I am a gentle soul,
full of life and wonder.
And when my life reaches
its final chapter -
I hope
you will remember me this way.

Falling apart
Seams ripping
Screams shredding
The thread is undone
My heart hurts

Why open my thoughts for the world to see,
if no one dares to acknowledge me.
     Why even bother to scream out loud,
if no one cares enough to stick around?
     Why do I still long to breathe,
If I know that everyone will leave?
     Why do I write stupid poems about my life,
if no one will read them?

"In the end

everything will be fine."

Maybe it will.

But, in the end

will it even matter?

I turned my head to get a glimpse of the stars
but then came the rain
And something in me knew that it was already too late

I find such comfort in the phrase ‘you only live once’
Because I can’t imagine doing this all again.
I never want to witness the leaving of light from someone’s eyes,
Never want to be tossed in the endless tide of monotony,
Never want to collapse from my hurricane brain,
Never want to curl up and wish to be taken to a dark silent eternity.

I pray there is no afterlife,
No endless time existing.
I only want it all to end,
To have a complete lack of anything.
I don’t want to meet the grim reaper,
Or greet God at His pearly gates.
I simply wish for nothing,
To live once, truly,
So I need not feel this way
Forevermore.

the moon lights a bed of frost.
the wind a storyteller.

are the stars and the sea
still there
when the sky weeps white?

the moon lights a bed of frost.
the wind is a storyteller

and the griffons know the failure
of flesh, flesh and bones

and feeling the bones
in my crooked nose,
I understand sunrise
is not a guarantee.

the sky weeps white.

but the nightingale sometimes
sings to me of you in my dreams.


...(if the nightingale sings of me
then know I hear her too.)

I find it scary to write a poem,
because what if people don’t like it?
Or worse — what if they do,
and it means they’re broken too?

Does it mean they also can’t find
peace and treasure in their mind?
Does it mean they feel the same,
so my pain is not a claim?

The fear, the loss, the pain and everything
If its not mine does it leave me as nothing?

'vacant' sign outside my window
squeeking in the breeze
a future written in stone

large as the sky
deep as the sea
transparent as glass