Young Writers Society

It’s dusk and the leaves are still falling from the sky
The wind was rough today, bent trees swaying to commands
It’s cold out
I take in those sharp and shaky breaths to stop myself from crying
That way the whole world can tell I want to cry
It’s comfortable here
And dying is beautiful

I don’t wish I was dead
Because I have everything to live for
But I just get down too much too soon
I cry to easily – and more and more every year
Sometimes wishes escape my mouth – like butterflies – like spiders
To bear messages of ill
They bite my lips to keep back those testy retorts to my mother
And at times like these I wish
(more wishes)
That I could crush them and have their job done for

I guess it’s still no too late to run away
I’ve always imagined being free – to run, to spring
As spring does from that deadly cold winter
Did I mention it was cold out?
Bitterly so, yet it keeps me from crying
Maybe it’s just something in the air
Or maybe I’m scared of more than just you
I’m still a child

Laughter is like liberation
An epiphany when all is lost –
The phrase “poor can marry for love”
Whispered in the wind while dribbles of green drip down my throat
Like a sickness you inherit my feelings
And you feel them
Ebb and flow
Like Edgar Allan Poe
On an off day

Truth is as deadly
As the stains on my T-shirt
And the scale in the bathroom
The bathroom that is so bare and barren that it could swallow you up
Despite the fact that it is no bigger than a closet
It seems fitting

I’m not underground yet
So I shouldn’t be sulking and pouting
“pink pout” was the name of the lip gloss I bought last night
And just like fall leaves
It’s dry now
Almost sucked off life – but still beautiful
Because dying is beautiful
And I’m not