Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Jun 2015 Hinata
antxthesis
I don't know what it is,
But something's missing
Something's missing from me
And I think that's you.

I feel like a defective doll
One that won't operate without being tuned
One that won't laugh
Without unless you put in a battery
I'm like a mute that won't sing
Unless given a tune.

And that tune, and that battery,
They're you.
And I miss the day we spent basically the whole day together
I miss your presence
& I can't help but feeling
Defective without you.
 Jun 2015 Hinata
Margot Dylan
Moment by moment, my love on a veil.
I swim an ocean deeper than the heart that I fail.
I breathe with remorse and regret no one I love.
I hope for a god,
and a backbone,
or lack thereof.
 Jun 2015 Hinata
hallucinations
so tell me again
how this ends,
is it with your knife through my chest
or your gun to my head ?
hallucinations © twenty-fifteen
 Jun 2015 Hinata
Estherzz21
Once upon a time.
There resides a book.
As the clock ticks past.
The story unfolds.

Chapter 1
A girl in the world,
Exist in slumber,
The melancholies,
and the malicious,
Hidden in darkness,
Visible only to happiness.*

Chapter 2
A girl at age 6,
The window opened,
by a guy of 10,
whom gave her feelings,
such as love
such as hate.


Chapter 3
The girl that now knows,
fairy tales exist,
but there would be no
happy ever after,
She was crumbled,
she was broken.


Chapter 4
The girl then now thinks,
if being happy,
requires sadness,
she'd rather not feel,
cause she knows she's weak,
pathetic was she.


Chapter 5
The girl with lessons,
Only known to lies,
Liars are survivor,
Lying is surviving,
Or so she thought,
But its not The End.


*She knows.
And she will live.
I'll hang on.
For myself.
 Jun 2015 Hinata
Estherzz21
How nostalgic it is.
To walk on thin rope.
That defined my life.
Never looking back.
Only towards front.
Sadly, not a choice.

How nostalgic it is.*
*To undo feelings.
Avoiding hatred.
or better, sadness.
Sighing in despair.
Oh clamour, just shut up.
There are times,when I avoid thinking too much,
because once i think, I'm afraid I won't be returning.
 Jun 2015 Hinata
Estherzz21
The dust begin to compile,
from the story you gave me.
The dust begin to vanish,
as the story begins to burn.

It was white as snow,
black as the windowsill,
and red as blood, the princess.
**The story ends, as the narrator smiled.
To feel is human nature,
and so is to lose.
Next page