Loud music is playing in the bus. People talking and laughing. Are they talking about me. Laughing at me. ****. I start to panic. My heart is racing. It's time to face it. The voices inside my head are fighting. I black out. Face down. **Snap.

The clouds are crying. They must have seen us. So in love but for none of us to feel. The love that once stock us together is gone. Our love was like in a moviescene. Oh so perfect and oh so frightening. They say it's never like in the movies but this was. So sweet you could almost taste it. It was so good that it almost felt wrong. We were meant to be but now we're not meant for anything.
*May the clouds wash away all my memories.

When you took our family tree up by the root my heart got tangled in the mess. Ants crawl under the door carrying away the branches laying on the floor. Now there is a hole in the middle of the room that goes down six feet from where I walk with my heavy shoes. Old seeds fade to dust like our memories like our family. I try planting the fresh ones in my chest but I fail to fill them with liquid because all the water inside me falls from my eyes to the sheets to floor where it has made an ocean of forgotten memories. Hopefully the ants will soon take the door with them, so I can swim to shore.

Numbness takes over my mind and sends shivers down my spine. Shaky hands and blurry eyes, yet I'll tell you that I'm fine. I dig my nails into my skin leaving it red and sore just to stop the shaking from getting out of control. I know I have lost control of my feelings and I am left with nothingness and emptiness yet I try and try, effortlessly to make it stop. These late nights drain me till I'm exhausted enough to collapse and eventually relapse.

Get up. Raise the blinds. Look yourself in the mirror as your pupils contract. Let the light warm you up. Open the window and feel the fresh air against your skin. It's a new day. A new beginning.

Telling someone to be themselves in this society, is like telling a bird with two broken wings to fly.

Jeg har tusinde søvnløse nætter
med dig
i mine tanker

Jeg har tusinde vildfarende tanker
med dig
i dem alle

Jeg har tusinde forsømte dage
med dig
i ingen af dem

We are wrong about every single thing. They teach us everything they know. They tell us what to do. When we see the sun they tell us it's a star. We are wrong. We get misunderstood and they get mad at us. We try to make things right but we make it wrong. They teach us to always do the right things. When we follow our hearts and do what think is right they tell us to think again. We are wrong.

We are a generation of misunderstood teens trying to make everyone pleased, make mom and dad proud, do what we love but always gets it **wrong.

What if i am an illusion, it would explain the kind of nothingness that I feel. How when I buried a knife in my wrist I couldn't feel a thing. That I sometimes more than often feel invisible, like everything is surreal, like I am as transparent as air.

Jeg er den natteravn som du holder vågen om natten.

Jeg er den stille regn som kun høres hvis du tordner.

Jeg er din søvnløse datter som er bange for torden.

Pictures; For remembering the good times.
Alcohol; For forgetting the past.
Boxes; For keeping old memorizes.
Shoes; For walking away.
Books; For getting lost.
Speakers; For expressing feelings.
Mirror; For finding flaws.
Clothing; For covering up.
Lamps; For looking for monsters.
Junk; For never letting go.
Bed; For giving up.
Flag; For fighting for my dreams.

Jeg stræber efter at vise dig de lyserøde skyer jeg ser over horisonten så du måske kan finde dig selv i mængden. Jeg vil udforske alle verdens vulkaner og stirre dybt ned i deres smukke rødbrune øjne men dine blålige øjne vil altid være de smukkeste. Måske kan vi løse mysterier som ingen kender svaret på hvorefter vi vil dø med alle livets hemmeligheder. Vores lyserøde hjerter vil vokse store nok til at vi kan gemme alle verdens vidundere i alle former og størrelser som lyserøde skyer. Jeg vil åbne mit hjerte op så du kan se dig selv på samme måde som jeg ser dig.

I have had countless nightmares that you would leave me. That you would find someone else and I would have broken your lungs forever. Your words took over. My promises and premises became overwhelmed by you and your needs. It was not a relationship, but I was a God-given person, and you were God. You are as manipulative as the Bible, as beautiful as the devil, and only those who no longer believe will understand that your empty words are just words. I gave your words, your promises, your commandments life! If it were not for me, faith in love would not exist and you would not be part of my life. Even though you're out of my life, you're still part of it. You can not be atheist without giving a love faith broken heart young thought to me who burned the Bible, me who left the church. My nightmares have disappeared and so have you

Most importantly, my lungs are intact, and I can thank myself for that - I can breathe, I am free!

First:* Take all belongings reminding you of him.
Second: Find a good spot to make fire.
Third: Throw things in pile at spot.
Fourth: Get gasoline, lighter and bucket of water.
Fifth: Pour gasoline all over things.
Sixth: Light lighter and throw into pile.
Seventh: Watch flames absorb everything.
Eighth: To quench fire pour water over fire.
Ninth: Now do the same to *him.

It is finally time to move on from this stormy relationship.
You took of and as the storm consumed my broken heart.
I waited for windless night and birds to be singing again.
*Only small gusts of wind filled with memories remains.

Brother
your silence is suffocating me.
Your silence is stronger than words.
Much stronger than any word
that will ever come out of your mouth.
Because you talk to the dog more than me and you never talk to the dog.
Shut up.

Poetry is for the bruised and scared we spill our guts onto paper and pen our minds explode emotions for us to write in words

Writing is a coping mechanism and even though we might not save ourselves we keep on opening our hearts with words

Never stop giving pieces of yourself to the world nor stop taking pieces to replace the empty spaces with new found words

I have tried to write a poem about ****, but it is like I couldn’t find the right words. The meaning was stuck in my head and I was unable to translate it into complete sentences. It is like that night, where the darkness spiraled into the center of my body, and the cries for help were stuck in my throat, choking me. I still remember the emptiness that filled the whole room, so compressed that it felt like the walls would give in to it. I want to go home! No, I want to disappear, leave this body, this place and crawl into myself and let the darkness consume me. I just wanted it to end. My anxiety is always worst when I am amongst others and at that moment, it felt like my heart stopped, as I lost control over my mind and body, even though I felt it all. “I wish for it all would end”, I told myself. I wished that everything could just be ****** into a black hole, just like the void inside of me ****** out the last bit of happiness I had. All alone, but I could still hear the sound of the crowd on the other side of the wall of this crime scene. When the person who helped you out of depression, just pushed you down into a dark pit, when your parents haven’t taught you to call the police when the law is broken and the world feels like an empty void. If a friend no longer is one, but a ****** and you have forgotten how to say no, then stick ******* down your throat and let the screams fill the house.

Give me your favorite books, music and art, so that I know where you are when the world gets too difficult to swim in and you are trying to avoid a drowning accident in the ocean of life. Fantasy sets no limits and I just want to live for all eternity with you in a dreamworld. Even when love is no longer sweet and the pancake house is eaten I will fly across every ocean with you.

Jeg hader mig
Du hader dig
Lad os dræne hinanden for had
Til dagen lyser grønt og lyder som noget at glæde sig til i morgenstunden
Eller lad os blive i selvhadets øjeblik som muslinger der holder på tusinde perler på bunden af havet
Lad os aldrig se dagens lys
Lad os leve i selvhadet
Lad os
Lad os dø sammen

Oh dear sister. The misery hides inside the house. The one I told you about. The one you forgot.

Oh dear brother. Why can't you see the pain. The one I told you about. The one you forgot.

Oh dear mother. Why is the monster not gone. The one I told you about. The one you forgot.

Oh dear father. The creature is inside you. The one I told you about. The one you forgot.

Poisoning my undeveloped self at age fourteen with toxic fumes and deadly drinks that are meant for adults who want to have fun or detach for awhile. I didn't know rather it because I was trying to be happy or be someone else which basicly is the same thing. I longed to be someone else and achohol and cigarettes defined that someone. Drinking and smoking is for grown ups they say but I grew up fast.

Whispering
Voices telling lies
Snap

I am still smoking cigarettes to burn away the words I could never say to you
I try to block my sight with smoke so I can never see you again
and no
I am not crying for you I just got ashes in my eyes from setting fire to our memorize

at hjælpe folk der er ligner
ubåde men blot er synkende
både er som at blæse med
mel i munden uden at tænke
over vindretningen udenfor

det er som at se de mange
rester af hullede mennesker
som aldrig bliver hele men
alligevel køber pudefyld
til at fylde hullerne i sindet

En flæbende mekanisme der hiver efter vejret imellem gråden.
Venter på at luften løfter dit bryst
Venter på at blodet gør dine kinder røde.
Drænet for tårer men græder videre i håb om at mine tåre virker som i Disneyfilm og du vågner igen.

My grandma gave away all the old bed sheets, even the towels she spent hours sewing his name on. She even removed his glasses from the table like he had never sat in the leather-chair next to it. I didn't even realized that he had gotten a different chair before he left it to never sit back down. It sometimes feels like he was not even here but I have buried myself underneath the fabrics so that maybe he will come alive in my dreams and when I wake up from a nightmare he might somehow be beside me. Grandpa I wish that you could pick up your glasses and see the stitches you left open.

I never write these poems about you any more. It is not that I do not think about you. It is not that I do not wonder what could have happened. It is just that I stopped looking endlessly for you in crowds you never walked in and dreams you never occurred in. Your name, oh how it still tastes funny. Sadly it is as common as the rain and it rains a lot. Mine on the other hand never quite makes it out of any lips not even yours. I miss your hands sometimes but never the awful things that purposely found their way from your mouth to my ears so keep your ***** hands to yourself and change your name.

I am a quiet breather, I hate the sound of breathing. Most of the time I  wish for my breathing to stop, so I can have a moment of complete silence. I hold my breath and hope that I will never catch it again. I can hear my head pounding on my pillow, I feel like it is going to explode. I live in a neutral state of being, where nothing matters and I care for no one. I wouldn't mind if my head exploded or if my lungs gave up on me. I just need silence and nothing else, I don't need anyone else breathing heavily next to me as they fade of into dreamland because I am restless and the sound of breathing keeps me awake.