I hate them.
I really do.
But sometimes
I need them.
Because feeling something
Is better than
Being numb
And unaware.
Or is it?

the bottle is

the
bottle
is

the bottle is empty

had its contents been precariously dealt with
or
drop by drop assimilated?

assimilated?by the cloths of
silk pashmina cashmere
or the blackness of a tuxedo

i might never
ever
know, my father forgets

to the left

to
the
left

to the left of the bottle
is another bottle
quite smaller.

it is filled with
pink liquid
half full--or half empty

barely used by its
current owner
it smells like apples

and by the bottles is

and
by
the
bottles
is

and by the bottles is a ring
with two keys
that open locks somewhere

of COURSE!

why, what else would you
use a key
for?

the darkest
alternative for a key's usage, though
is to

hurt
some
body
with
it

metal
grinding the
skin

and the bottles

and
the
bottles

and the bottles thrown
the former can shatter
the latter houses a liquid

but,

but,
but,
but,

why?

My words are tears that,
flow down through my pen.

Once upon a lie,
Quite a bit ago,
I thought I had the greatest Prince
That would never let me go.
The Prince wasn't satisfied,
No, not just with me.
So now the Prince is satisfied,
But the princess had let him be.
The princess asked for loyalty,
Is that too much to ask?
Apparently it was,
To hard of a task.
The princess was dependent,
Didn't know how to live for herself,
How to make her self happy,
She didn't need his wealth.
She doesn't need a Prince,
To make sure her castle stands,
All she needs is her mind,
And her two hands
The princess isn't fragile,
She's no longer made of glass,
All she can think is,
Well the Prince can kiss my ***.

Let’s have a conversation with no words,
where only each other can know what is heard.
We take a moment of silence for those we have lost,
and that silence for a moment repays the lives it had cost.
Words are only as powerful as the emotions you put behind them,
and as the effort you use to hide them.
The steady meter of your breath, the constant beat of your heart,
It is a symphony, a work of art.

Each day I say the same thing,
Every day I tell the same lie,
There's only one song this bird can sing,
And it's less of a song than a cry.

A cry of agony and hurt,
Escaping from a person full of pain,
Somebody who's been left in the dirt,
And is slowly going insane.

Insanity is a comfort,
A way to escape it all,
A way to tone down the hurt,
And take me out of a freefall.

A freefall of confusion and mistakes,
That make me think too much,
Thoughts turn from puddles to lakes,
And depression follows as such.

Thinking makes me sad,
Because all I think of is her,
And when times weren't so bad,
Because there wasn't pain to conquer.

A pain that runs my life,
And makes me do something so vile,
A pain that cuts like a knife,
And makes me wear a fake smile.

Mirror, mirror on the wall
Standing there, thin and tall
Tell me, tell me what you see
Imperfections that belong to me.
Mirror, mirror hanging there
Showing people that life's not fair
Making us someone we're not
Mothers, daughters, all distraught.
Mirror, mirror on oh so clear
Please, oh please take me away from here?