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This is a poem I wrote Sept. 16th/04:



My Horror Is To Be Free



So much for living, loving & joy.

I want to be free-I want to die.

I slice and dice, until my arm is bloody, red, and raw.

I pinch, I bite, I slap, and it smarts.

I need a razor to cut even deeper.

A Pin & blunt glass only scratch the surface raw.

A pair of dull manicure scissors only poke holes that bleed in dot-like pools of red.

It stings, but there is not the slicing PAIN that calms me down.

This type of pain only lasts a short time.

I need to slice more.

I need to let the blood flow.

I have a craving.

I need to see the blood drip down.

I need to fulfill my horror to be free.

What is love, but a silly emotion?

A feeling of lust?

A fleeting craving, that swiftly comes & goes?

It makes you stupid.

It makes you put effort into & for that person.

It makes you bend over backwards, just to make that person happy.

Sometimes, that power they call love is returned to you.

Other times, you are stringed along...Used until they are completly bored with you.

Then they take your heart, that you have given to them gladly, for that is what happens when you fall in love, and they rip it apart.

They toss you away from them, as if you never meant anything to them.

Cold. Heartless. Unfeeling.

Very aware that they have just killed a part of you that once shined so brightly.

But they don't care. They never did.

What is love?

For me, it is giving my all for that person. Opening up, bearing my soul. Making myself vulnerable, and whole-heartedly trusting that the special person I love will not abandon me when times get tough, and will always love me for me.

That is a fairy tale, though. People can't be like that when it comes to me. That is why I have my Veda!

Goodbye to faith

Goodbye to Love

Goodbye to hope

Goodbye to dreams

Goodbye to my hearts' desire

"When life gets tough, & things get tragic, smoke a spliff, it's fucking MAGIC!"

I feel so hollow

Feel so empty

Am I crazy

Am I insane?

Stoners live, stoners die, in the end we all get high. To all fuckers who think they are "cool" GO TO HELL CUZ STONERS RULE!

The following is a poem that I wrote when I was debating with myself whether or not to end my life.

Thurs, Dec. 4th/08 2.41am





"If"



If words could describe the pain I feel inside, then the Heavens would hear the screams of every soul on the planet.

If you could see all the blood that I bleed, it would drown the world.

If my tears were all shed at once, I would fill the Grand Canyon up full.

If I could end my aweful pain I would, in a heart beat, but I don't want to hurt anyone else because that would hurt me the most of all.



J. Alia Corbeil

"Roses are red, green apples are sour...spread your legs & give me an hour"! xD