we quiver, we tremble, we shudder, give way.
in the scorn of our own divinity.
this chasm, this maw, it lies agape.
no ocean will drown the summit.
a void birthed of your own perfection.
this aggregate, a myriad of less than nothing.
an empty heart is not easily filled.

i walk down the street with a man's hand in mine
our footsteps stomp to a beat, we walk perfectly in time
his messy black curls twist in the winter air
the darkness of his locks contrast with my silky blonde hair

you'll find no similarities in our opposite faces
the only thing connecting us is our hands' embraces
but we've travelled life together, from one home to another
because this man who walks beside me is my dorky older brother

his hair and eyes are dark where mine are soft and pale
his body is broad and round while my bones are sharp and frail
he holds me when I cry and knows how to make me laugh
so you understand why it hurts when they say he's only "half"

"half" is not a word in my sibling dictionary
he's my brother through and through, anything but secondary
we've shared jokes and games and laughter and all our childhood stuff
we share a life and a mother; isn't that enough?

he taught me how to cook and taught me how to heal
he showed me all his games and showed me how to feel
he told me about mario and told me about carts
but most of all he told me how to keep an open heart

so, sure, try and tell me that this man is not my brother
he helped to raise me and has been there like no other
and true family isn't in blood, true family is in the soul
my "half" brother and i are just two halves of a whole

Every day I contemplate;
       This feeling never goes away.
There's nothing I can do.

There's something deep within my mind;
     I swear it's racing all the time.
Why can't I calm down?

Don't tell me that it's just a phase,
  It's been four years to this day,
And still I have no hope.

I'm not one to forget,
   I have no use for amends.
Please, just walk away.

Give me something to believe,
    Not your sense of empathy,
You'll only waste your time.

We are a moment of awkward eye contact
         and sweaty palms;
All the tension of the world
      weighing on feeble shoulders.

I'm not sure if we're going anywhere,
Or if we're already where we need to be.

Walking past you in the hallway,
Always makes me
              Think.

I’m Smith of Stoke aged sixty odd
I’ve lived without a dame all my life
And wish to God
My dad had done the same.

I've been here,
Walking around,
Looking for a place,
A place that I can call my own.
A place that I may no longer feel alone,
A place that I can call Home.
I've been wandering around,
looking for something that slightly resembles it,
but still i haven't found it.
When will I find it?
When will I be able to feel it,
its warmth?
When will I be able to see the people in it?
The people that I call family.
When will I?

But then I realize,
the thing that I have been looking for,
the thing that I have been longing for,
the thing that I have been waiting,
craving,
dreaming,
and fantasizing of,
was here.
In where I have been standing on all along.

I made it!
This is it!

This is Home.

There was a time I believed in angles
I thought everything was true
I thought I had all the answers
With every line delivered on queue.

The stage seemed always set for me,
And all my props and lines did too
Eventually I came to see
The lime lights vastly dimming hue.

Torn from my starring role,
My only golden years
I lose a sense of innocence
Due to bigger fears.

My little stage
Is now a memory,
Merely written on a page
The fact that every actor must face this
Seems completely deranged.

**** covered cloud
Come down from above
**** covered coud
Leaves **** flavored mud
I'm my lover now
that she's soiled in sick
I'd miss the other half
but she's dating a ****
he beats her and cheats her
he wheels and deals
He ghambles and rhambles
he lies and he steals
her black eye is healing
she's barfing again
the **** covered cloud
rains down her new men
she picks them all up
and lines them up slow
she gags and she chokes
like her mommy said so
she grows up abused
all tattered and torn
she gets tattoos and piercings
and a career in hard ****

"Why do you do that to yourself?"

Because I deserve it.

Because it makes me forget for a little while.

Because maybe if I go deep enough I can dig out the evil inside of myself.

Because maybe the blade can pierce the sadness and let if flow out of me.

Or maybe because blood satisfies me in a way nobody else ever could.