Longest And Deepest

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A long draining night of putting pen to paper.

Submitted: July 10, 2008

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Submitted: July 10, 2008

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You’re all by yourself to face the truth
Alone and scared as a youth,
one the outside you appear happy and strong
but they have no idea what’s really wrong.

Your body trembles, Shivers up your spine,
you put on a smile and pretend it's fine.
You walk around with your head held high,
But at nightfall to your knees and cry.


After hours finally you cry yourself to bed,
then wake, and again raise your head.
Trying to keep your feelings inside,
Doing all in your power to make them Hide.

Then you reach your room and release the pain,
And Sleep, just to wake up and be fake again.
And again to live scared and in continuous fear,
that someone will eventually discover your tears.

Each day gets harder, And the more you suffer,
the hurt gets sharper, pain gets rougher.
The few hours you is when you’re well,
for awaking each day, it brings back hell.

You write on paper to release your rage,
but the anger intensifies after each page.
It seems writing is all that keeps you sane,
Just sleep and poetry relieves the pain.

After hours and hours of paper and pen,
it strikes and you collapse to your knees again.
No one understands what you’re going through,
behind closed doors; they don’t see what you do.

You really wish someone was at your side,
so once, just once you didn’t have to hide.
Then you think, Shall I keep it all in my head,
and pull through this all by myself instead.

You ponder the thought for so very long,
Til' you don’t know the difference between right or wrong.
So unwillingly again you fall apart,
And unfortunately as usual the tears they start.

For hours on end you cry and cry,
until vision is difficult through swollen eyes.
Then you stop, and rest your head
and dream you were someone else instead.

Who didn’t have to hide what they feel,
who wasn’t fake, someone who was real.
Then you wake to reality and see,
that it was all but a fantasy.

But suddenly you find something to get you through,
and its alcohol that relieves you for an hour or two.
But it wears of and yet again you cry,
it'll never really stop, until you’re in the sky.

Although, until then the pain gets worse,
All as if it were a some kind of dreaded curse.
It eventually takes you to an all time low,
with no one there, nowhere to go.

You drain both your physical and mental health,
and continue to slowly waste away at yourself.
Eventually there will be no tomorrow,
in time, blood and tears will drown your sorrow

 

Written By Conrad Kinglsey Tom Pugh-Tamarapa


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