Is anybody there,
I whisper to my room,
Where I sit and wait,
For my lonely doom.

Is anybody there,
Please let there be,
I can't stay alone,
Please stay with me.

Is anybody there,
Because if you are,
I've been searching,
Long and far.

Is anybody there,
But there's no reply,
No one is here,
To watch me cry.

There is no one there,
Now I know,
No one is here,
To watch my show.

Waves stagger,
Tall and high,
Horizon blocked,
Ripples fly.

I sit in my cabin,
Mountain top view,
Staring at the valley,
With not much else to do.

I look at passing flocks,
Floundering in the breeze,
Worrying about their lives,
While I'm worried about my keys.

The juxtaposition of us,
A scene like no other,
I see a bird learning,
How to fly from her mother.

I sit in my cabin,
Watching wildlife go by,
Wishing I were that free,
But all I manage is a sigh.

We were running in the field.
She was chasing me.
I ran home and slammed the door shut.

Banging.

Laughing.

Squealing.

Silence.

. . .

I opened the door.
She was just lying there.

Bruised.
Bloodied.
Torn apart.

What I heard was just my mind playing games.


Pleading.

Crying.

Screaming.

Silence.

Eyes of a snake,
Slithering near,
Symbolizing terror,
Showcasing fear.

Sneaking quietly,
To unsuspecting mates,
Changing the course,
Of everyone's fates.

Firsthand experience,
For this sort of thing,
Comes with time,
And a heart on a string.

Holding your heart,
Away from you,
Protecting it from hurt,
Until you know what's true.

Hypocrisy strikes,
With an iron blade,
But the pain,
Will never fade.

It's not the concept,
Of hypocrisy alone,
But when someone uses it,
It rattles the bone.

Whether intentional,
Or just misunderstanding,
The darkness is left,
To continue expanding.

Eyes of a snake,
A crime to commit,
The story of,
A hypocrite.

Sometimes I sit,
Staring at my reflection,
Noticing every minor,
Flaw and imperfection.

A mirror is an opposite,
A flip of reality,
A twisted, woven lie,
Of our actuality.

What we do not see,
On a mirror's face,
Is the flipped perfection,
We yearn to showcase.

We only notice what is wrong,
Never what seems right,
And that is a mirror's fault,
Altering our sight.

But it is just a mirror,
A mere, flipped reflection,
But everyone is filled,
With inner human perfection.

Roses are red,
Violent, sharp,
With love and life,
Music of a harp.

Roses have thorns,
Making hearts bleed,
Stealing their dreams,
Of ever being freed.

Roses have petals,
Soft as a smile,
Falling down slowly,
As they gather in a pile.

Roses help people,
Trying to win hearts,
But why do we use them,
We'll just get torn apart.

Roses are danger,
But are used to propose,
So many faces,
Of a single rose.