May 21, 2010
By tightpoet BRONZE, Los Angeles, California
tightpoet BRONZE, Los Angeles, California
2 articles 0 photos 0 comments

I can hear them,
The souls of people whose lives are as perfect as can be.
As jealousy fills my eyes,
Everyone’s feelings around me invade my mind.
Most are happy, the rest are sad
Those sad souls don’t show it, but I can tell.
They are hiding such strong feelings,
Every minute of the day
Fighting back tears because
If they cry, they wont appear as strong
As everyone believes they are.
Some would think that people would take advantage
Of them in their vulnerable state.
They try to hide behind this cloak of happiness
But eventually that cloak fades away and those feelings
Come rushing out of them like a damn
Breaking into a million pieces.
That once strong damn is now a pool of wood and tears.
As this pool forms, they feel as if they should tie rocks
Around their feet and jump in, hoping to die.
Surrendering to those feelings, they drop to
The floor hoping that one-day, things will be different.
They find the spark to suck it up and they sew another cloth
Of fake emotion for the next day when they have to
Face a world of disappointment and failure.
I hear these people’s cries, their emotions, and I hear their souls yelling for help.
Yet I can do nothing, I have to sit and watch as these people with
No one to go to, sit out their days, alone, quiet, and scared.
I tried to help once but their depression turned into a defensive notion, and they accuse
Me of falsely accusing them. This whole world of depression is far to confusing for me,
So instead of trying and trying to help it, I suddenly hear their voices again.
They are filling my mind with sad thoughts and I can’t get their voices out
Of my head. My happier feelings are draining out of me and suddenly I can’t hear Them anymore. I can only hear myself. Myself in a dark empty cave. I’m all alone.

The author's comments:
This Piece as inspired by one of my classmates. At the moment he wasn't feeling to great about life. After I started writing, it turned into something way different.

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This article has 1 comment.

on Jul. 8 2010 at 6:47 pm
ali8jane BRONZE, DeSoto, Texas
4 articles 0 photos 17 comments

Favorite Quote:
I am the author of my life. Unfortunately, I'm writing with this pen made of my own bone, it's ink my blood; and I can't erase my mistakes.

epic. i really liked this

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