We are the broken generation today, maybe just one happy day, no misery to surround us, hope the only thing around us, no need for medication that never helped, no hourly cost for how much we spoke, no hatred on people who can’t be the same, different faces, different names, races and pain, innocent eyes in the beginning lost on different streets, no matter how far apart we are we still are so close, all went through pain better version, or worse, it was still felt, experiences that tore our soul’s apart, emptiness, life of a loved one lost or just trying to save our own, the cancer, the abuse, the drugs, the misuse of the things that are supposed to save us, are the very things destroy us, day by day, night by night, if we fought together, everything would be alright, acceptance is the way, no more lives lost to the suicidal thoughts, tendencies forgot
angels no longer lost.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 2:11 AM UTC
Rock-a-bye baby in tear soaked pillow tops
momma don't care and daddy don't try and if you shall cry no one will see,
no one will believe, someone as sweet as can possibly be could be so far apart her from deepest needs
They pull it they tug, they shred it apart
can you pick up the pieces dismantled on the floor
far apart from the world
oh pretty baby pick your head up
hopes not lost
hold you're heart together with string and lost dreams
hold your head up
don't show the darkness in side
rock-a-bye baby right back to sleep
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 10:01 PM UTC
I am in awe of the limitless nature of the human mind
How it stretches infinitely inwards
Containing a private universe that would be forever in isolation
Unless that individual chooses to launch out shooting stars
Rocket ships from other worlds in the form of music, poetry, art
We are sending satellite signals out from our galaxies
Desperately holding cups to our ears
Tightrope walking on the string theory
Jan 31, 2015
Jan 31, 2015 at 10:38 PM UTC
The nightmares went away when i laid beside you're warm body
wrapped legs around you
the rhythm of hearts beating in sync
Never did i wake up screaming
only woke up to the smell of food handcrafted by you
with a gentle kiss on the lips
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 6:58 AM UTC
grief doesn't come in order
it skips and goes backwards like a broken clock
ten hours past the dot
it catches us off guard ripping us apart
though acceptance is always the final stage
that is if it ever comes at all
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 5:53 AM UTC
The day had come when lovers had to say goodbye
Bid a piece of smile and wave a little hand
She thought that their love was so real
Yet ended up being strangers to each
Weeks had passed and you are still there
In her little mind that is full of moments
Moments that you had shared together
Moment that you should have cherished together.
It's been a while since her heart was so alone
And now, she had learned something new
That no one could fix her broken soul
But only she could do it, if she only knew.
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 5:36 AM UTC
Tell me, O tell, what kind of thing is Wit,
Thou who Master art of it.
For the First matter loves Variety less;
Less Women love’t, either in Love or Dress.
A thousand different shapes it bears,
Comely in thousand shapes appears.
Yonder we saw it plain; and here ’tis now,
Like Spirits in a Place, we know not How.
London that vents of false Ware so much store,
In no Ware deceives us more.
For men led by the Colour, and the Shape,
Like Zeuxes Birds fly to the painted Grape;
Some things do through our Judgment pass
As through a Multiplying Glass.
And sometimes, if the Object be too far,
We take a Falling Meteor for a Star.
Hence ’tis a Wit that greatest word of Fame
Grows such a common Name.
And Wits by our Creation they become,
Just so, as Tit’lar Bishops made at Rome.
’Tis not a Tale, ’tis not a Jest
Admir’d with Laughter at a feast,
Nor florid Talk which can that Title gain;
The Proofs of Wit for ever must remain.
’Tis not to force some lifeless Verses meet
With their five gowty feet.
All ev’ry where, like Mans, must be the Soul,
And Reason the Inferior Powers controul.
Such were the Numbers which could call
The Stones into the Theban wall.
Such Miracles are ceast; and now we see
No Towns or Houses rais’d by Poetrie.
Yet ’tis not to adorn, and gild each part;
That shows more Cost, then Art.
Jewels at Nose and Lips but ill appear;
Rather then all things Wit, let none be there.
Several Lights will not be seen,
If there be nothing else between.
Men doubt, because they stand so thick i’th’ skie,
If those be Stars which paint the Galaxie.
’Tis not when two like words make up one noise;
Jests for Dutch Men, and English Boys.
In which who finds out Wit, the same may see
In An’grams and Acrostiques Poetrie.
Much less can that have any place
At which a ****** hides her face,
Such Dross the Fire must purge away; ’tis just
The Author Blush, there where the Reader must.
’Tis not such Lines as almost crack the Stage
When Bajazet begins to rage.
Nor a tall Meta’phor in the Bombast way,
Nor the dry chips of short lung’d Seneca.
Nor upon all things to obtrude,
And force some odd Similitude.
What is it then, which like the Power Divine
We only can by Negatives define?
In a true piece of Wit all things must be,
Yet all things there agree.
As in the Ark, joyn’d without force or strife,
All Creatures dwelt; all Creatures that had Life.
Or as the Primitive Forms of all
(If we compare great things with small)
Which without Discord or Confusion lie,
In that strange Mirror of the Deitie.
But Love that moulds One Man up out of Two,
Makes me forget and injure you.
I took you for my self sure when I thought
That you in any thing were to be Taught.
Correct my error with thy Pen;
And if any ask me then,
What thing right Wit, and height of Genius is,
I’ll onely shew your Lines, and say, ’Tis This.
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 12:31 PM UTC
Paranoid dreamer, sprayed across that bridge
Parallel to that lay the shrine for you, next to the empty road
A cross to mark the spot
Only closure my soul received, was creating felony
Hallow holes left in my chest, filled with the deepest regret
No goodbyes said
Just leftover Christmas tree presents left, for you
It's a mess since you've gone
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 12:27 PM UTC
We all have habits
Hang ups we turn to when words fade from use
When the touch of another feels false
And the skin that you're in feels ill-fitting and loose
Of addictions we choose, are you the user or the used?
Light-headed from smoking far too many cigarettes
But it's better than the spins I get when your name is said
Her toxicity is met with one of my own
Eroding with every upturned stone
To find a reason to use the air in my lungs to talk to her
Instead of fill them up with smoke
But I don't.
Returning burning bile from drinking far too many drinks
But it's better than the taste of blood from getting hit in the face
A father who longs for the respect of fear
Maybe he hits you because he hates himself
And he sees in you the colour of his eyes or the curl of his hair
Or maybe he just does it because it's easier to hurt than to love
The same way you drink because it's easier to be drunk than to forgive.
So **** anyone who does anything to keep you from being able to live
But try to forgive
Not for them, but for you, to begin to heal these wounds
Because your peace of mind was not built for two
Live while they rue.
Jan 8, 2015
Jan 8, 2015 at 11:35 AM UTC
I see the lies
Like the scent of stale cigarettes, that still lingers on your clothes
hours after the smoke has faded
I see the lies
The way your affection is shown
distant warmth distant mind
I see the lies
The way you divert your eyes away
denying truth
I see the lies
Within your arms
Within your heart
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 12:27 PM UTC