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.

The first thing
I fell in love with
was the way you wrote.
So sweet,
so innocent,
light on my mind
and had me high
all the time.

Blank canvas
                       Empty
                                 Flat
                                       White
                                                  But,
                                             Potential

Some in our Minds
Some in our Hearts.
Some in our Eyes
Some in our Dreams.  
Some in Cages
Some in Pages.
Some in Frames
And Some in Bodies .....

There's an "i" in isolation
In fact there are two
But to tell you the truth
One "i" will do

A vulnerable "i"
An "i" in seclusion
Since feeling together
Might all be illusion

There is only "i"
Only one altogether
Because in the end
There's no "i" in forever

In my lonely nights,
i think of you
and all of the loving moments we have shared.
Ones where my head would lie in your lap
and you fingers would run back and forth
on my scalp.
I think of how safe you made me feel,
how nothing could touch me
as long as you were by me.
I think of your sugar coated lips
and warm body.
Your fingers as cars,
traveling my body
as if it were a road made just for them.

Take her body, squander her soul.
**** her mind, remove her control.
Take her eyes, so she cannot see.
Take her voice so she cannot speak.
Burn what little hope she has.
Take her peace, they'll remember her as: crazy, chaotic, ******, pyschotic, foreign, and mystic...
Despite how she fought it.

Corrupt her memories, pervert her art.
Take all she has left, and rip it apart.

When she's gone, tell the world how you loved her, but not how you hated, berated and destroyed her.