Post Reply emo stories
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23 / F / Guihulngan Orient...
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Posted 12/23/08
If ever you have emo stories with you..
or just your emotional experiences being emo..
you can share it here so that there will be many
people to know about it..
you can tell about the past or even the present
struggles/loneliness in your life..
by sharing it here with us..
you can be able to set it free..
or you'll feel the relief within you..

i have one emo story to share..
but this is not my emo story..
where i got this?
YOURS to DISCOVER..*wink*

here it is..

The Only Lonely Emo

She was alone. She was always alone.
Dark corners, empty, lifeless rooms, and even the worst, dimly lit bathrooms with the two lonliest words: "Bloody Mary".
She was always scared. Always scared of the same word: "no".

So, today she was trying to be outgoing.
She was going to try. To ask someone out.
"Um, Ben?" she asked, her feet becoming more and more beautiful as the udderly uncomfortable seconds moved along.
"Would you like to go out sometime?" she asked, feeling nauseous.
"I'm sorry, Courtney, no." And she heard it. She heard it all.
Her name, her least favorite word, the one she never wnated to hear, but couldn't stop it from coming.

She ran. She ran fast. Nobody ever called her by her name.
Her name: Courtney. She didn't like it, and neither did her sister,
the only one that cared about her. They couldn't go change it. Not now.
Not when everyone knew. Her name, her face, her identity. She knew that she wasn't important, but that didn't stop her from trying to be courageous every now and again.

In the girl's bathroom, she took out her item. The sharp silver blade glimmered in the flourescent light, and it seemed as though the blade was burning through her own soul.
This isn't because of Ben.

This is because of EVERYTHING else.

Everything they've said, everything they've done.
She couldn't think anymore. This would be the last time.
The last time with the blood, the pain, the shooting, heart-wrenching pain.
It would all be over. She would go to hell, and there the only pain she would feel is the third-degree burns.

So, she took it. She took her father's pocketknife, and slit her wrist. Down her arm, she flinched, she squinted. Her tears fell down on the bleeding wound as she did it again. Down her arm once more. And then finally, across the top of her wrist. And again. The pain was too much to bear.

She collapsed.
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23 / F / ♥Under ur bed ;)♥
Offline
Posted 7/17/09

ernaalipan wrote:

If ever you have emo stories with you..
or just your emotional experiences being emo..
you can share it here so that there will be many
people to know about it..
you can tell about the past or even the present
struggles/loneliness in your life..
by sharing it here with us..
you can be able to set it free..
or you'll feel the relief within you..

i have one emo story to share..
but this is not my emo story..
where i got this?
YOURS to DISCOVER..*wink*

here it is..

The Only Lonely Emo

She was alone. She was always alone.
Dark corners, empty, lifeless rooms, and even the worst, dimly lit bathrooms with the two lonliest words: "Bloody Mary".
She was always scared. Always scared of the same word: "no".

So, today she was trying to be outgoing.
She was going to try. To ask someone out.
"Um, Ben?" she asked, her feet becoming more and more beautiful as the udderly uncomfortable seconds moved along.
"Would you like to go out sometime?" she asked, feeling nauseous.
"I'm sorry, Courtney, no." And she heard it. She heard it all.
Her name, her least favorite word, the one she never wnated to hear, but couldn't stop it from coming.

She ran. She ran fast. Nobody ever called her by her name.
Her name: Courtney. She didn't like it, and neither did her sister,
the only one that cared about her. They couldn't go change it. Not now.
Not when everyone knew. Her name, her face, her identity. She knew that she wasn't important, but that didn't stop her from trying to be courageous every now and again.

In the girl's bathroom, she took out her item. The sharp silver blade glimmered in the flourescent light, and it seemed as though the blade was burning through her own soul.
This isn't because of Ben.

This is because of EVERYTHING else.

Everything they've said, everything they've done.
She couldn't think anymore. This would be the last time.
The last time with the blood, the pain, the shooting, heart-wrenching pain.
It would all be over. She would go to hell, and there the only pain she would feel is the third-degree burns.

So, she took it. She took her father's pocketknife, and slit her wrist. Down her arm, she flinched, she squinted. Her tears fell down on the bleeding wound as she did it again. Down her arm once more. And then finally, across the top of her wrist. And again. The pain was too much to bear.

She collapsed.


Omg....thats sad
Posted 7/17/09

ernaalipan wrote:

If ever you have emo stories with you..
or just your emotional experiences being emo..
you can share it here so that there will be many
people to know about it..
you can tell about the past or even the present
struggles/loneliness in your life..
by sharing it here with us..
you can be able to set it free..
or you'll feel the relief within you..

i have one emo story to share..
but this is not my emo story..
where i got this?
YOURS to DISCOVER..*wink*

here it is..

The Only Lonely Emo

She was alone. She was always alone.
Dark corners, empty, lifeless rooms, and even the worst, dimly lit bathrooms with the two lonliest words: "Bloody Mary".
She was always scared. Always scared of the same word: "no".

So, today she was trying to be outgoing.
She was going to try. To ask someone out.
"Um, Ben?" she asked, her feet becoming more and more beautiful as the udderly uncomfortable seconds moved along.
"Would you like to go out sometime?" she asked, feeling nauseous.
"I'm sorry, Courtney, no." And she heard it. She heard it all.
Her name, her least favorite word, the one she never wnated to hear, but couldn't stop it from coming.

She ran. She ran fast. Nobody ever called her by her name.
Her name: Courtney. She didn't like it, and neither did her sister,
the only one that cared about her. They couldn't go change it. Not now.
Not when everyone knew. Her name, her face, her identity. She knew that she wasn't important, but that didn't stop her from trying to be courageous every now and again.

In the girl's bathroom, she took out her item. The sharp silver blade glimmered in the flourescent light, and it seemed as though the blade was burning through her own soul.
This isn't because of Ben.

This is because of EVERYTHING else.

Everything they've said, everything they've done.
She couldn't think anymore. This would be the last time.
The last time with the blood, the pain, the shooting, heart-wrenching pain.
It would all be over. She would go to hell, and there the only pain she would feel is the third-degree burns.

So, she took it. She took her father's pocketknife, and slit her wrist. Down her arm, she flinched, she squinted. Her tears fell down on the bleeding wound as she did it again. Down her arm once more. And then finally, across the top of her wrist. And again. The pain was too much to bear.

She collapsed.


that made me cry
Creator
2802 cr points
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23 / F / Guihulngan Orient...
Offline
Posted 7/31/09

AngelGoddess wrote:


ernaalipan wrote:

If ever you have emo stories with you..
or just your emotional experiences being emo..
you can share it here so that there will be many
people to know about it..
you can tell about the past or even the present
struggles/loneliness in your life..
by sharing it here with us..
you can be able to set it free..
or you'll feel the relief within you..

i have one emo story to share..
but this is not my emo story..
where i got this?
YOURS to DISCOVER..*wink*

here it is..

The Only Lonely Emo

She was alone. She was always alone.
Dark corners, empty, lifeless rooms, and even the worst, dimly lit bathrooms with the two lonliest words: "Bloody Mary".
She was always scared. Always scared of the same word: "no".

So, today she was trying to be outgoing.
She was going to try. To ask someone out.
"Um, Ben?" she asked, her feet becoming more and more beautiful as the udderly uncomfortable seconds moved along.
"Would you like to go out sometime?" she asked, feeling nauseous.
"I'm sorry, Courtney, no." And she heard it. She heard it all.
Her name, her least favorite word, the one she never wnated to hear, but couldn't stop it from coming.

She ran. She ran fast. Nobody ever called her by her name.
Her name: Courtney. She didn't like it, and neither did her sister,
the only one that cared about her. They couldn't go change it. Not now.
Not when everyone knew. Her name, her face, her identity. She knew that she wasn't important, but that didn't stop her from trying to be courageous every now and again.

In the girl's bathroom, she took out her item. The sharp silver blade glimmered in the flourescent light, and it seemed as though the blade was burning through her own soul.
This isn't because of Ben.

This is because of EVERYTHING else.

Everything they've said, everything they've done.
She couldn't think anymore. This would be the last time.
The last time with the blood, the pain, the shooting, heart-wrenching pain.
It would all be over. She would go to hell, and there the only pain she would feel is the third-degree burns.

So, she took it. She took her father's pocketknife, and slit her wrist. Down her arm, she flinched, she squinted. Her tears fell down on the bleeding wound as she did it again. Down her arm once more. And then finally, across the top of her wrist. And again. The pain was too much to bear.

She collapsed.


that made me cry


yea. same here
Creator
2802 cr points
Send Message: Send PM GB Post
23 / F / Guihulngan Orient...
Offline
Posted 7/31/09

Super_Sexy wrote:


ernaalipan wrote:

If ever you have emo stories with you..
or just your emotional experiences being emo..
you can share it here so that there will be many
people to know about it..
you can tell about the past or even the present
struggles/loneliness in your life..
by sharing it here with us..
you can be able to set it free..
or you'll feel the relief within you..

i have one emo story to share..
but this is not my emo story..
where i got this?
YOURS to DISCOVER..*wink*

here it is..

The Only Lonely Emo

She was alone. She was always alone.
Dark corners, empty, lifeless rooms, and even the worst, dimly lit bathrooms with the two lonliest words: "Bloody Mary".
She was always scared. Always scared of the same word: "no".

So, today she was trying to be outgoing.
She was going to try. To ask someone out.
"Um, Ben?" she asked, her feet becoming more and more beautiful as the udderly uncomfortable seconds moved along.
"Would you like to go out sometime?" she asked, feeling nauseous.
"I'm sorry, Courtney, no." And she heard it. She heard it all.
Her name, her least favorite word, the one she never wnated to hear, but couldn't stop it from coming.

She ran. She ran fast. Nobody ever called her by her name.
Her name: Courtney. She didn't like it, and neither did her sister,
the only one that cared about her. They couldn't go change it. Not now.
Not when everyone knew. Her name, her face, her identity. She knew that she wasn't important, but that didn't stop her from trying to be courageous every now and again.

In the girl's bathroom, she took out her item. The sharp silver blade glimmered in the flourescent light, and it seemed as though the blade was burning through her own soul.
This isn't because of Ben.

This is because of EVERYTHING else.

Everything they've said, everything they've done.
She couldn't think anymore. This would be the last time.
The last time with the blood, the pain, the shooting, heart-wrenching pain.
It would all be over. She would go to hell, and there the only pain she would feel is the third-degree burns.

So, she took it. She took her father's pocketknife, and slit her wrist. Down her arm, she flinched, she squinted. Her tears fell down on the bleeding wound as she did it again. Down her arm once more. And then finally, across the top of her wrist. And again. The pain was too much to bear.

She collapsed.


Omg....thats sad


definitely.
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