I would point a finger but all I see are mirrors.
Judgements and flaws all seem to point right back. The human flaw is that we don't notice the mirror we are always staring into. We think it is a window...

But who am I to point a finger anyway?
I guess it is just in our nature to punish the world around us on some days
and mend it on another.
I will never know why and I don't really want to.
Sure, insults and bullies made me who I am today.
But I can't blame a tornado for leveling a town, so I will keep my mouth shut and have a drop a shot of empathy to drown the apathy.
I have friends where I need them and more friends where I don't. I still feel alone at times, but there is no point in whining because we all do; ghosts making noise in the dark.

We're just trying to find something new but we look in the wrong places.
We need a real window.

I am making noise in the dark but its hard to find out why.
These voices I hear are making words,
words made out of things they've heard.
Things they may have felt or seen
with eyes made out of stars and dreams.
The words they fly and all I hear
is music and pain.
Screams and cheers...

My voice is there of course and it rings the chaos bell,
but sometimes I cannot hear my words and that just means that all is well.

Perhaps this is just a ball floating around with volume turned on high.
Does the cosmic storm give a **** about our blue and cloudy sky?

It may or may not. I'll never know.

But if all I hear until I die are these voices,

...then I am okay with that.

I'll just keep making noise in the dark.

They told me not to burn bridges but I love the smell of smoke.
Let's hope they hear the sound of your voice feel its deserved choke.

If you were even worth it, then I'd gladly cut you down,
but I think I'll let you get crushed by your
phony ******* crown.

I wrote this line and I want anyone to contribute. Add anything you want in a comment.

Let's write a poem.**

We wrote letters to men and women that never existed
and they replied long after our deaths.
They sent us flowers and wrote songs about us that always seemed to play at times when everyone listened together with the same ears.

I walk on embers made of ice and the skin still melts away.
                 I look through glass to sunshine beasts and still my vision fights decay.



I scream,
I charge,
I draw my sword to fight
the ever,
that endless horde.
                

                                                  But words of steel and wounds unhealed
                                                      will be there tomorrow for me to feel.

For now I lay in silence unbroken and this stands alone on thought filled balloons...

In the morning I'll fight these perilous wars,
one breaching my senses,
one behind closed doors.

But right now I'm grinning
and quite justly sinning
in dwelling on those things my heart branches
towards.

I walked inside a room one day
and found a seat inside.
The walls and floors were bare and cold
no place for ghosts to hide.
And here I sat for many years
with daylight pouring in.
But I never bothered to step outside
for fear of the devils grin.
But in that fear I lost myself
and feeling seemed to fade.
Here now I wanted something more
than cynicism left to trade.
The chair became a guillotine,
the room a prison cell.
I want to escape from feeling void,
a vacant shallow hell.
But the door, again it opened wide
and there a figure stood
smiling with the daylight gleam
and I finally understood.
I'll never fully leave the room I made
and the ghosts will always prey
but if I can let someone step inside
they can chase away the grey...


*...and you have done an amazing job so far my dusk...

Sit beside me for a moment and tell me what makes you feel like a snowstorm in summer.

I want to feel your pain then break its neck.
Let's run away on highways made of clouds hand in hand.

Come here. Let me feel your skin. Let me me hear you breathe. Let me see you grin with hidden plans.



I want to listen to your body roar.