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Literature Text
She no longer wanted to live. You could see it, see it in her dull,
empty eyes, because they had the glassy stare of a doll's fake ones.
It scared you to see that-- the way she looked was so inhuman that you
wondered whether she really was alive at all. Or if she was real.
She would sit and she would feel nothing. Cold, hot, what did it
really matter? She was oblivious to the world... Sometimes you weren't
even sure if she knew you were there. She looked so loose and
disconnected, as if she wasn't aware of the fact she had arms or legs.
It seemed like each joint was almost seperate from the other, because
she never moved and she didn't notice if something hurt.
Her face was expressionless, blank. It seemed like nothing was there.
She acted, sometimes, as if she was happy or amused or confused.
Normal reactions, because nobody really wants to see the truth, and so
she hid it. It still looked off, though, as if she was reading from a
script. You could barely notice it, but there were little things that
tipped you off. How her smiles never reached her eyes and her laughs
sounded so hollow. How her hands were so cold and her hugs so stiff.
She looked like a puppet acting out its part.
She never cried. She was so consumed by the pain that it had taken all
of her just to stay alive this long. Finally, she just shut off her
heart, because the sorrow had burned away everything that worked,
anyway. She was deadened by the pain... Everything became dull and
meaningless, as if sorrow was her emotional Novocain.
She didn't want this pointless existence anymore, and so she ceased to
want to live. She didn't enjoy being a puppet and she didn't like
being numbed. So she just gave up in the hopes that it would end-- the
lies and the decieving that all was done just so nobody would realize
that she was just about alive as a puppet made of wood. So nobody else
would hurt seeing her this way.
She just wanted it to end. Close the curtians and turn off the
lights-- show's over, goodnight.
Goodbye.
empty eyes, because they had the glassy stare of a doll's fake ones.
It scared you to see that-- the way she looked was so inhuman that you
wondered whether she really was alive at all. Or if she was real.
She would sit and she would feel nothing. Cold, hot, what did it
really matter? She was oblivious to the world... Sometimes you weren't
even sure if she knew you were there. She looked so loose and
disconnected, as if she wasn't aware of the fact she had arms or legs.
It seemed like each joint was almost seperate from the other, because
she never moved and she didn't notice if something hurt.
Her face was expressionless, blank. It seemed like nothing was there.
She acted, sometimes, as if she was happy or amused or confused.
Normal reactions, because nobody really wants to see the truth, and so
she hid it. It still looked off, though, as if she was reading from a
script. You could barely notice it, but there were little things that
tipped you off. How her smiles never reached her eyes and her laughs
sounded so hollow. How her hands were so cold and her hugs so stiff.
She looked like a puppet acting out its part.
She never cried. She was so consumed by the pain that it had taken all
of her just to stay alive this long. Finally, she just shut off her
heart, because the sorrow had burned away everything that worked,
anyway. She was deadened by the pain... Everything became dull and
meaningless, as if sorrow was her emotional Novocain.
She didn't want this pointless existence anymore, and so she ceased to
want to live. She didn't enjoy being a puppet and she didn't like
being numbed. So she just gave up in the hopes that it would end-- the
lies and the decieving that all was done just so nobody would realize
that she was just about alive as a puppet made of wood. So nobody else
would hurt seeing her this way.
She just wanted it to end. Close the curtians and turn off the
lights-- show's over, goodnight.
Goodbye.
Literature
Back and Forth
It's all the same every day
You always have a lot to say
First you're angry, screaming loud
Then you're acting as if you're proud
First you say I screwed things up
Then you're giving me a free soda cup
You tell me I do nothing when I really tried
You ignore that you're killing me inside
Then you laugh and share the fun
As if a new day has begun
But it's not ok
It doesn't go away
You still make me feel like utter shit
Then a second later, forget about it
I do so much to please you
But all of my plans just fall through
You claim you show all the signs
You ignore everything the same of mine
When I wanna die you call me a liar
Literature
Looking
I'm looking for somebody
That I can call my other half
He doesn't need to have muscular calves,
Or a chiselled jawline with cheekbones so dreamy
As long as he is pleasant to my eyes
Looks good wearing glasses or without it
Has good manners, won't resort to telling me white lies
I will love him whole, from his hard edges to his cuddly bits.
I'm looking for someone, my bene elim
Who I can dedicate the song "Somebody" by Depeche Mode
Martin Gore had sung all that I want to say to him
But still I wrote this because I'm in love & am plain bored
He will be my rock and my pillow
And I will share to him what makes me mellow
I will tell him about my
Literature
Love
Love
Flower, flower
Sweet, red and mine
You make my world spin
You make my words rhyme
Blossom, blossom
How pretty you are
The te
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Comments18
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I love this one!So glad you decided to post it!