Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die.
Is it wrong to cut just to see the blood spill?
To watch it as it hits the ground?
Watch as it fills my thrill.
Forever bound.
The promise of the razor blade
To love the blood, the color, the smell
These scars, Handmade.
Every time i say a farewell.
In a note, I write my Goodbyes.
All my regrets and Lies.
Here i stand, blood split, all said and done.
I have lost.
The thought of death, won.
Lonely Life
Lonely on the land I walk,
Lonely cross the sea I sail,
Lonely air of beach I stroll –
This lonely life doth take its toll.
Lonely trek of woodland trail,
Lonely mist in haze o’ dawn,
Lonely spies the bird of prey
In lonely circles all astray.
Lonely be the dark of night
When sleep is but a yearning wish,
To dream of sweet companions close,
As wine would pair with diner's dish.
Lonely do these thoughts me make
That draw my blood of precious life;
Replace with stream of flowing pain
To bless my veins with coursing strife.
Lonely years are now my friends,
Lonely cries bereft of sound,
Lonely tears that cool my face
In lonely life of sullen pace.
Lonely cross the sea I sail,
Lonely air of beach I stroll –
This lonely life doth take its toll.
Lonely trek of woodland trail,
Lonely mist in haze o’ dawn,
Lonely spies the bird of prey
In lonely circles all astray.
Lonely be the dark of night
When sleep is but a yearning wish,
To dream of sweet companions close,
As wine would pair with diner's dish.
Lonely do these thoughts me make
That draw my blood of precious life;
Replace with stream of flowing pain
To bless my veins with coursing strife.
Lonely years are now my friends,
Lonely cries bereft of sound,
Lonely tears that cool my face
In lonely life of sullen pace.
--Mark R. Slaughter
Busy, busy, busy.
Busy here.
Busy there.
All I know are busy everywhere.
Never here.
Never there.
My heart is busy, somewhere.
*Heavy sigh*
I'm tired of waiting.
I'm tired of waiting.
I'm sick of being forgotten.
I'm jaded by hope.
All around I'm just sick of emotion.
Maybe if I disappear for awhile life will be better.
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