such a waste, my life whole life is a fake!...but im sure ive been a thorn inside of you...that's torn at you for years. but, sometimes i can taste how bitter i've become...& its more then i can bare. sometimes i pray for someone to blow me away. just make it quick, but let it burn...so i can feel the pain thats torn at me for years. i can't be held responsable, 'cause this is all so new to me. can i...leave my pain behind?
the sercomstances of one's birth are irrelavent. its what you DO with the gift of life, that determends who you are. the pain you feel...its normal. let it go.
you think?
yes. you need to forgive and forget.
i can't...
you can.
but i can't just do nothing...
it's not nothing!
i cant just...forget.
it's hard to forgive, and its hard to forget, but it's easy to do nothing...
you're right...
the sercomstances of one's birth are irrelavent. its what you DO with the gift of life, that determends who you are. the pain you feel...its normal. let it go.
you think?
yes. you need to forgive and forget.
i can't...
you can.
but i can't just do nothing...
it's not nothing!
i cant just...forget.
it's hard to forgive, and its hard to forget, but it's easy to do nothing...
you're right...
I slammed the car door shut, and faced the school.
"Have a good day sweetie," Mom said, somewhat hopefully from the drivers seat. Just the words made me want to ball up and cry. She drove away, leaving me in the dust. I would not survive this day.
Not that I deserve to.
I clutched my books to my chest, and tried to keep my eyes fixed on the ground. But I still felt their eyes on me.
"Bitch," they muttered.
"She deserves to die," others said. Didn't they know I want to? Didn't they know how much strength it took to keep breathing? And when I did, it was the everlasting pain that nearly brought me to my death. But I could only hope.
But they didn't know this. They just knew it was my fault. And it was. It was all my fault for what had happened.
And I'd live with this guilt till I die.
*****************************
Please let me know if I should continue this; I don't know if I should.
"Have a good day sweetie," Mom said, somewhat hopefully from the drivers seat. Just the words made me want to ball up and cry. She drove away, leaving me in the dust. I would not survive this day.
Not that I deserve to.
I clutched my books to my chest, and tried to keep my eyes fixed on the ground. But I still felt their eyes on me.
"Bitch," they muttered.
"She deserves to die," others said. Didn't they know I want to? Didn't they know how much strength it took to keep breathing? And when I did, it was the everlasting pain that nearly brought me to my death. But I could only hope.
But they didn't know this. They just knew it was my fault. And it was. It was all my fault for what had happened.
And I'd live with this guilt till I die.
*****************************
Please let me know if I should continue this; I don't know if I should.
I do not own this. I did not write it, and I do not know the author. I just really like this and wanted to share it.
Who will you be
when faced with the end;
the end of a kingdom,
the end of good men.
Will you run?
Will you hide?
Or will you hunt down evil
with a venomous pride?
Rise to the ashes,
rise to the winter sky,
rise to the calling,
make heard the battle cry.
Let it scream from the mountains
From the forest to the chapel.
Because death is a hungry mouth
and you are the apple.
So who will you be
when faced with the end?
When the vultures are circling
and the shadows descend.
Will you cower,
or will you fight?
Is your heart made of glass?
Or a pure snow white?
Who will you be
when faced with the end;
the end of a kingdom,
the end of good men.
Will you run?
Will you hide?
Or will you hunt down evil
with a venomous pride?
Rise to the ashes,
rise to the winter sky,
rise to the calling,
make heard the battle cry.
Let it scream from the mountains
From the forest to the chapel.
Because death is a hungry mouth
and you are the apple.
So who will you be
when faced with the end?
When the vultures are circling
and the shadows descend.
Will you cower,
or will you fight?
Is your heart made of glass?
Or a pure snow white?