You cannot title her.
For she is not to be summed up.
She is to be unlimited and infinite.

If you are in charge
you will end up hurting
your own soul.

The rain falls onto the charcoal ground
The deepest and darkest of my thoughts weave their way through my mind
Circling like a hawk
Waiting to stab at the peacefullness welled up inside me
Longing to break the endless seams that hide the joyous emotions
The icy moon rises to begin it’s torture
And the darkness overwhelms me
Cracks appear throughout the barricade
The darkness continues it’s endless assault
My emotions inside struggle to keep the darkness at bay
My mind fights against itself
Eating itself up
Killing itself
Until finally, the darkness wins control

Baby,
you make most of your mistakes on white linen,
but Im laying on red rose petals.

It takes a sad soul to be able to write poetry.

Someone who has been through hell.

It takes a person with so much emotion,

To be able to understand poetry.

For it to really reach them.

Poets write to feel.

Poets write to find people who understand.

And more than anything,

Poets write,

In Hope's that their words,

Will reach someone just like themselves.

Poets write to feel less alone.

And to let others know they aren't alone either.

I see all of you.

Right down to your hearts.

I wish I had the chance to know all of you.

Your beautiful souls.

Please don't ever stop writing.

I need you.

All of you. ♡

Gushing through the wave of endless sorrow,
I lift my head to the sky and gaze.
Looking upon the void that left me in amusement,
I exclaimed, "stars do shine the brightest when we were in total darkness".

The words I write,
come with no crime.
Tapping away,
in a field of grey.

Imagination,
temptation,
and the need for acceptation.

It is a meditation.
Feeling everything,
letting the words come up
as I'm puking.

The words I write,
help me survive.
Not alone,
forever be known.