A push back to reality,
A play full of comity,
And a couple of songs,
Brought end to the calamity.

Still in disarray,
My body will pay
For tricking me
In such an awful way.

Where I might go?
I do not know,
But I feel that I’ll start to
Follow my blood’s flow.

What am I to love
About my being
If you aren’t there
To provide
My needed support?

Shall I just continue
And try to love
In this void
that bleeds me,
Leaving me
Cracked and empty?

Or shall I cease as well,
And have you by my side in hell?

You can do little to none
For a poet in distress.
Left to their own devices,
They’ll write their way out
Using beautiful words.

If you truly desire to help,
You can keep their inkwell full.

I’ve grown too far,
And now I’m lost
in the absence
That she left for me.

I wonder why I feel so.
A silent word was made
That I won’t fall again
And shall take a break.

But push came to shove,
And she pulled me into love.

A silent slimmer
Of this silvery hope
Lies untainted,
untouched.
I see its natural beauty
through the crumbling wall,
Its reverent radiance
Residing upon my face,
Turning it into
The same silvery hope
That I am lucky to gaze upon.

This decrepit wall never needed
To come crashing and crumbling down,
I just needed to become the silver
That slips through its openings,
And rise into my rightful freedom.

A house is a home,
But only if one makes it so.
In a home,
You can drip emotion,
Free of care or conservation.
In a house
There’s no lack of protection,
But the loneliness becomes an infection.

I have a house,
But I want to make it home.

Silently bearing its teeth,
My emotions pounce onto me.
Nothing’s to happen,
But the morrow is unnerving.
My mind sprouts fantasies
Like the spring grows dandelions.
Soon the flowers change
And I’ll whisp away with the wind.
Soon the bees will come
And sting my body numb.

With each passing motion,
I branch out farther from
The trunk of my tree.

Now the motion
Has gone to far.
A gust has blown
And now I’m snapped.
The branch fell away
And lies upon the ground.

My tepid fears take my soul,
Fearing my existence
Just as I feared them.
A mutual bond
Of predator and prey,
But now we’re both prey.

The moon shines so brightly,
Sometimes I find myself
Looking at its beauty,
And stabbed through the heart.
An unexplainably ominous existence,
And an unrivaled luminescence.

A vernal flame rises
As the golden sun falls,
And the blue flame quenched.

A green harbinger of spring
Carried his torch to my figure
And lit himself a second torch.

I have become the fuel
For the fleeting flame,
And it burns me so
Just to have to go,
But now I must,
Leave for the flow.

Penetrating the soul’s every layer
And spreading influence like
a dangerous pandemic.
You have ailed me with lovesickness
And none of my soul was spared.
Thank you for the emotions
That you brought me on these
Unceasingly fleeting days.

The sky runs a dim orange,
reflecting the distant sun's dying light,
telling me that the day's final act
is on its final leg.

(the other was broken
after a saying
was taken literally)

A purple draws in,
as does the red velvet curtains.
The theater has emptied
except for those
who had tickets
to the night show as well.

The wind has come back,
But I am vicariously feeling
Her whipping frustration.

A silently steady stream
Gusts her vile words
Into my whimpering ears.

I wish her hidden hands
Still held that feathered touch,
The likes of which held solace.

But now she bears her talons,
And is the striking hawk,
Aiming to blow my world over.

Scraping the blue sky,
Grazing the stoic mountain,
But far above the trees.

Ebbing and flowing freely,
Unrestricted by man’s chains.
Nothing can ever stop this flow,
Or the luminescent lunar body
That raises these soulful waters.

Don’t worry
It’s just water,
Flowing under
This bridge of yours.
You’re up here,
The water won’t hurt.
Unless you jump.
But one
Should never
Find themselves
On the edge of a bridge.

So please,
Step down.

An arid, cold fog sets in
On the once emanating morning,
And dampens our planet once more.

A wet, ebon oaken wood bench lies
In the place where the usual bench rests.
And the grass glows an affluently ardent amber,
Drowning out the sulfuric gray clouds.

On this day I look and wish
That someone was by my side,
And we could share
This gloomily wet,
Yet so intensely vibrant
Visage of life.

Beating hearts
Lined up in parallel.
A growing passion
That will never die.
A life is gained
On a converged route,
But the separate routes
Drop in priority.

Three roads running in parallel.
Two eventually stop, leaving
One road to move until the world’s edge.

Incineration of the mind,
Quenching the white coals
Of the overheated fuel.

Gazing into this furnace,
Which radiates more
Than the distant sun.

Inflammation on touch,
Festering blisters crowd
My already damaged hand.

Before contact is made,
The hand will reel away.
Only the foolish dive in,
Because the water
Is not fine.

I am to be
A hero of war.

I saw myself off,
Over that ocean so blue,
And into our frontiers.

Put into a battalion
That is none but death bound,
I wondered if I’d be
One more statistic
Adding to the millions.

A wiped battalion,
With me the sole survivor.
An ambush left me running
And now I’m lost.

I saw an enemy
Coming through the smoke.
I told her to stop,
But she kept her pace
So I dropped another human,
And added to the statistic.

As I went to examine
This defiantly death bound soldier,
I saw in her hand
A flag,
White as an ocean pearl.

But now it was dyed half red.

At home I had become a hero,
The patriot of the land of the free,
But I am not a patriot of any sort
Nor a man of vast bravery.

Life continues onwards,
But death always haunts.

The sixteen bit
Integer variable
“intParityHandler”
Has had an overflow error.

I could always
Enlarge its capacity,
But what if
There’s not enough
R  o  o  m
In my mind
to do so.

A system for the we
Of our diligent society.
But you cannot spell
This dangerous ism
Without the prefix
UNI
Or in the mouth
Of the common man:
MYSELF, I, ONE.

Like fluttering steel,
I moved toward
The windward,
Hoping to find
The stem of life,
And
The roots of death.

The stars guide
My fluttering steel,
Showing me the wonder
Of each precious sunrise,
And each fleeting sunset.
I’m deathly afraid
of these ocean nights
But the little starlights
Infuse my scampering soul
with unyielding courage,
Making my lonesome night
A sail with company,
And a hope-filled light.

Each fleeting day,
And each dragging night,
The water sweeps,
As if moved
By the deft stroke of a sword,
Or the silent lance’s jab.

All it takes is some time,
And things can happen.
I waited in my solitary state,
But eventually the raven came for me,
not a half a second too late.
It bore a letter,
A letter which filled a book.

My face is but
A vicariously vibrant visage of life,
In which I see the world
Through a shield of silent subterfuge;
A void that covers my vibrance.

A faceless watch
Cannot give the time.
A faceless person
Cannot see eye-to-eye.

Strung together
Like a patchwork quilt,
Bound by a thin thread.
On top of this, a world was built.
But the thread, hued blood red
Was not strong enough
To survive the scissors
In which this girl
Had brought to my world.

It only takes a bit of weight
To make a thread snap.
I only need a bit more
Before I break,
And bleed onto the floor.
The vorpal blade lies dormant,
Hidden under a nightstand,
Unwanted for months.
Soon, it will be saved by a hand,
And then its restrictions smash,
Letting its vampiric urges
Run wild, draining my veins.
It is the light that the darkness purges.

Today,
Another day in the line,
Another line in time,
And another time
In an era.

On this day,
I felt I needed to start
My active application
Of the concept of self love.

I love my 1.5 month streak
Of no self harm.

Let’s go for two items!

I love my 1/2 month span
Void of suicidal thoughts.

I wonder when
The streak and span
Will come to a close.

Never judge a book
By its cover
But your look
Is so loud,
You’ve become an audiobook.

The music fuels my muscles,
Giving them the final twitch;
The final burst of strength
To push myself up one more notch,
And further excel.

The wind sneaks up on me,
And lightly caresses my body.
Hands so soft, yet so firm.

A kiss on the cheek,
And disappears once again,
Leaving me to wonder
If she ever missed me.

The miasmic thoughts flow unrestrained,
The **** of daytime sensibility removed.

Thoughts of far off events,
Hosted in worlds parallel
To our very own.

Dreams of the impossible,
That I’m to prove feasible.

Hopes of happiness,
Or the arrival of those
Who beckon it’s luminescence.

“Will my thumb, a now desolate scape
Of nerve damage and love ditched long ago,
Feel sharp sensations, as it once did?”

I remember the day I turned sixteen.
An enemy dating way back gave me a gift,
And I got happy birthday said to me.

I got a single present
From myself.

I was told happy birthday
From two people:
Myself and I.

Three people
Shredded my self-esteem:
Me, myself, and I.

Within my own little satellite,
I ward off the flowing tide.
When the tide falls,
I am beached, exposed.

In my bubble,
My solemnly solitary silence
Screams unspoken insults,
Hoping for me to step outside
And drown once more.

I want to open my door,
Especially when I’m with them,
But I always shut it more.
An unwanted reaction,
With fragmented reasoning.

Maybe they’ll step inside
And give me a hand.

Maybe I should just grow some fins.

I
Hated
My
Life,
But
You
Saved
Me
From
Myself.

I wish
Whenever I entered
My washroom of judgement,
I could look in the mirror
And question:
“Who is that handsom SOB?”

Instead,
I think of 6 random dudes.
Three look better than I do,
And three look worse,
But the latter all have girlfriends.

As the fire sprouts up,
The rain screams down.
Volcanoes ***** themselves,
Peeping above the sea-ceiling.
The land we live on is created,
Now we just need life
To ***** it’s soulful flame,
And populate that desolate ball.

Under the stars,
two souls become one.
Some may say
that they were star-crossed,
but I say that the stars
ran in tender parallel.

There are innumerable lines in the sky;
you may see a line cutting their fate,
but I see the lines running side by side,
and know that a red thread stitched this date.

Whenever I have an exchange
with this quiet friend,
I can't help my incessant urge
to tease him once again.

His reactions lighten my mind,
and bloom flowers in my soul.

It is not a romantic attraction,
but he helps remove the dark,
a welcome distraction.

The vicarious visage of life
Hidden behind masks.
A broken mask
Means a broken man.

With each click;
Each turn of the wheel,
This chamber elevates,
Moving betwixt
The omnipotent clouds
Without a single groan;
A single fearful moan,
In the face of these forms.

Sitting inside this elevator,
I wonder
When will the line break?
When will I fall into death’s open arms,
And view his cold visage on wake?

Hit after hit,
The wall beats my hand.
Yet I keep on swinging,
Unable to stop the motion.
I feel my hands slowly beak
But I continue to hack away.
The skin finally tears,
Letting my miasmic blood
Flow freely like a fountain.
My bones start to show,
And their frail fragments
Drop to the ground,
Much like pebbles of icy hail.

My arms are my remaining armament,
For my hands are far too twisted and bent.
A mire of my blood becomes the floor,
My vision fades and I see nevermore.

Opening the door,
Even just once,
Unlocks the possibility
Of a second occurrence.
Some doors are better
Left to be unleft ajar.

I keep it all in;
Let the spiders crawl
Throughout my skin,
And spin their webs
In my soul’s
Numerous holes.

I just want to cry,
I want to spit my tears upon my pillow,
and cry in my silence for the remainder
of my raven eve.

Why can't I cry?
Where is the salty mix
running down my cheeks?
Why do I feel the tears well up
even though they don't release?

My mask is broken.
the fissure ran its course,
and split my face right open.

I’m but a human husk
Fill me with your emotions,
And watch me fail your expectations.

I’m happy, I continue to assure.
They all fell for my desperate lure.
It’s all a hopeless ploy; it’s all fake.
I’ve built my world upon this mask;
An ebon shell that’s about to break.