Grey,
The emotion of rust and empty plains.
Destruction of reality is at bay,
Mirage no longer heals the pain.

It's lonely at night,
The shadows speak no more.
Towards the heavens float the last light,
The universe closed the door.

This is the path I roam,
Thorns become my bed.
This is my home,
Where so many have fled.

Wings of tomorrow
Guide my steps
Vines of sorrow
Binds the test.

The birds cry silently,
Don't give up your heart!
They then shake violently,
Then burst apart.

Black blood coats the empty land,
Fertilizing the crimson seeds.
Time dies by my hand
It's wounds exhale the seas.

As I too fall,
I feel so strange....
I hear the call,
As my pen makes the stain.

Carpe Diem

As the day goes on, the worse I feel.... Is there something I did? Why does it always end so construed...... I can't even look into the mirror without falling into rage and despair, to ribbons of pain that intertwine and entangle my soul, my heart, just the bare fragments I still hold of myself.

These ribbons, these cords attach like an umbilical and ***** the life out of the remaining pieces.

My mind, the once bright lantern struggles and convulses against the shadows that emanate from my eyes.

These shades asphyxiate me...

If this is truly the end,
It at least brings me comfort
That there was a beginning...

Carpe Diem, my remaining wish.

I'm not a typical teenager
I don't facebook things
Or post my life to the world
I don't tweet
Or Twitter
Or all the other
Networks
I don't instagram
In fact
I don't like pictures
If me. I hide from the camera
Hoping no one will
Click the photo button
I don't party
Or stay out late
I sit at home
Watching TV
Or better yet
Cuddling up with a good book
I don't waltz around
In revealing clothes
Hoping for a boyfriend
I don't act all bubbly
I cry and worry
I don't worry about boys
And dates
I worry about depression
And cutting and if my
Friends are really fine

I don't doodle or draw names on a binder
I write poetry on a site called helo poetry
And the only thing that upsets me
About that, is that I didn't find it sooner

Some things never change
    


      The circular stains on the ceiling above my heart shaped bed didn't exist under that rule

  Sometimes they *seemed constant
           And sometimes that made me feel ok
            
        But other times, as I lay in bed,
            Somewhere near the halfway point between laying down and falling asleep,
       I stared up at them and they moved
         Left and right
Ellipsing each other,
    Becoming ovaloid in shape

Sometimes they simply flitted away, vanished


    I thought them gone,
But they continued to return.

They would not be so remorseless as to leave and not look back to see the blank space they had left.

     So my little circular stains stayed for a while.

    I was happy looking up in wonder at something I could never understand but never dared question.

   Until one day I simply wasn't. My interest in the stains steadily faded until I began to drift off on my side staring out the window, searching for owls I could hear but not see. These sounds made me hope.

They made me open the windows I had locked tight.
They made me breathe.
    
    Those sounds lull me to sleep even now.

*And I've stopped looking for the circles completely