A rendition destroyed.
A composition disforming.
A mistake was made.
A failure was gained.
A regret pondered.
A lesson never taught.
A cosmic orchestration to be repeated over and over again.

The right to appropriate all that is within their view is what they believe they had. Without any remorse for who got hurt as they spouted on about something they knew nothing about. And If blood ran red white and blue, they're hearts would be as empty as their cause.
What a sad way to lose your humanity.

You overlooked my past, made me feel something I haven't felt in a long time. All of the songs that brought me down, that I used to love, make sound
once again.
So I'll take all of the terrible things that have ever happened to you, and make them disappear.
All your fears and tears will never have a moment as long as I'm here.
It's what I was made for.
And you will always make me happy, I know it, it's what you were made for.

She said you can hate me as much as it would hurt. She sobbed as she cried those words. For the love of my life to ever even consider that I could hate her, it broke my heart.
How could I ever possibly hate her, she created me.

There is only so much a man can write before he is someone else entirely. So leave him be while he is still himself. Run away.

Happiness at every point, dreams and activity around every corner.  Motivation isn't a busy process without a one single queen or king.

Here comes the policeman, tucking in his stomach, puffing up his chest. I play out what I'll say in my head, and try to clear the fear stirred up by a bad daydream. He calls to me, asks my name. I hand him my license, as I stutter at an  attempt to know what I've done wrong. He ignores me, and has me get out of my car. I try to keep calm, but it proved difficult, as I hadn't mentally prepared very well for this, and we've all seen the stories that always have been.
So I put my hands on my car and stay very still, but to my surprise I feel a slight sting as I graze the hood.
I was falling.

What had just happened? What was this eerie silence that filled the air? Why has this chaotic world suddenly come to a halt?
I began to feel sleepy after I struck the ground, a strange feeling of drowsiness and pain. Was I dying? There are lights, bright and obnoxious; I see one, no, two people lift me up, but it wasn't me. It couldn't have been me, because I was watching them go.

They were forgetting, they were leaving my life by the door.

*Please, come back.

Even if it was dark, things felt a little bit brighter.
When I laughed, I always felt like I couldn't stop.
When I smiled, she'd smile back.

Now it seems so quiet, but yet so loud.
I'm screaming inside, and I'm kicking and I'm punching.
I'm screaming so loud that I've lost my voice, I can't speak and I can't hear.  I'm just another tree, and I feel like I'm going to fall. Will anyone hear me?

Worry was the name of the ones she loved. Ever since she was young, her eyes always gazed at her loved ones, even from a distance. She never stopped watching, and they imagined it was only her job, but it wasn’t. It was her gift.
Her name was protection, and she loved them very much.

Old poems.
Old me.

Lonely nights like these I wonder if I really still exist if I'm not so full of youth. I'm still young, but it feels like there's something missing in my heart everyday.
I miss who I once was.

That boy who was always trying to impress.
I feel I've given up in a sense. On being me, like an empty slate was the best form of self preservation. It's sad.

Like a character born from trauma, that's so colorless.

It's hard to differentiate sometimes, if I've missed you, or myself more. Or what we had, the innocence disappeared so quickly. Too quickly.

Had a dream about a one-legged spider last night.
Was it me? Wallowing in my own pity. I feel like a fool, helpless.
My only protection is the night, and I've apparently gotten caught in my own web. If you wanted me in my most vulnerable state, here I stand.

I no longer want others to understand, I want them to see me. They keep staring at the curtains, once they've opened, but not at what's standing right in front of them. Maybe it's selfish, but to me, this is my show. That I am performing for them, and I am no clown. I am a poet. So please just see me, stop trying to understand me.

My vision of beauty may be distorted, but I can still recall enough of my innocence to know that you were absolutely beautiful.

To think that they would speak of desires and wants so soon, want shall bring disappointment, disappointment will only bring sadness. I've come to this wretched place to speak of a beautiful end for the each of us. Disgusting parasites leech the middle and beginning so ferociously that the end is only going to crash and tumble.
Take time with what is going to take place throughout this burdensome story, or your end will be atrocious.

Deja vu yesterday, I felt a weight. My thoughts don't betray.
Something was coming.
Someone in my family would be laid to rest.

I didn't know

It would be me.

All my old writing was as accurate as premonition, as if I wanted a tragedy to JOLT ME from my sleep.

The silver lining is I suppose I got what I wanted,
it just wasn't the tragic self harm I dreamed of.
More like a tragic mistake that destroyed the boy I once was, and the girl I once knew.

Her fingerprints were a maze I was hopelessly lost in.
Her eyes were the sky I could only ever look up at in awe, never to break through the clouds.
Her lips were the mountains I would die on, to forever be a warning of what lay ahead.
Her heart was a fire I would gaze at in the night, never to grasp in my palms.

She was chaos.

A girl appeared to him one day, as beautiful and virtuous as Venus herself. As a saint he was inquired to leave her be, one could even say that an appearance such as this could be named a trial of faith, an incredibly cruel trial. And oh how unquestionably worthy of his title he was, but not nearly worth as much as a caress of her warm hand. He almost immediately let out a cry as he cursed his god. He left his eternal oath to enter the beauty and darkness of the unknown. What a wonderfully dark abyss it was.

I've dug myself a hole, deeper than that of my heart. It's cold sometimes, but it keeps me warmer than out there for the most part.
Sometimes I pretend I can't hear the wind howling above my head, the ignorance is bliss, but I can't pretend that the rain doesn't come, as I feel each. cold. hit.

Always wished they would die at the same time, always wished it would be painless for one another.
The next day in the newspaper an article arose, two dead in an accident, doctors say their hearts stopped simultaneously.
It was almost like a message to every lover who set out in this world, no matter how terrifying that moment could have been, it was reduced to nearly nothing when compared to being apart. It was ironic, they used something they feared deeply to find peace in such a petrifying experience.

It was beautiful.

A slight slip of the fingers, like an ocean, as the sky is filled with wind in every which direction. I let you go, like a cast of a sail.

The one you truly cared about wants to forget you, not even your shadow will be left to remember. All that ever was you is gone now.
To die from a broken heart truly is the worst death of all.

I grow tired, though the early sun rises. And I'll be long gone come the blue moon. Long gone.
Yet another sun will rise, and another moon will wane.
I'll be long gone.

What am I to do to fill this gap inbetween us. Maybe I'll fill it with the trash I have laying around my room, or in my soul. Maybe I'll fill it with a million hours of occupation, money, and material objects. Maybe another could fill it with their baggage and sadness, their big eyes with questions of doubt and love.
But no, don't you dare trust a thing I say, because I have not a clue what could possibly fill a hole the size of the universe.

The air I breathe, gold and dreams.
You are everything I need.

Nothing else compares.

Through life and death, I know our love will be written on our graves, among many others, our love would never fade.

Kept through dirt, mold, and dust.
Come dawn, come dusk.

I'll always love you.

When you're hurt and don't know what to do. I can be your invisible man, You can ignore me and I won't ignore you.
You can keep me around when you're feeling down, and I'll be sure to know my place. You can pretend you haven't seen my face, that you don't even know me, like a brand new confessional.
Once I've lost my use, I'll leave you be with no excuse.

Your mom is right to be weary of me, her intuition isn't wrong. We're one and the same. She wants to **** me for taking you away, and I'm addicted to you and everything of you.
She isn't wrong to be afraid of losing you, but she can't blame me for that, only herself, because I know you're addicted to me too.

Some nights it feels like my soul is just shattering, and when I wake up the next day I'm just picking up the pieces.

Phantoms burnt prints into his bones, left behind marks and indications to let the world know of the vacant vessel he was abandoned with. A hushed physical being that never spouted a murmur of spirit. A vessel in need of a soul to split.

Suddenly I could taste her breath in the air, almost as if I had just kissed her.
But I hadn't, I was alone in my bed.

I'm haunted, by some sort of phantom pain.

Throughout the years, death became foreign. He always exclaimed to her he would live forever, that way she'd never slightly be in sight of sorrow. But as each of them aged, his promise seemed unreal.
   Yet, as he lay atop his death bed, he did not apologize. Instead, he only spoke the words,"I love you".
And he did not lie.

The day he met her was the day he wanted to be carried.  It felt as though he had died then was resuscitated back to life by a bolt of lightning.
She was beautiful in every sense of the word. A goddess in the reflections of his eyes.
Hair that was hot to the touch, eyes that could pierce darkness with ease, and a smile that could speak any tongue.
And he knew, the day that she goes will be the day that he goes as well.

Everything in the world, the universe, came out so very perfectly. The perfect amount of matter to sculpt something everlasting. Something that will outlast even us.

You, and all of your flaws and imperfections will always mean more to me than all of it, no matter how absolute your colorless sense of carelessness for me, it doesn't matter.
Forget about me if you like, but remember this always.

A vague description of all that is emptiness, a ghost of an overwhelmingly beautiful goddess.
A man who would come to hate everything, even himself.

The void would be his blessing, the darkness his light, the pain his motive.

That indescribable feeling.

I've been inhuman for so long. And suddenly I fall in love again. Not with a person, but with a feeling. Now I am stuck somewhere else in my head, for once in what seems like forever.
And now it has gone again, I'm on the floor writing of something that has fluttered away. Like a secret that can never be a secret again.

I could call her my pretty baby, she could call me her fool. We could take a nice night out, keep our hands to ourselves and pretend that life was just a game, and we were it's tools.
God could take our hearts as a memoir of the night, crystallized, to keep pure and whole. Held in a pedestal, for all to awe at. And we could repeat that day over and over.
*That would be my heaven.

They say pain makes for great inspiration, but I would have given all of my inspiration to have never experienced this.

If even only for a second things could seem clear, I would choke down every last drip and drop of alcohol in this unfreezing world.
Every last drag and hit of each and every intoxicating drug.
I would reveal every single one of my addictions through this shallow looking glass to inspect for the rest of my life.

Including this addiction and drug we call love.

I'm not asking you to be mine for the rest of our lives. But can you be mine one day at a time, maybe even one night?

No matter how many times I could write about you leaving, no amount of words could ever prepare me for it. I never knew what I would do when that day came, I put myself into so many scenarios. I suppose at least I no longer need to test myself.

The answer all along was nothing at all.
There was not a **** thing I could do.

When I was younger, just a child. I remember someone telling me that humans emanate the slightest light off the surface of their skin. At the time, my grandmother would take me with her to church to learn about the ways of god, his angels, and the devil and his demons. They spoke of how not a single soul could look at god dead on, that even the holy angels would be blinded from the pure evanescence. And at night when I would lay down, I would pretend that I wasn't so bad if I glowed, even if it wasn't as bright as god itself.
But as I grew older I made discoveries, that the blind once walked among the bright, but now have no choice but to stoop to the shadows. Losing themselves.  No one would let themselves shine. Humanity was stuck in a place I came to think of as hell, and heaven was deep underneath the layers of shadows and cracks. That god was buried within this concrete, under the soles of my shoes, and that the devil laid in the darkest corner of my pupils, and I came to recall that the devil is beautiful and bright too.

Can you hate me now, and forever more?
Will you let me be, in agony. Without you?
I say no, never now, nor ever.

The touch of her hand on mine, fingers clasped tightly.
Her arms wrapped around me, squeezing the life out of me.
Her lips, soft and light as heaven's touch, they part, and
God, you always sound like an angel when you tell me you love me.

I wish I'd remember when we argue, so I can change.
I wish I didn't only remember these things after we fight, maybe things would end differently.
I'm afraid one day it will be too late.

Please, never let it be too late.

The only mistake to be made was before death, thinking to myself as life was leaving these old lungs. While another was begging for one last word, some way to keep them going.
I would do anything to speak to them even if only one last time, I would haunt anyone and everyone if it meant I could get even one letter across.
Even if my only form of engrossment was through scarlet rivers, sacrificing the brightest of souls, or overcoming the darkest and most treacherous of hollows. To reach her. Absolutely anything.

Road **** laying in the gutters on the side of the street. Empty feeling of dispare as he ponders on the dread of death. Second comes sadness as he stares in the rear view mirror.
He turns to look at her in her big brown eyes as he tells her that he saw.
Together they faced the **** each and every time they were on the road.
As much as he tried to protect her from this, all they could do was acknowledge it together.

Life is inconceivable, an impossibility within itself. Indescribable.
Therefore, every moment we live is an impossibility.
We are the impossible that we so passionately wish to attain.