all I really want is to run far, far away and escape
everything that this world has brought upon me
because all I have been left with is a fragile heart
and a mind that is s l o w l y breaking

I want to escape to the furthest away place
and begin to rebuild the damages and pain
this life has brought to my heart and my soul
and my bones of transparent glass

so delicate and afraid at such a young age and this
isn't how things should be, no this is wrong
and I don't like it but I can't change this
because I am comfortable being this way

I want to run away
and I want to escape
and I want to get better
but I don't

I want
to
stay
b r o k e n
because if I get better and forget about how broken
and corrupted I really have let my soul become
that means forgetting about you
and the way you hurt me and the way you destroyed me
and I don't want to forget you
because

I love you

This remembrance somehow still makest me guilty;
in every minute of it I feelest tangled, I feelest unfree.
I loathest this less genial side of captivity,
but still, 'tis ironically within my heart, and my torpid soul;
ah, I am afraid that it shall somehow becomest foul,
and I wantest very much, to endear my soul to liberty,
but so long as I hath consciously loved thee,
My confidence remaineth always too bold-
But I promisest that this shall becomest my last sonata,
Should thou ever findest, that thou desirest it to be;
whilst my incomplete song shall be our last cantata.
Ah, this series shall but never end,
Should I approachest and befriendest it,
but to confess, more I thinkest of it, the more my heart is pained;
No coldness shall it feelest, nor any beat of which, shall remaineth.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
My heart, ah-my poor heart, is still restricted, and left within thee,
And amongst this dear spring's shuffling leaves, still blooms,
And shall bloomest forever with benevolence,
and even greater benevolence, as spring fliest and leavest
Just like thy sweet temper, and ever ostentatious laughter,
Thy voice and words, that are no longer here for me,
But still as clear, and authentic like a piece of gospel music, to me.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
My pleasurable toils, and consummation still liest in thee-
as forever seemest that I shall trust thee, and thee only,
For the brief moment we had was but grand-and pleasant,
All the way more enigmatic, though frail, and exuberant
than I couldst perhaps rememberest,
But as I rememberest them, I shall also rememberest thee,
For those short nights are always fond and stellar to my memory,
As thou pronounced me lovely-and called myself thy lady,
As thou lingered about and placed thy sheepish fingers on my knee.
Ah, thee, whose heart is so kind and ever gently considerate,
From the moment thou stared at me I knew thou wert my unbinding fate.
And thy scent-o, thy manly scent, too calming but at times, poisonous;
Was more than any treasures I'd once withheld in my hand.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
My enormity liest in thee, and so doth every pore
of my irrevocable, consolable sense;
Thou awakened my pride, thou livened up my tense,
Thou disturbed my mind, thou stole my conscience.
And with thy touch I was burning with bashfulness,
meanwhile my mind couldst stop not
ringing within me, unspeakable thoughts.
Ah, thee, thou made me shriek, thou slapped me awake;
And thou steered me away from any cruel dreams, and lies
these variegated worlds ought to make.
But still I hatest myself now, for leaving all of which unspoken,
Though plenty of time I had, whilst walking with thee, by the red ferns;
And every now and then, their branches ejaculated terrific sounds-
But not loud; benign and soft as heartfelt murmurs in our hearts.
And those dead leaves were just dead,
Over and under the gusty tears they had shed,
And their surfaces had been closed,
But as we stormed busily with laughter, along their dead roots,
All came back to life, and polished liveliness, and guiltless temperance.
Ah, thy image is still in my mind-for it is my ill mind's antidote,
With all the haste and loveliness and ardour as thou but ever hath,
Thou art loved, by me and my soul, more than I love myself and the earth,
Thou art more handsome even, than the juicy unearthed hearth yonder.
Ah thee, my very own lover and drowsy merriment at times,
Thou who keepest fading and growing-
and fading and growing over my head,
Thy image hauntest my sleep and drivest all of me crazy,
For justice is not justice, and death is not
death, as long as I am not with thee,
And I shall accept not-death as it is,
for I shall die never without thee,
For I am in thy love, as thine in mine,
And dreams shall no longer matterest,
when thy joys are mine-and fiercely mine,
I am blinded by urgent insecurity,
That occurest and tauntest and shadowest me
like a panoramic little ghost,
Massively shall it address me,
Painstakingly and, in the name of justice, ingloriously,
And shall them address my past and destroy me,
For I hath carelessly let thee fade from my life,
And enslavest and burdenest my very own history,
For in which now there is no longer thy name,
ike how mine not in thine.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
Still thou art gentle as summer daffodils,
Thy image slanderest me, and its fangs couldst kill.
Thou owneth that sharpness that threatens me,
Corruptest and stiflest me, without any single stress,
And charming but evil like thy thirsty flesh.
Ah, still, I wishest to be good, and be not a temptress,
though all my love stories be bad, and
endest me and shuttest up in a dire mess.
I feelest empty, and for evermore t'is emptiness
shall proudly tormentest and torturest me,
Stenching me out like I am a little devil,
Who knowest but nothing of love nor goodwill,
I needst thee to make everything better, and shinier,
In my future life, as later-in my advanced years,
As death is getting near, for more and greater
shall my soul hath accordingly stayed here.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
Thou art my summer butterfly and beetle,
I shall cloakest thee with sweet honey and sun,
And engulfest thee safely and warmly
under the angry sickly moon.
I am thankful for thee still, for thou hath changed me,
For thou made me see, and opened my flawed eyes
Thou enabled me to witness the real world;
But everything is still, at times, beyond my fancy,
For they keepest moving and stayest never still,
Sometimes I am, like I used to be, astonished
at the gust of things, and the way they grossly turned
Their malice made my heart wrenched, and my stomach churned
What I seest oftentimes weariest my bosom, and disruptest my glee
And still I shall convincest myself, that I but needst thee with me,
Thee to for evermore be my all-day guide and candlelight,
Thee who art so understanding, and everything lovable, to my sight.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
If thou wert a needle then I'd be thy thread,
If thy rain wert dry then I'd makest it wet.
But needst not thou worry about my rain;
For 'tis all enduring and canst bear
even the greatest, most cynical pain.
Ah, and thus I'd be thy umbrella,
Thou, whose abode in my heart
is more superfluous, and graceful-
than my random, fictitious nirvana;
Oh, thee, thou art my lost grace,
And everyone who is not thee-
I keepest calling them by thy name,
How crazy-ah, I am, just like now I am, about thee!
Ah, thou art my air, my sigh, and my comfortable relief,
And in my poetry thou art worth all my sonnets, my charm,
and forever inadequate, affection!
And only in thy eyes I find my dear, effectual temptations,
As under the hungered moonlight by the infuriated sea,
Who standeth strenuously by the peering strand of couples,
Thou evokest within me dangerous eves, and morns of madness,
Thou makest me find my irked melody, and vexed sonnet,
Thou made, even briefly-my latent days gracious,
Thou made me feelest glad and undistant and precious.
Thou art a saint, thou art a saint, though thy being a human
intervenest thee and prohibitest thee from being so;
ah, and whoever thinkest so is worthy of my regrets,
and the worst tactfulness of my weary wrath;
For thou art far precious, more than any trace
of silverness, or even true goldness,
Thou art my holiest source of joy,
and most healing pond of tears;
Thou art my wealth, virgin trust,
and my only sober redemption;
thou art my conscience, pride, and lost self;
Thou art indeed, my eternally irredeemable satisfaction.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
I adorest thee only-my prince, my hero, my pristine knight;
Ah, thee, thou art perfect to my belief and my sight,
Thou who art deserving of all my breath and my poetry;
Thou who understandest what kindness is, and desires are,
Thou who made me seest farther but not too far.
Thou who art an angel to me-a fair, fair angel,
Thou who art beguiling as tasteful tides
among the sea-my courteous summer sea,
Thou who art even more human than
our fellow living souls themselves;
Sometimes I think thou art courage itself-
as thou art even braver than it, the latter, is!
Thou art the sole ripe fruit of my soul,
And my poetic imagination, and due thought;
Thou art the naked notes of my sonata,
And the naughty lyrics of my sonnet,
Thou art everything to nothingness,
As how nothingness deemest thee everything;
Thou makest them shy, and dutifully-
and outstandingly, changest their minds;
Thou art a handsome one to everything,
Just as how everything respectest, and adore thee.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
By whose presence I was delighted, as well my breath-dignified,
Ah, my love, now helpest me define what love itself is;
For I assumest it is more than fits of hysteria, and sweet kisses
Look, now, and dream that if death is not really death
Than what is it aside from unseen rays of breath?
For love is, I thinkest, more handsome than it doth lookest,
For in love flowest blood, and sacrifice, and fate that hearts adorest
But desiccated and mocked as it is, by its very own lovers
That its sweetness hath now turned dark, and far bitter;
Full of hesitations engulfed in the best ways they could muster;
O, my love, like the round-leafed dandellions outside,
I shall glancest and swimest and delvest into thy soul;
I shall bearest and detainest and imprisonest thee in my mind,
But verily shall I care for thee,
ah, and thus I shall become thy everything!
Let me, once more, become obstinate-but delirious in thy arms;
let me my very prince-oh, my very, very own prince!
Doth thou knowest not that I am misguided,
and awfully derogated, without thee!
Ah, thee! My very, very own thee!
Comest back to me, o my sweet,
And let me be painted in thy charms,
o thee, whom I hath so tearfully,
and blushingly missed, ever since!

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully honoured,
To thee whom I then endorsed, and magnified,
I loveth thee adorably, and am fond of thee admirably,
so frequent not outside when all is dark and yon sky is red,
For I hatest justification, and its possibly hidden wrath;
I hatest judging what is to happen when our hearts hath met,
but how canst I ever knowest-when thou choosest to remaineth mute?
Then tearest my heart, and keepest my mouth shut
O thee, should this discomfort ever happenest again;
Please instead slayest me, slaughterest me, and consumest me-
And lastly let me wander around the earth as a ghost.
Let me be all ghastly, deadly, and but penniless;
Let me be breathless, poor, imbecile, and lost-
For in utter death there is only poverty,
And poverty ever after-as no delicacy nor taste,
But I shall still dreamest as though my deadness is not death,
for I am alone; for I am all cursed, without thee.

To thee whom I once loved, and now still do,
To thee whom my soul once gratefully cherished,
To thee whom I endorsed, and magnified,
My heart, ah-my poor heart, is still left within thee,
Just how weepest shall the leafless autumn tree,
Waiting for its lost offspring to return,
and be liberated from its pious mourns;
And as I hearest their shaky, infantile chorus,
I shall but picturest thee again, thus;
Thy cordial left palm entwined in my hand,
Strolling with me about the leafy garden.
A joyed maiden having found her dream man,
a loving man swamped deeply with his love, for his loyal maiden.

I'm staring at walls and hiding away.
Breathing to fast for a normal day
Yet at the same time I can't breathe
As I stare at the test in front of me.

Life can take you in unplanned ways,
And leave you hanging with only a few days.
And here I ask you, who am I?
To choose between death and life?

I'm seventeen, I'm too young to make this choice,
To silence another soul and bury down their voice.
But as the seconds tick on by
And as I feel my eyes dry

I think of how hard it would be
If there was something growing inside of me.
That "Just one time" was probably enough.
And that even protection isn't so tough.

No matter how far I reach
Your tiny hands are too far from me,
And I want to hold you in my arms
And protect you from all world harms.

I want to wipe away your little sorrows
And hold you for every tomorrow
And lift you up above my head so high,
That you could take flight in the sky.

And when I look into your eyes,
The color of midsummer skies,
I'll be looking into his too.
Because love gave his eyes to you.

And our little family would fight along
And we'd have to find a way to be strong.
School would be a dying dream.
More jobs would magnetize me.

And I love you, I love you, I really do.
But it's much too soon for me to have you.
And there's still a minute until the end of the test.
And I can't find where I lost my breath.

Baby, be patient, you'll be here one day.
But if I want what's best for you, I can't let you stay.
And I'm sorry for ever doing wrong,
But my love for you is much too strong.

I'm staring at walls and hiding away.
Breathing to fast for a normal day
Yet at the same time I can't breathe
As the test says "No - " in front of me.

Brown. So simple. So magnificent. So you. The way you let the world dance across your eyes and, let it tantalize your every thought is utterly amazing. When you open your eyes from every blink. it's different. Every time.

I sat there in meditation
and fell deeply into myself.
I found myself in a strange nation
surrounded by walls of shelves.

My eyes caught sight of the book
I knew I wanted to peruse.
Grabbed it from its little nook
and saw its utter condition of misuse.

It was dusty and caked with mold
this little book with a cover quite plain.
I could see the traces of a trimming of gold
and lettering in calligraphy considered arcane.

Dusted away the filth, the webs, the debris
only to find a surprise that grabbed my heart.
There in beautiful lettering of a dark Chablis
was my name readying myself to depart.

The book fell from my callused hands
and the world around began its descent.
I know neither where or when I stand
as I begin my astral ascent.

Opened my eyes and clutched my chest
as I looked around my dimmed room.
Silence- broken by the laughter of this jest
that my consciousness decided to bloom.

MAD MAD WORLD

I've sat and pondered and prayed today
To wake up to such a horrifying event
That some monster could abuse and kill
Their flesh and blood,
Their own innocent children
Scarred them so deep
Tormenting them for a lifetime
The endless pain, unexplainable agony

What could these naive kids have done?
That they would have their lives tortured ?
Unable to speak, too scared to tell..
These cowards would kill if their stories revealed..

Not wanting to spend life in prison
These cowards keep lurking around
Pretending innocent, indeed…
They are the lowest form of life
Discreetly, prey for the next victim..
To pay for the crimes they have done
Life imprisonment? Death penalty?
Will justice ever be prevailed?

I pray for the innocent little victims
The families left behind battered in total ruin
The child abusers, may you rot in prison
May you be burn, perish for eternity
Though for many more years to come
The wound would bleed still…
Emotional scars? A lifetime tales...

We were Just kids
afriad of the world
Waiting on our time to break free
Waiting for our time to break away from this town.
We wanted to see Cali and New York
but never seemed to  get further then our front Porch
I remember one day we said lets just go
and not have a plan
or a place
fill the car up and our pockets with as much as we can.

The clock is ticking
Time is running
Let’s turn to him
Before the world ends
How much good deeds?
Have we started to measure?
Is our time coming to an end?
How much time do we have left?
We’ll never know, We do not know
But the clock keeps ticking...
In each blink of the eyes..
Tick !Tock !Tick! Tock....
My time and your time keep running...

I always have this idea that you were the catalyst
The match that lit my pyre ablaze
I always say that you broke the camel's back
To a simplified extent,
This is fact
But not only you alone truly broke it's weathered back
A mixture of good and bad
Big and small
It all shaped this funeral pyre of my former self
Waiting to be lit
And create something new
For so long I wished for a change in my world around me
When all I needed was to revolutionize myself
There is a slight anxiety still talking about last year's affairs
But for all intended purposes,
This is not me meticulously searching through your words to figure out what went wrong
This is me building myself
Understanding what I have gone through to create a new me
A better me
You lit the pyre,
But also kick-started the revolution
It's been about a year since it began,
And for lack of better words,
It's fucking awesome.