Quotes

Poems that hurt

" She has a bookshelf for a heart,

And ink runs through her veins,

She'll write you into her story,

With the typewriter in her brain,

Her bookshelf's getting crowded,

With all the stories that she'd penned,

Of the people who flicked through her pages,

But closed in the very back,

That sits collecting with dust,

With it's title in her finest writing,

' The One's Who Lost My Trust', 

There's books she's scared to open,

And books she doesn't close,

Stories of all the people that she's met,

Stretched out in endless rows,

Some only have a sentence,

While others have the main part,

Thousands of inky footprints, 

That they've left across her heart,

You might wonder why she does this,

Why write of people she once knew?

But she hopes one day she'll mean enough,

For someone to write about her too."

-e.h.

"The one that has a sad back story 

But met good people.

The one that was orphaned

But still had a family figure.

The one that everybody pities

And then becomes a HERO.

But what about me?

What about the villain?

I also have a sad backstory

But I met really bad people.

I also was orphaned 

But I still don't have no family figure.

I was thrown in the dirt with no sympathy.

So I became a VILLAIN.

You wanna know what's the difference?

Between a hero and a villain?

While the hero doesn't appreciate enough

The people that loves them.

The villain will go to hell

And burn the world

To protect the one they love

To always be with them.

So really, can you blame the villain?

The villain was once a child

Who could have become a hero

But society and circumstances made them

Feel like they didn't deserve better

Once they found the better, the love

They protected it with all their power

Can you blame the villain?

So the question. The one question

A hero will never ask.

Are you a hero or 

A god damn,dirty, selfish

VILLAIN? "

- ANGO

I Draw Too ( this one is really sad, but my absolute favorite )

" I once knew a boy

Who liked to draw

Beautiful pictures 

That nobody saw

He drew by himself

Alone at night

Locked in his bedroom

Out of sight

The pictures were strange

They came with a twist

His pen was a razor 

His canvas, his wrist

We lay  out at night

Watching the stars 

When he lifted his sleeve

And showed me his scars

I wasn't shocked

I knew what to do 

So I lifted my sleeve

And said 'I draw too.'"

- n.m.