Write on, you fine being.
Write on apart from me.
Write on from the east or west,
across a new sea.
Write on, my beloved.
Until the skies turn gray.
Write on, you fine being.
Write on far away.

Away you'll go;
far away to where nobody knows.
I'll stay here and go on so.
Without you.

When you were by my side,
a million worries died.
But all that is left is a whimper,
without you.

When we all began to cry,
when we touched the sky.
Where will our memories lie?
Without you.

Write on, you fine being.
Write on apart from me.
Write on from the east or west,
across a new sea.
Write on, my beloved.
Until the skies turn gray.
Write on, you fine being.
Write on far away.

I know now, or in a sense...
I've always known, I've always known
That I don't care about real life
It's hard to care if you never were.
But if I'm not real...
Will people care for me?
Will death just accept me?
Or do I have to stay and tell my story?
Either way, I'm more than unreal, less than real.
And I'm more conscious than I've ever been...
In a sense, I'm alive.

The notes are lower than my emotions.
The instruments break just like my motions.
I keep pressing the wrong keys, messing up a line.
Just like that moment I mess up my life.

Now I see why it's called a piano.
Because for me, that's a no.
And also for me, I deserve nothing.
And only the most perishing things.

The winter this year will be the coldest one by far
I can see it in the coldness of my heart
Got bills to pay but my car wouldn't start
Had to heat my house with gas siphoned from my neighbours car

The winter this year will be the coldest one by far
I can feel its cold in my bones
the way they creak like old folks' homes
some days it feels like I'm trying to move through coal tar

The winter this year will be the coldest one by far
I can see the cold in my old friends' gazes
Whispers behind my back, the usual phrases
"Still playing guitar?"
"Still want to be a star?"
"Doubt you'll ever go far."

The winter this year will be the coldest one by far
I feel the cold coming out of my veins
my nerves so frozen I can't feel the pain
I only numbly hope that it doesn't leave a scar

The winter this year was the coldest by far
I was starting to think it might be my last
But somehow before i knew it winter had passed
Looking back I wonder if it was really so hard

Someone please help me set free
The poet that resides within me
It's so hard to put my thoughts to pen
Even if I can now and then

All I can do is write from the heart
But it's difficult to know where to start
When I lack the creative spark
And its tearing me apart

So I fall back on these rhyming tools
Play the fool, trying to be cool
It's hard to write poetry
When I cant even see
What's inside the real me

Forgetting all my sorrows,
dismissing all my hate.
Permitting all my desires,
to discover my fate.

With a steady hand,
and an easied mind,
I let my pen lead me
to the future I'll find.

The rain falls from the sky.
The endless sky pelts the cityscape with endless rain.

The rain feels soft to the touch,
a light breeze overtakes me soon after.
It's raining more now, although it isn't heavier.
The light breeze makes me think.
It soothes my nerves.

Look at the rain.
It never had any problems,
finding a job, finding friends,
finding love.

It's purpose is to fall
and get evaportated.
It's friends are beside it
and never leave.
It's love ls likely close by,
atleast I hope it is.

I don't want this innocent drop,
this cold peice in a myriad of rain,
to feel the harsh truth of reality.
And I don't want myself,
a shivering person in a myriad of rain,
to feel chilly any longer.

A realisation
What really matters
To be all but a cog in the machine
That is society everbroken
Neverending cycle, repeating
Same set of commands
Over and over

Why are we here?
For what purpose?
What difference will we make?
Will we have any impact on the future?
In 100 years? 1000?
For the generations to come?
Why do we exist?