(SEQUEL TO DEAR SUICIDE... 😉)Just face it: Life is hard. Period. The battle with suicide is over, but the war isn't...The story continues with heartfelt, relatable poems dealing with the everyday struggles of life.

(#12 in Poetry- 3/5/17 |14 in Poetry- 2/28/17 |23 in Poetry- 11/18/16) Have you ever considered picking up a pen and writing to the one you fear most? Well, that's what I've done. When I write to my fears, It's oddly satisfying, because I know that they hear me - they answer back with life. PLEASE NOTE: This is NOT meant to trigger anyone. I am merely expressing the emotions that I feel within. (I do not own any of the pictures in my story.)

The poetry of the anonymous who suffer through depression in silence; perpetually trapped within a purgatory of painful paradoxes.

Some things stay as they are, but others? They fall apart. And once upon a time, Stephanie Olsen and Tyler Scott were the best of friends. Once inseparable, now drifting apart. The more they grew separate, the more Stephanie's feelings for him increased and she wished she could tell him. But couldn't. As she watched his cheery life unfold before her. When she overhears the news about Tyler loosing his phone, she decides to confess her unheard feelings through texting his old lost phone, knowing he will never read those texts that lasted for a little less than one year. 301 messages for 301 days. But what Stephanie didn't know, is that Tyler found his phone and the 301 unread texts consisted in everything she could never tell him. © Copyright 2014 cover by silverfinger-

Charlie doesn't speak, so he paints.

This is everything I didn't say. Everything I didn't have the chance to say. When I didn't have the words to say with out breaking down. You'll probably never read this unless I showed it to your face. .

"I think you should -" "Correction: I am in my own body, with my own mind; you do not and cannot tell me what to do."

a collection of thoughts that always abruptly en

"they told us that we needed therapy, as if medication and tainted words could fix broken toys."

Quinn scribbles tainted emotions across thin layers of white paper. But to who? To someone who blinks once, sees her, and blinks again-just to make her disappear. To someone who sees her as a symbol of the ocean. To someone who thinks the ocean is disgusting and hideous, filled with trash and pathetic wandering fishes. To someone who believes that Quinn needs to be a size zero to be labeled as 'beautiful.' If she isn't, why in the world will anyone care to love her? She's disgusting. Worthless. An enormous sailboat that makes the world sink. But how long will it take until she sinks herself?