Love 3Thinking about you everday day,
Missing you every moment of the day,
Loving you every second of the day,
I wonder how long i can keep sane!
Living so far away, it makes it very hard.
Ive said these thigns a million and one times before,
but i have to keep saying them
the pain, the hurt, the stress we go through
it wont be logn until it does go away.
being scared that you are playing me,
but for you to say what you did, gives me hope and sanity again.
Please don't cry, please don't be upset anymore.
Please be happy, Please talk to me about your problems.
Who cares if it will make me upset...as long as i know that you will be alright.
Be happy that we have each other..in a different kind of way.
Wont be long until we will have each other,
Until we will have each other in our arms.
I love you, i am positive we belong to gether....Sounds corny i know, but hey its life.
Love2Beng in love is on of the hardest emotions.
When you are young, love is just for fun.
But when you are older, love can be a horrible feeling.
You know it's true love when you're heart breaks.
When you have arguments, and have major fights,
And you still love that person,
That is real love.
Long distance relationships are the most difficult.
Knowing that your spouse could be messing around with someone else.
People say 'Have Faith! Have Trust"
It's very hard to trust the one who lives miles away.
Yet you still love them.
I dont have a boyfriend,
I dont have many boy friends in general.
but the one i love, its bloody hard to keep sane.
Parents hate him, He hates them,
Loving miles away from each other,
Parents dont even know i still talk to him.
And then theres the feeligns for the best friend.
Life is fucked, love is hard.
How is one suppose to live like this?
Let it all go and let things be?
Watching people walk past,
I start to realize that we have to accept people.
One of the most multicultural areas in Melbourne,
It makes it really hard to accept everyone.
the Muslims make it the worse.
As this town is almost Muslim or Middle Eastern.
From Lebanese to Turks,
From Greeks to Italians.
The there's the very little Australian's and Englishmen.
Driving through the street,
All I see are Muslims.
Oh, how I dislike them so much,
I must learn to accept them.
We must all accept them.
With the current events within the world, it does make it hard.
And to think that they are trying to take over our communities.
I'm sure most of you will think that.
From the Cronulla bashings, to threats made against Melbourne.
This society is becoming the 1930's to the 1960's again.
When the African American's lost their citizens ships for the country and were separated from the whites.
But it feels like the opposite.
The blacks (Muslims in this case) are trying to rule the whites (non musl
InvisibleVanishing away, into thin air,
I no longer belong in this world.
Walking down the street, like i'm some sort of freak,
Everyone looks at me with weird wide eyes.
I'm this black (wears black), mysterious peron that doesnt belong.
People passing by. No, not passing, walking straight through me.
Turning invisible, the world changes...
No one sees me,
No one hears me,
No one even bothers to listen.
Crying out loud, Screaming so loud.
No one still can't hear me.
Will attetion attend if i dress real wacky?
Will attetion attend if i do a Screamo concert?
Will attetion help me if i fall and break a leg?
Will attention fight me if i say 'Hey. You're A Skank!'?
Attention wont help or feel sorry for me.
How many people actually feel like this?
Is my family invisible? Feels like it.
What happened to have a good and 'happy' life?
Does it even exist?
No it doesn't. Its a load of bullshit.
Pain x 2 - LifeSitting in a dark, lonely room, with nothing to do.
Sitting at the table, with lots of work to do.
A knife lies there, watching to be picked up.
The coast is clear, so I take the knife into my hand.
Checking again, to see if anyone is coming.
The only witnesses available are the little ants crawling over the table.
The knife is sharp, rusty and old.
A disease waiting to happen.
I rest the knife on my wrist, letting it make a dent,
Until I move my hand hard onto the knife, letting it cut.
The pain of this little cut equals to how many times my heart has been broken.
I do it again but a slightly bigger cut.
The rich red blood crawls slowly down my arm, dripping onto the table and floor.
The knife freely slides up my arm.
The pain is excruciating.
I think I hit a vein.
Slicing it open, blood rushing out.
Sitting in the chair, my feet soaking in blood.
The knife falls to the floor, making a loud noise.
Hearing footsteps coming up the stairs,