Oh my God, who are you. Just looking at you makes me sick. Your mouth is filthy. There is blood drying at the corners of your mouth and black bruises cover your arms.
Silent screams pulse through the air and even they are caked with dirt. Worthless clothes now stained with those false words are the only things you left for me.
Tears leak from eyes in searing streams down cheeks of faces they cannot distinguish. God dammit, who is who? Who is me and who is you?
Ghosts or figments of innocence whisper in my ears telling me the reality I wish not to hear. The pain of those injuries and wounds are still so far away. They are still festering in
There was something about him last night that reminded me of something. An almost de ja vu from a dream. Something in that wounded, half-smile made me stop hating him for a second. Made me need him for a second.
I am glad he left when he did. Leaving me unsatisfied. Yearning for more. I still get butterflies thinking about it. I think he made me fall in love.
Just before falling into oblivion, I almost felt a pang of regret. And then nothing. I didn't know regret or love anymore.
His wounded, half-smile is all I know now. Eternally trying to reach out and touch his face. But unable to recall his name.
He is just
Speak Up, I Can't Hear You. by elephantshoe13, literature
Literature
Speak Up, I Can't Hear You.
If you have no passion or morals
and you die with not one friend to
call, are you a human
being at all?
What does it make you if
all you do is bitch bitch bitch
and fail to start a revolution?
If a person is being made fun of
and you just walk on by without a word
does that make you a part of the problem?
If you're at home
and no one is thinking of you
do you still exist?
I will always have passion and morals.
I will always try my hardest to start a revolution.
I will always stop when someone is being bullied.
I will always remember you.
You were full of passion. Passion for who you were.
You started a revolution. A revoluti
Part 1: Why is she crying? by elephantshoe13, literature
Literature
Part 1: Why is she crying?
She remembered him. Whether or not he remembered her is uncertain. Whether or not he thought about her every day for his whole life is hard to say.
It was silly, really. Like out of a fucking book. Something he and she both knew never has existed in real life. That was his love for her. A fairytale.
He loved her as much as he was capable. He really did. He thought he was perfection. He thought he was a knight in shining armor. He didn't see that he treated her like a puppy that needed to be rescued. He didn't see that he treated her like an animal that needed to be trained. That's how it was though.
She tried hard. She let him control her.
The World Doesn't Care by elephantshoe13, literature
Literature
The World Doesn't Care
The stale air mixed with the crisp leaves
creates an aura of impending death.
Transforming into beautiful entrancing
color that teases the eye, but only
to fall decrepit and decaying into the
ground.
How can death be so lovely?
Small glimpses of life before
death are captured in just a
moment and are gone just
as fast.
Leaving us to question
whether it's life or the
deceased that makes
the world turn around us?
The end is imminent
but who is to say what
is the end and what is
the beginning?
Regardless of each
individual.
Regardless of each
disparate person.
The world keeps living.
The world keeps turning.
The world do
There is a white flag waving from my window.
I know you can't see it.
I know you can't feel it.
But you don't have to worry anymore.
You can sleep peacefully through the night again.
With no worries of a crazed force breaking
down your door terrorizing every crevice
of your clean, spic and span, apartment.
You don't have to have nightmares of
a wailing demon in the darkness of your mind.
It doesn't exist.
It never existed.
It was all a fucking ruse.
Revenge. Revenge that got no one anywhere.
It had to happen though and hopefully it
shattered your newly built world of perfection
for just a moment.
For just a moment I hope your
If a tree falls in the woods
and no one is around to hear it
does it make a sound?
If you're there
and no one is thinking of you
do you still exist?
Think about that while I sit
here and negate your existence.
I have written you so many letters, poems, and supposedly fictitious stories.
I have ripped up many pieces of paper.
I have cried and screamed in frustration.
I have scribbled lines out and put words in.
Nothing does it justice.
Nothing seems right.
I have made myself bleed.
I have driven thousands of miles away.
I have come back.
I have gotten drunk and knocked on your door.
I have had the cops called on me.
Nothing gets through.
Nothing phases you.
I have lied.
I have cheated.
I have had sex with strangers.
I have done drugs and forgotten who I am.
Nothing makes me forget you.
Nothing makes you disappear.
I have shredded
Oh my God, who are you. Just looking at you makes me sick. Your mouth is filthy. There is blood drying at the corners of your mouth and black bruises cover your arms.
Silent screams pulse through the air and even they are caked with dirt. Worthless clothes now stained with those false words are the only things you left for me.
Tears leak from eyes in searing streams down cheeks of faces they cannot distinguish. God dammit, who is who? Who is me and who is you?
Ghosts or figments of innocence whisper in my ears telling me the reality I wish not to hear. The pain of those injuries and wounds are still so far away. They are still festering in
There was something about him last night that reminded me of something. An almost de ja vu from a dream. Something in that wounded, half-smile made me stop hating him for a second. Made me need him for a second.
I am glad he left when he did. Leaving me unsatisfied. Yearning for more. I still get butterflies thinking about it. I think he made me fall in love.
Just before falling into oblivion, I almost felt a pang of regret. And then nothing. I didn't know regret or love anymore.
His wounded, half-smile is all I know now. Eternally trying to reach out and touch his face. But unable to recall his name.
He is just
Speak Up, I Can't Hear You. by elephantshoe13, literature
Literature
Speak Up, I Can't Hear You.
If you have no passion or morals
and you die with not one friend to
call, are you a human
being at all?
What does it make you if
all you do is bitch bitch bitch
and fail to start a revolution?
If a person is being made fun of
and you just walk on by without a word
does that make you a part of the problem?
If you're at home
and no one is thinking of you
do you still exist?
I will always have passion and morals.
I will always try my hardest to start a revolution.
I will always stop when someone is being bullied.
I will always remember you.
You were full of passion. Passion for who you were.
You started a revolution. A revoluti
Part 1: Why is she crying? by elephantshoe13, literature
Literature
Part 1: Why is she crying?
She remembered him. Whether or not he remembered her is uncertain. Whether or not he thought about her every day for his whole life is hard to say.
It was silly, really. Like out of a fucking book. Something he and she both knew never has existed in real life. That was his love for her. A fairytale.
He loved her as much as he was capable. He really did. He thought he was perfection. He thought he was a knight in shining armor. He didn't see that he treated her like a puppy that needed to be rescued. He didn't see that he treated her like an animal that needed to be trained. That's how it was though.
She tried hard. She let him control her.
The World Doesn't Care by elephantshoe13, literature
Literature
The World Doesn't Care
The stale air mixed with the crisp leaves
creates an aura of impending death.
Transforming into beautiful entrancing
color that teases the eye, but only
to fall decrepit and decaying into the
ground.
How can death be so lovely?
Small glimpses of life before
death are captured in just a
moment and are gone just
as fast.
Leaving us to question
whether it's life or the
deceased that makes
the world turn around us?
The end is imminent
but who is to say what
is the end and what is
the beginning?
Regardless of each
individual.
Regardless of each
disparate person.
The world keeps living.
The world keeps turning.
The world do
There is a white flag waving from my window.
I know you can't see it.
I know you can't feel it.
But you don't have to worry anymore.
You can sleep peacefully through the night again.
With no worries of a crazed force breaking
down your door terrorizing every crevice
of your clean, spic and span, apartment.
You don't have to have nightmares of
a wailing demon in the darkness of your mind.
It doesn't exist.
It never existed.
It was all a fucking ruse.
Revenge. Revenge that got no one anywhere.
It had to happen though and hopefully it
shattered your newly built world of perfection
for just a moment.
For just a moment I hope your
If a tree falls in the woods
and no one is around to hear it
does it make a sound?
If you're there
and no one is thinking of you
do you still exist?
Think about that while I sit
here and negate your existence.
I have written you so many letters, poems, and supposedly fictitious stories.
I have ripped up many pieces of paper.
I have cried and screamed in frustration.
I have scribbled lines out and put words in.
Nothing does it justice.
Nothing seems right.
I have made myself bleed.
I have driven thousands of miles away.
I have come back.
I have gotten drunk and knocked on your door.
I have had the cops called on me.
Nothing gets through.
Nothing phases you.
I have lied.
I have cheated.
I have had sex with strangers.
I have done drugs and forgotten who I am.
Nothing makes me forget you.
Nothing makes you disappear.
I have shredded
I used to believe that you didn't say things because you were afraid to say them when it came to how you felt about someone. I now know that it's actually because you're really not sure how you feel in the first place.
What she does says a whole world of different things than what she says. A lack of mobility might actually mean interest and fear. A gratuitous amount of uninitiated affection might mean promiscuity. She doesn't know what she wants. She doesn't talk about it.
I thought my silence was fear of knowing. I thought my care was some sort of obscure love. I thought I wanted a little more than what I have. Turns out, I still have exa
The Science Fair! There was something magical about the idea. Dozens of people making ridiculous experiments, over half of which turned to be baking soda volcanoes. The other half, were all people attempting to do something completely different regardless of practical use just so they can say there is nothing else like it, in hopes of winning an award just for being different. For some reason, the majority of these involve a bathtub, some plans, and bacteria.
And on the rare occasion a tooth or two.
However, there are those rare exceptions, of when someone does a project not for the sake of trying to win, but just because of relevance to th
Jack the Ripper,
Come to me,
Perge the world,
Unethicly.
Slash the throats,
Of those who lie,
Send their spirits,
To the sky.
Stop them at,
The pearly gates,
For now you heart,
Is full of hate.
Jack the Ripper,
Come to me,
Save me from,
Humanity.
I just spent an hour editing and adding onto "Who is First?" in my fucking scraps only to have my internet fuck up and have none of my changes save.
Why do I not back up my work?
I'm so upset right now.