She went to the police.
Told them she was being abused.
They didn't believe her.
They thought she was another teenage fiend.
She went back.
Told them that she was *****.
They didn't believe her.
They thought she was another lying child.
She came again.
Told them she got beat up.
They didn't believe her.
They said if she comes again they will arrest her.
Her bestfriend came.
Told them that she was killed.
They didn't believe him.
He came back.
Told them that they aren't worth their lives.
They just laughed.
He left.
They got a call.
The person told them.
That they saw two bodies in the river.
The police went to check it out.
The bodies belonged to the girl and the boy.
The girl was killed.
The boy committed suicide.
Just to be with her.
The police were wrong.
They didn't believe their eyes.
They should start believing more.
**** April and it's fools.
The police were the fools in this story.
They started to believe more.
They saved lives of many after that.
But what I'm wondering is.
How come they didn't save those two kids.
That would've had lives to live.
If only they had believed.
In this retched April Fools story.

i am hallowed and hollow.
a divine being with
something to **** for.

trapped in a flesh cage
i am wild and furious
desperate to be freed.
desperate to be
        violent.

lightning struck me in my
angel childhood
left me with shattered wings
and electric human blood.
i am something in between.

i wish i could meet my match.
i wish i could fight him.
i wish i could win.

i am made of heaven and stardust.
of flesh and bone.
i am made of something inorgnanic,
something untouchable.
if you touch me,
you
will
burn.

stripped naked in the figurative sense, I see a girl that is far overdue for a dose of joy. so much emptiness in her eyes, blood flow has become invisible. beauty. oh so much beauty in the way she cares absolutely too much for those that are unaware of her favorite color nevertheless asks how she feels every blue moon. perfectionist could quite possibly be her middle name by the way her heart beats in sync with the spontaneous moods that show their appearance every two days or so. anxiety equals a rapid beat. "if you feel worried then you must act on it" seems to be her philosophy because when she's sad and shaky the heart must go slow.
for,
she.
is.
slow.
when the depression hits and vulnerability only shows its face behind closed doors im sure she would say that she feels as though she's suffocating. suffocating in the figurative sense, where everyone is there watching her but no one can differentiate heavy breathing in basketball practice from a ******* asthma attack.
idiots.
so numb. she's so numb in the figurative sense. you ask her how she is and each time it's an automated "good" as if practiced hundreds of times before a theatre performance. an actress. she's an actress in the literal sense. planting a smile from ear to ear even when it's an obvious gloomy day for everyone else. she puts on a show of happiness that could very much earn her an oscar, if only she were literally in the entertainment business. I can see her falling in the way her back hunches just 10 degrees lower than it had a year ago. I would recommend a doctors appointment but im hoping she learns to fix it on her own. I'm hoping it begins to appear in someone around her that maybe she isn't as okay as she seems. this beautiful perfectionist doesn't just have bad days and doesn't just spare her low moods in spite of upsetting those around her. this beautiful perfectionist doesn't see herself as beautiful. this beautiful perfectionist is so far from perfect.
maybe if someone looked a little deeper in the literal and figurative sense, they would choose to ask, after her automated response of "good", "are you really?"
-mxy

My body is cloth
To cut as I choose
Held together with cotton
And patch work bruises

Broken button eyes
Mouth of stitches
No words to escape
Put away into a box

Waiting to be used
But thrown away
For second hand love
I’m just a rag doll.

Never break a poets heart, she'll turn her sadness into art.
Dust and ashes you tore me apart.
Gave you my soul and you sealed my scars, I thought I'd let down my guard.
Broken to see you didn't love the real me, drunk in jealousy.
Fought for you but now I'm through - tears that burn, a lesson to learn.     You're nothing but a memory don't you see you're better off without me.
Depression returns, it earns to take control over my shattered soul.
Tight breathing I've lost feeling, no more concealing.
Twinge, torture of a familiar blade to no longer remember your name, a waste of talent written in a book but taken by a hook ... And a rope, to tie around a throat - pull.
Breathe - breath - death.