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Life Like Mine

Thursday, 11 August 2005


Now Playing: Trapped In Humanity
Topic: My Poetry
Trapped in humanity
Slowly driven to insanity
Thrown off by the Devil's air
I try to live, but no longer care
Ran out of breath, but forced to breathe
Now comes death
Do they finally see
See the tears I've cried
The blood I've shed
Do they know when I died
I forever lie dead
Yet still here, Trapped in humanity
Forced to live, but never do so
I want to leave
I want to go
But I'm trapped!



Posted by poetry/brittney2 at 4:04 AM EDT
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Now Playing: 8/10/05
Topic: My Thoughts
Words cannot describe. Can't begin to explain the misunderstood. Can't give a language to the tongueless. If all is deaf then what is heard? Words can't give site to the blind unless the blind open up and see. Not only see but believe. Words arn't enough! They arn't enough to be heard. They arn't enough to be written if no one reads. Just a way to cope. But no visibility comes to the blind. Does visibility come to the reader of words if they don't feel the same? Can the understand when the writer can't? Or is everything left unanswered?

Posted by poetry/brittney2 at 4:03 AM EDT
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Now Playing: 8/9/05
Topic: My Thoughts
I'm sitting on my bed trying to recalculate my life so far. A pool of depression and hope. Sometimes I wonder why I hate life and living. My only conclusion, other then the obvious, is that I don't know. Yet another unanswered question. Sometimes I desperately want this depression to end so I can get on with my life. I want to break free from the hold that so tightly grasps my wrists until all blood flow stops. But, once and a while I feel like my depression is what defines me and losing that is losing all meaning and hope for understanding. Using common sense I know that depression is like an illness and does not define me, but is only something watching me. It is not apart of me but yet again I fear that of the unknown. Fear surrounds me. It's everywhere. Suffercating the air and life from the living until every soul lays sucked out and brittle until all that is left is death. I still try to sort fact and fiction. Reality and fantasy. But, confusion is a side affect of fear and depression.

Posted by poetry/brittney2 at 4:00 AM EDT
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