The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

Deep below the surface,
of a sea stormy and frenetic;
lies buried an ancient relict,
once radiant but now pathetic.
It is a long ago sunken ship
the mast and canvas rotten.
The stern revealing injuries,
that are not yet forgotten.
It once carried adventurers,
looking for brand new land;
But now it's decrepit and cursed,
never to reach a strand.
But if you would look closer,
to the shattered and mouldered deck,
you would see the dissembled treasure,
that waits to be found within every wreck.

You are the notes to my staff
Together we create music
That transcends languages
Tickling the ears
And strumming the hearts
Of everyone we touch

You are the ink to my paper
Together we create stories
That will be passed down
From generation to generation
Leaving the reader filled with hope
That they too will find true love

You are the match to my fuse
Together we make fire
All it takes is one touch
For you to light me up
Shining bright
For the world to see

Chainsmoking menthols,
creating clouds on parade.
Living in the dark;
frenching hurt that I've made.
There's a sadness in my comfort
and a comfort in my sadness.
***, fame, ******* down
commercialized madness.

I don't dream of pornstars
as much as I dream of clothes.
Videogames to escape it all,
carbon monoxide through my nose.
Too good for this and that;
entitlement at an all-time high.
Doing television to help me live,
or maybe to help me die.

Spotify for the masses
beating in my brain.
Youtube and pornhub
to make me feel the same
as the lost I compare to myself
and the celebs I want to be.
I want to be on edge, rich, validated;
I want to live in a fractured harmony.

They have an app for everything
Apply this apple application vigorously
I need an app for this confusion
Where’re all the apps for my delusions
Hallucinations seem pretty nice
But I rather control them with an app
Delirium is no friend of mine
They control it with an app
All of these buttons produce bad business
You’re the ones who push them, I’m the witness
They take their pictures with an app
Photoshop the eye of the beholder
It’s the witching hour
They shout it from the watchtower
They climb up and down the ladder
They train the cruelest adders
With or without an app

When I met tragedy
She was beautiful
Like bleeding wrists
And dead daydreams

When I met tragedy
I fell in love
Her watery eyes
Her blue lips

But Soon,
She faded,
A sinking ship
A full moon
A rose's thorns in bloom

Gone was my apathy
...When I met tragedy...