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.

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.

When she cries, I will go to any length for her.
When she smiles, I do not believe in sadness.
When she thinks, I agree.
When she walks, I follow.

She doesn't know it yet, but I'm meant for her.
I don't think her girlfriend would thank me.
But she doesn't know what friends we were.
If only she knew, then she would see.

When do the limits truly break,
And when does the eye become the mind?
I suppose it is up to you.

My arms are jello and my face is red,
I feel so weak and my legs are lead.
Because I've seen she's just walked in.
I can't explain- I can't even begin.

With eyes that sparkle like the moon,
She seems to come close much too soon.
I fluster and laugh and get all confused,
because with her I always lose.

I never know what to do,
Except to scrape the floor with my shoe.
What to do and what to say
To hide from her my ecstasy?

I love it when she's next to me.
Anything else I cannot see.
An invisible spotlight- and a wall
which is thick and impossibly tall.

I like her.
I'm sure.
I know it's true.
You know it, too.

But I can't tell her.
Not today, no sir.
I'm too afraid of denial
And to lose that beautiful smile.

Life is a pattern,
Life is a maze,
Every day
Is the same.
There is no way out,
There is no escape,
There is no knight in armor
To come save the day.
It's just you.
In the dense smoke.
Just you.
And as you choke,
There's no one to come,
No one to save you.
You'll stay alone.
Unless I come lay, too
Beside you in the grave.
It's dark in the tomb
Where people lay unsaved.
Let me light a fire,
Right here on the floor with you.
We'll burn the ire,
And enjoy being the one to lose.
Feeling the pain
While stiff as lead,
I realize now
I should have said,
I know life is a pattern.
I know life is a maze.
I know that every day
You feel my pain.
I know it seems endless
And truly, it is
But I am here-
When you miss,
And when you fall,
I'll follow you.
When you feel small,
I will, too.
We're more alike
Than you know
So while the cold bites
Let's go play in the snow.

Think.
Think about the dot on the end of this sentence.
Now think about these words, this poem. How many dots can make up these words?
Now think about this-
You're more than a septillion times that.
One human out of 7.6 billion.
And that's just the humans.

When everyone else is angry,
I am the one with the misty eyes.

When everyone else overcomes their grief,
I am the one with the misty eyes.

When the end has finally come,
I am the one who is ready.

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.

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

The tide is pulling in,
and splashing out again.
How can we affect
the path the ocean treks?
We really can't,
but we can rant
for hours on end
about the way things have been.
But what does that do
besides mess with you?
You can't stop the wave
or hope it'll act your slave.
Everyone says it's necessary
to hold the weight you're meant to carry,
but if it's not the way the tide flows,
don't be afraid to let go.

The dawn is of purest gold and of sweetest sugar,
for you know that it means the light is coming.

The dusk holds darkness and tastes so bitter,
promising a long, cold night.

But each is as beautiful as the other, because without darkness, light is meaningless.

She's the key to freeing me
from my straitjacket of depression.
She's the light to show the way
when I'm stumbling through darkness.
She's the wall that keeps me from
wandering into the abyss.
She's the friend that talks to me
when no one else will.
She's the companion that stays beside me
even though it's a difficult place to be.
She's mine.

If there was only one that I could choose,
it should be known it would be you.
With eyes so bright any light seems dim,
and a face only rivaled by what's found within.
You are so sweet, but so like fire,
making my heart burn with desire.
My one, my only, lost half of my soul,
until I am with you, I will never be whole.

Running when you shouldn't be,
racing for the exits.
Jumping for the nearest window,
though every part of you says it:
Don't even try it.
You won't make the leap.
The glass is only touched by a finger- tip.
You're walking a tightrope and the ***** is steep.

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.

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.

She's my little butterfly.
That cannot be denied.
Her tiny, pretty, delicate wings
could carry her impossibly high.
She could touch the stars,
and she would not bear a scar.
No, nothing on her little wings
even though she's come so far.
She's a special one, my butterfly.

I hate that eternal abyss that pulls at you whenever you lift a finger from that thin edge to which you are clinging. I hate the way that abyss calls to you, and you want to let go but you are too afraid. I hate the way people try to pry your fingers away, screaming at you to let go. I hate the way they're all clinging to their own edges while they do so, because they must know how I'm feeling. But we all just hang on those edges, above the gaping maw of empty nothingness, thinking that hurting others will help us climb out. Nothing will help us escape from here, you hopeful, desperate souls. This is the way it is, barely holding on until we finally fall.

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.

The fight is lost,
The plans crumpled,
The dreams tossed,
The cookie crumbled.

It's permanently over now,
The battle's finally done.
The other side will take a bow,
And then maybe we'll see the sun.

But I can't hope.
Not anymore.
Not now that I've lost the only thing that made me feel found.

My angel is quite the peculiar one.
She's winged and cute and hot as the sun.
The odd thing about her are the things she's always worn.
Long, sharp, beautiful horns.

The tides are rushing in
And the surface is glittering
Foam swirls on the sand
And retreats back again.

But no one really cares about
The darkness hidden deeper
Than anyone could see
And so they pretend

They pretend there's nothing more
They pretend they don't know what's
Down,
Down,
Down,
Beneath surface of the ocean.

When the darkness falls
And the abyssal night calls,
When the voices scream
And I'm splitting at the seams,
When all seems lost
And everything has a cost...

The light will shine,
The birds will sing,
The sky will clear,
The morning will bring

Beauty.
Balance.
For every bit of hate,
A little love.

When I'm around others, I'll talk and laugh.
I'll smile and tell stories and listen to them.
But when I walk away, I am empty.
Emptier than the vacuum of space.
Blanker than a sheet of untouched paper.
Inside, I don't feel happiness anymore.
I don't feel anything.
I'm just here, existing.

When will you decide that the time has come?

When will you choose the fate that makes you unique?

When will you stop waiting for someone else to carve your life for you?

I felt the rhythm of life in every part of my soul.

Again and again, it beat in my chest.

One- two. One- two. One- two.

Hardly ever was there a change.

One- two. One- two. One- two.

I was sick of that rhythm. But there was no escape.

One- two. One- two. One- two.

I needed refuge. And so I stopped.

I ignored life itself. Withdrew into myself, spent my days hiding.

Then there was no rhythm. The silence was blissful.

Hours of nothingness.

But one day, stuck pondering in myself, I realized.

If I kept running from life, why was I even here?

And as I turned over each reason why people lived, I noticed.

The people who really made a difference never hid from the beat.

They turned it into a song.

So I emerged from my shadows and transformed the rhythm. And suddenly, I really didn't mind life so much.

One- two- three. One- three- ten. Two- three- four. One- two.

I invented some lyrics to go along with it.

The silence was gone, and my life was a beautiful song.