I searched for happiness
in a dark closet with the door closed.

I
Was
Asked
To
Write
The
Saddest
Story
Ever
Written
So
This
Is
What I
Wrote:
My soul died without knowing Jesus.

I painted my love for You on a page
each word unraveling
the beauty of Your character.
each letter carefully orchestrating the
promise You made.

You painted Your love for me on a cross
each nail revealing
the depths of Your love.
and I know You are for me.
Your promise redeemed me
even in my darkest hour.

Forever it will be
You and me.

it’s been a while so take it easy on me
while I introduce myself to 2022.

"i'm holding on
why is everything so heavy?"- Chester Bennington

what women have
birthed man tried
to put asunder
but no more
shall the fires of our
labor  be put out by
egotistical men
slopping around
the earth like castrated
pigs covered in their own
filth. what women have birthed
no man shall put asunder.

You taught me to dance in the storm
even when I couldn’t feel sunshine approaching
and in the chaos of my heart,
You calmed the waves within.
and I kept dancing wildly with You beside me.

one more pill.
one more jump and you’ll be living
in a permanent state of comfortable silence.
will you save me?

I held a candle to my demons
for so long.
But he distinguished them with the
whisper of His voice.

We’ve built the wall surrounding our castle—
Slowly becoming each other’s demise.
Sounds of slamming doors and shattering glass pierces the silence.
What an inconvenience this life has become.

The pendulum that once swung has taken its final swing.
Envious cries cutting through infinite silence.
Visons of thieving wolves that capture our castle—
Removing delicate, intricately sewn lies
What an inconvenience this life has become.

I am not impressed,
impressed not am I
with your love.

A kaleidoscope of fleeting embers appears beneath the fireplace—
Burnt ashes permeating these hollow halls of winter.
Faded cards with Christmas carols mark the existence of another absolution
Where we invent ourselves from glass crystals and a nonsense
Fanatical of perfection.

Shards of rainbow-colored glass on the floor as we run barefoot among the stars.
Sparks of yellow and orange and blue and red and gold illuminate
The dreary existence of this lonely town.
As we search for new illusions to
Fill our drunken hearts.

Chestnut leaves fall onto the ground
As we countdown—
Five…
Four…
Three…
Two…
One…

Another year gone—
Another soul taken—
To cashmere sweaters and expensive screens.
What have we become?

i drowned myself in

sin and waited for

god to come to the rescue.

Insatiable.

I hope she gives you AIDS.
That'll teach you to **** anyone again.
I hope your **** falls off
I hope you're laying in a hospital bed where you
think of me before you close your eyes one final time.

Oh, did i mention I hope you get AIDS?

My brain is in constant torment.
Thoughts scattered as paranoia ensues.
Hate me, love me is its mantra.
Then all is dark as I drift into the Unknown.

a word is a poem.
a line is a poem.
a thought is a poem.
a poem is whatever you want it to be.
a poem can be that love note
that you leave on your crush's locker.
a poem can be that lonely 3 a.m thought
that you can't seem to get out of your head.
a poem could be the most profund thing
or the most simple thing.

that "thing" is not for others to decide
but for you to decide for yourself.

a poem is what you make of it.

from you slamming the
door in my face again
yet I still come back every time.

how do you explain something
that you don't even understand yourself?

that's what mental illness is like.
always searching for the horizon
or some sort of earthly catastrophe
that could explain the brokenness
you feel inside your heart.

always afraid of getting
close to the thing most precious
to you out of fear that you might
break it or that it may be tainted by your demons.

that piercing feeling in your stomach
that you can't seem to shake in the
middle of the night as you lie awake
wondering if you deserve to see another sunrise.

mental illness is like a never-ending
dream of constant chaos
but underneath are broken
and beautiful people who
deserve to be loved and known.

i am just a cog in the machine.
a tool of the man
but i know God
will still use me
for his Purpose.

so call me a tool
but this tool serves
a purpose.

Love’s dead.
Love’s dead.
I’ll say it again.
I’ll sing it from the rooftop
'Till these old bones stop breathing.

I’ll take a knife to
My pulmonary arteries and watch
My undeserving heart lose its ruby-colored dressings.
Before I let love
Fool me again
With its deceptive tactics.  

Am I a product of my environment?
Or do I just
Lack the basic capacity
To understand love’s cruel semantics?

Only time will tell what becomes
Of this defective love
That plagues my soul.

These shapeless faces
don’t have any value
until I looked in the mirror.
Suddenly, I knew my worth.
and so should you.

i didn't pay my rent and i don't
give a ****
i forgot to do laundry and wash my sheets brush my hair comb my teeth (whatever).

i forgot to look in the mirror
and whisper words of affirmation to cure
the depression within me
and i don't give a ****

i got a speeding ticket flying 180 on the freeway
and i don't give a ****
i forgot to punctuate this i forgot to structure the voices in my
head i don't give a ****

One button, two voices.
Which one do I follow?
Wounds opened with steel, I have two choices.
But what surrounds is sorrow.

Panic ensues as tantalizing birds sing-
"Into the abyss, you go"
Paralyzed within the ******* of their wings,
I know there will never be another tomorrow.

What's done is done-
It was a good run.

my friend in the bottle
took over my life
now I’m struggling for my life.

men are inferior creatures who are unable to love anyone or anything. They are victims of their own self destruction.
men are nothing more than a wasted breath of life who’s only purpose is to cause destruction.
men often hate themselves and project this hate unto others who are too insecure to believe otherwise that they are superior to men.
men will never be anything other than the mindless zombies always feeding off of others.
Men are egocentric beings who diffuse sexuality and exploit women for their precious hearts only to rip them out of the woman’s chest.
with their visceral inclinations and their ape like behavior, men are nothing more than blobs running around the earth looking for their next victim.
men never apologize when they are wrong and they prey on the weak.
Valerie Solanas had the right idea: let’s rid the world of such fools. We are better off without them.