There's subtle, eerie beauty in letting go,
allowing your creation to fly freely
to meet the audience, live its life just so—
it waited to escape your grasp so keenly.
What others feel about it you can't control.
Your inspiration, the readers will ignore
so to get scared, to react with their own feelings.
It's brought into existence—you played your role.
Don't be afraid, it's strong to break through ceilings.

I was falling
for you

the feeling of
being weightless

the sky and
the ocean are
blue

like your eyes

your eyes and
Einstein’s brain

are the depths
I can never reach

but I will drown trying
to reach either or both

I can smile but at times i feel like i can't
My prayers get answered with pill that number rises with every year
And a mood stablizier that is there just to be part of the party

I can be your machine lover. Just don't get my hands ***** for you. You say it will be alright but you don't know what is going on in my mind. You say the ******* sun will shine but be in my shoes for a chance.

You know how it feels to be at the end of your rope...
Depression does that.
Depression take a good day and throw that idea out the window.
I would say ***** depression too if i were you.
Don't wish it upon yourself just so you can fit in.
But for me i acually struggle.
So i find a way out...
     A single slice of skin..
           A puff of nicotine...
               A prose of poetry....

Yeah, you make a vice
A vice so you can forget everything
A vice that leaves scars
Because you are trying to find a light

That scares people
You have the ability to harm yourself
Your "temple"
But ****...sometimes to heal you got to hurt!
So let me be
Let me heal

Forget this world with me
Because if the stars aligned differently
We could have been...more

Forget this world with me
Let time pass...fast
Snuggled close in that beat up car

So If we lay here
Would you lie with me
And forget this world...

Messy handwriting,
Even messier poetry—
None meant anything;
Got only to shadowbox misery.
Guess the weather has changed now,
And it’s more bearable somehow.
Smiles begin to be put into words,
And poems start to be sung with birds.
Unwritten is my sad usual palette
Right after our paths have met.