Sometimes
poems
make
me
want
to
write
in
a
crowd
of
only
one
person.

Being suicidal doesn't mean i'm going to **** myself

Being suicidal is having this unexplicable ache while you're living

It's waiting for your life to end, and wishing you didn't have to carry on

Having this ache, an incapability to feel happy living, doesn't mean that I am going to **** myself -

It just means I wouldn't mind dying.

His words full of thorns
But his embrace is still heavenly anyway
I might be bleeding
But he wipes it everytime

Make a wish
Another blown candle
to my so called golden year
Another wish in earths rotation to the same life long inauguration
When is the house and picket fence sent?
In blown candles of wishes after wishes?
Doubt after doubt
it becomes so repetitious ?
When does your pockets grow?
In blown candles of riches after riches
Til you become so poor
you sleep under the bridges
When is love sent?
In blown out candles of loneliness
Carrying a familiar scent to its smokey extinguishment?
Oh life,
Light me up instead
but not like a birthday candle
No, No
Light me like a night candle
Like the flame you wouldn't separate
from its source upon lighting