feelings, that�s what you must think, a doormat is only good for one thing; walking over.

Confidence is a gift, without it someone is weak and useless A little self pride is right, so hating yourself must be wrong.

A reusable battery can be used over and over again but still, each time it will become a little weaker. Nothing lasts forever.

Who am I?? Ask your self that question. You don�t really know me, Can u actually see me? do u know who�s really standing here?