It was always far too quiet
And rarely did I talk
But the silence that persued me
Means I rattle when I walk.

Often, it becomes my haven
Where silence would else lay
My head is a deserted grave
The rattling keeps the silence at bay.

A few pills will make some noise
Too many makes a lot
But if I am filled all the way up
The rattling will stop.

Please just stay
in my life
because you'll forever be
in my heart

You could look inside yourself again
And again, and again, and again
But you will still see you,
despite what you will do.

You could cry and scream for hours on end
and you could put on a mask and play pretend
but by the end, when you check your path
all you see is a circular track.

If you try to change who you are
it will not make any permanent scar
all it will do is make a shallow cut
that can be mended, without any "but"

You could harm yourself
and never cry for help
you could cut yourself off
but you'd still be of the same stuff.

The issue is not who you are.
It is also not an inescapable pit of tar.

The issue is who you think you are,
and what you think you're worth.

Because you don't look past the person you hate.
To the perfect being beneath.

There was something calling me when I left that night.

Something about the wind's call.

I wandered below the orange glow of the street lamps.

I wandered into the countryside.

I wandered to the cruelest mountain peaks.

The bitter cold bit my pink cheeks. A place of death had never made me feel more alive.

Something crept from the shadows. It was a horrifying, dangerous thing I could never look at head- on, for fear of turning stone. It was something no human need see. It was indefinable, indescribable, and utterly terrifying. And yet I moved towards it.

Suddenly, I was not afraid of myself.

Poetry is a hundred billion stars on the clearest night, the music of the night beating a pulse in you're soul that you simply can't ignore.
It's a rhythm that leaves you thinking for hours about something that would never cross your mind otherwise.
It's the chorus of the lost ones, and yet complete silence.
It's the light of our sun, and the moonlight of our moon.
It's the noise of the war and the quiet of the aftermath.
It's the fluttering of a butterfly's wings standing out against the screaming of the world.

It's the voices of the ones afraid to speak, finally making noise.

You can look up to the sky at night
Around the moon, the slate of tar
But never, within your sight
Will you see ten thousand stars.

You can look and look and look,
Stare and stare and stare,
They seem gone, stolen, took
You can glare and glare and glare.

You can look up to the sky at night
Around the moon, a slate of tar
But never, within your sight
Will you see a thousand stars.

Because there are more
So many more hiding
So many secrets in store
While for a glimmer you are fighting

The truth is
You can't see a thousand stars
Because you're blocking out
Ten billion.

Some walk on it confidently,
and some are always afraid of it,
and some break it and fall,
but we're all walking on glass.

A big glass floor,
spider-webbed with cracks.
One day, we'll all fall.

All you can do is stand
with those you love
and wait for it.