A/N-Hate me all you want for my major (unannounced) writing hiatus, but I've come out with something new! Finally!
Special thanks to Penelope Wendy Bing for concrit before this was posted! Love ya, girlie! Also, thank you to my brother from another mother, Luke, for helping me choose which option for stanza 2 to use, and to Elise, for the same thing :).
Disclaimer-I am not, nor will I ever be, Suzanne Collins. I did almost buy the THG board game today, though. Didn't have enough cash. :(.
Enjoy :)!
Scripted, little lies,
flitting through your dreams.
Because you can't always handle the truth,
as well as you handle the screams.
And bloody, pretty grins
that tell of unspeakable despair.
Because in death, as well as life,
the world is never fair.
Wretched, aching gasps,
that scream for it to stop.
Because no matter what you said before,
you'll never be on top.
And deadly, raining tears,
streaming from your face.
Because every time since you've won,
you've dreamed of getting second place.
That's when the relief begins,
as soon as you accept defeat.
Because pretending that you're a Victor,
is much more messy than neat.
And it's also when the pain comes,
in torrential, tearing spurts.
Because no matter what you tell yourself,
the life you're living hurts.
So you wish it all away,
and wonder what it's like for them.
Being dead must be surreal,
even though it seems so grim.
You imagine what your life would be,
if you were no longer living.
Is death really what they say it is:
cold, final, unforgiving?
And so you take the knife,
and hold it to your breast.
Because even if the pain is real,
everything is still a test.
The blood seems so much better,
on the floor, than in your veins.
Because once you're with the other twenty-three,
you'll no longer have to deal with the stains.
A/N-Please review :). Thanks guys!