myprettypictures

Those late nights Of crying And self-loathing And wanting so badly To just stop thinking And stop hurting And sitting on my bed And picking up the tiny blade And holding out my wrist And running the blade across my skin, barely touching it And doing it again, pushing harder this time And doing it again and again Until I saw a tiny bead of blood form And feeling the sharp pain And then feeling the rush of endorphins And wiping away the blood And feeling at peace As I admired What I had done To myself.

 On Procrastination and the Future Man, I sure am lucky I'm smart. I don't care about school. I hardly try at all. I procrastinate. I don't study for tests. I don't do extra credit work. I do the bare minimum, and just that. My goal is only to pass- just get a D, so I can move on to the next grade, and the next, and the next, and so on until I graduate high school. I don't want to go to college. God knows my parents would kill me if I don't. But I just don't see a reason to. I'm sure I can find some job, some career, some way to make money. Maybe I won't even need a job to get money. Maybe I'll learn to count cards and win big at Blackjac

Most people think black is scary But they're wrong. Black isn't scary; It's the not knowing that's scary. The not knowing what's out there Not knowing What's lurking Just In front Of your nose. But that doesn't bother me. Because although I can't see what's hiding out there, They can't see me Either.

An Essay on Fingertips and Working Hard Sometimes when I'm feeling sad or worthless, I'll just feel the pads of the fingers of my left hand, tapping their hardened tips with my thumb one at a time, down the line. Index, middle, ring, pinky. Pinky, ring, middle, index. Often I think that they're the only proof that I've worked hard at anything in my life. I mean, I have my multitude of perfect straight-A report cards, but I've never really tried hard in school. It just comes naturally. And even if I did work for my grades, it wouldn't be because I wanted to do well in school; it would be because I had to do well in school. The same goes for

If you're out of the loop, Music is magic. But when you're in on the secret, It's simply a science.

Sometimes When I write, The words blend together Into a river of sounds. The river flows Like a well worded poem. The writing is perfection. If I lose My train of thought, The river is reduced To a trickle. If I get writer's block, Dam.

I'll hold you in my hands forever Grasp you tight, make sure I never Let you go again. Let's be more than friends.

One day, a man sat down on a bench in the city next to a young woman. The woman had a set of iPod earphones in. When the man sat down, the woman turned and smiled at him kindly. The man, being a man who enjoys music, spoke to the woman. "I hope you don't mind me asking," he said, "But what is it that you're listening to?" "Oh, I'm listening to beautiful music," the woman replied. The man wasn't satisfied by this answer. "Well, generally that's what people like to listen to. I meant more specifically. Is it by an artist I'm likely to know?" "You may know the artist, but I doubt you've listened to this music. People rarely do," she answered

I can piss you off With only five syllables. You just lost the game.