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Author Topic: Emo Corner  (Read 3212 times)
DarkMilly
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« on: October 15, 2009, 08:04:42 am »

Well, I thought I would emo it out a little, and so here you go, my depressing poem for tonight!

Time and Confusion

To think I used to be so sure,
Certain even.
Life, and more importantly, love.
Untainted possessions,
Mine for the taking.

Now everything I believed in is falling,
Vanishing.
Leaving me cold and alone.
The one place I’ve feared my whole life...
Engulfing me.
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We may fail alone, but that is better than dying with them, only to be forgotten. I for one, would rather suffer now, than leave this life without passion.
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« Reply #1 on: October 15, 2009, 11:47:31 am »

*Snaps fingers, sips chai latte.*
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« Reply #2 on: November 02, 2009, 03:28:40 am »

*stands behind a table with various metal items, and hair that is messy, and swept over to cover one eye*

Razors, needles, and recreational drugs!  Get your razor blades here!  my partner across the room has CD's on sale for cheap!  He also has notebooks and red pens, so you can listen to depressing music, cut yourself, and write poems in ink that looks like blood!


J/k Milly, I really like this poem.  It is dark, and sad, but it is very good.  I daresay you have a very Poe-esque style about your writing.
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DarkMilly
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« Reply #3 on: November 02, 2009, 06:17:16 am »

Lol, thanks, yeah this is one of the things I wrote when feeling very, very down. Hence the "emo corner" thing. I figured people could post any of their more emo writings/thoughts/stories here, because we all have times when we feel a little emo, and may want to write about it!:P
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We may fail alone, but that is better than dying with them, only to be forgotten. I for one, would rather suffer now, than leave this life without passion.
Sammich!
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« Reply #4 on: November 03, 2009, 06:44:26 am »

Really like that, Milly. Cheesy Indeed, very Poe-esque.

Hmmmm....*Scrounges through writings*

Wrote this over a year ago when I was depressed:

Very warm the liquid was. It reminded me of the time at Aunt Mary's house, those many years ago, when I pricked my finger on the rose bush that sat just off her front steps. There was not much of the liquid then; it was merely the size of the head of a needle. I sat there for hours, my eyes transfixed upon the crimson that stood like a marble on the tip of my tiny finger.

It was so very red. The idea that such a beautiful colour could emerge from my own body stimulated me. It made me feel proud. I made this, I thought. Maybe I'm God...

As a teenager I would sit out in the open fields, using the grass as my pillow. I would hear singing whenever I laid there. I always wondered if it was the grass...The sound was so beautiful.

The sky looked down at me, its clouds seeming to form a grin. I would grin back and say, “I'll come back some day. But first I must experience the other beauties this world has to offer.” I was referring to the place that my mother would call 'The Forbidden Land'.

I stepped foot on concrete when I was 25 years old. The road was very long. However, I was used to walking, so the distance would not be too much of a hassle. My mother would miss me, but, as I told the clouds, I would return one day. But first, I would have to explore this Land that my mother spoke of.

Colossal stones surrounded me; some were sleek and shiny, while others were blank and mundane. Even so, it was all so very new and exciting to me. It was all so very beautiful. As I looked about in front of me, I saw the machines that rode past my house very rarely. But here there were so many! They crowded the stone pathways like the people on the side paths, screeching loudly. The sound was very unpleasant to the ears, but still...beautiful.

Oh yes, and the people. There were so many, but they did not seem to be happy. How could they not feel happy when there were so many beautiful things around? I asked this question to a man holding a rectangular item to his face, but he payed me no mind. Further pursuit of the answer proved to be impossible; the eyes of the people here were forward and unmoving, like the sculptures my mother would make out of wood in the backyard.

When the brightness of the sun was a bit too much for my eyes, I ducked into the shade between two adjacent stones. I noticed a man there. His garb was very much dimmer than the clothes that I had seen those sculpture-faced people wear. However, when I looked into his eyes, they were like those of my mothers.

“Why do the people here not enjoy the beauty that they see?” I sat down beside the man.
The man's brow furrowed under caked dirt, sweat, and a mat of grey hair.

“The sky is so bright. Yet the faces are so dim.” I continued.

The man grunted. “There aren't nothing in this city that's got beauty. Not the trees or 'nothing. Cynthia used to have beauty, yeah. Not there no more. Not there.”

“Who is Cynthia?”

“Works the streets at midnight down on 3rd. I asked her to marry me once.” He scratched his chin, which was covered in white bumps.

“What'd she say?”

“What do you think she goddamn said? She said no! I aren't got no wife, no money, no life.” He produced a tool from his coat. It resembled the object that my mother would chop vegetables with. But this one was nowhere near as shiny. In fact, it was very dark.

I stared as the pointed end of the thing slid quickly across the man's wrist. The man laid back slowly against the wall and stared upwards, almost in wait.

“Excuse me, sir, what are you--”

“Shh. This is the only beauty I'm gonna get.” And that was when I noticed the familiar crimson substance flowing from a large hole in his wrist. But there was so much more! It fell down his arm and slowly spread across the ground.

I touched the liquid and remembered the first time I'd seen it. It was so beautiful. More of it would be oh so much better. Thus, I took the pointed object from the man's now limp hand and pressed the tip against my own wrist.

It was so warm when it came out. As I sat there watching it flow from me, I heard singing.

The sound was beautiful.
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Boomstick
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« Reply #5 on: November 03, 2009, 11:22:35 am »

ok...that made me depressed...
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Cheez
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« Reply #6 on: November 03, 2009, 02:27:47 pm »

The poem didn't do much for me, but Sammich, that was bloody awesome.
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« Reply #7 on: November 03, 2009, 02:29:53 pm »

Hahahah, sorry. Well, at least I got the emotion I originally wanted. Though now it's unwanted. XD

Cheezninja'd: ^o^ Muchos gracias!
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Ralion
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« Reply #8 on: November 03, 2009, 03:44:09 pm »

Yeah, that was pretty awesome.
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DarkMilly
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« Reply #9 on: November 03, 2009, 06:53:26 pm »

I think what I liked most about it, was that it was mostly a happy poem, if that makes sense. It talked about the beauty of the world, rather then how bad the world is, which is what other poems about cutting normally talk about. Yeah, I make sense!

All in all, very well written and a good story. Smiley
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We may fail alone, but that is better than dying with them, only to be forgotten. I for one, would rather suffer now, than leave this life without passion.
Sammich!
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« Reply #10 on: November 03, 2009, 09:47:09 pm »

^o^ Thanks gaiz.

The original meaning of it had to do with me feeling like I was a good person, but I felt that in the end there was only darkness and sadness. Like, despite who you are and what your beliefs are, you'll be thrown into a world of sorrow no matter what you do. Not that I truly believe that, but it was on my mind at the time I wrote it.

Also, I said over a year ago, it was actually over two years ago. XD My time's been screwed up recently.
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