I've been told that I care too much.
And this is actually true.
My heart is too big,
Too open,
Too willing to simply give.
That I need to pull back some,
I come off too strong.

Its very hard for me to hate someone,
It's just something that I do.
You can hurt me,
Way down in my core,
Emotionally, Physically, Mentally
But You will still have part of my heart.

Some people say that this isn't good,
that its a curse.
How so?
I love people,
Yes, maybe more than I should.
But do people complain about loving too much?
Shouldn’t we be more concerned about those that aren’t loved enough?
Those that go through life broken, and damaged?

I am simply one person,
Who cares.
A lot for the people around me.
Strangers, people I’ve only met briefly,
Friends since birth, and yes,
Even you.

No escape
you
either love or
we hate.

It's all so nice and clean and bright
they've even tarted up the night
how wonderful it is to be
a part of this
machinery.

I'm going to do my best for them
pay off my debts to faceless men
work my life in penury
a part of this
machinery.

and just before I die
I'll really
really try
to clock off

wouldn't want the miserable ***** to pay me overtime when my time's done
would I?

I watched some old videos and went through all our pictures
You were bright and happy and kissed me a lot
You had hope and you danced with me too
I forgot how much fun we used to have
And the kind of people we used to be
I don't regret a single thing except what happened
To you and me

Imagine your ice cold fingers
Like melting candle wax,
Seeping onto a window pane,
Waiting for the ever looming ******.

Imagine a bed of flower thorns,
Digging into your skin.
Convince yourself it's normal,
Tell yourself to start again.

Wait patiently for the sound of the lark.
Wait quietly for the non-existent spark.

Tell all your friends and your ex lovers too,
Tell me what they think of you.

When morning is gone and night won't start,
Make yourself pull apart
From the demons inside your soul.
I won't follow them where they go.

If you cry before you wake,
Say one good prayer for goodness sake.
And if you die before you rise,
There's nothing left to do.

Wake of day; the birth of unease
My ink's drought, a fear at worst
The sound of a heartbeat, persisting
A passion wounded; salvaged by praise.
Structure is found, a thought is lost
Difficulty admitted, my body numbed
The end may be now; writer's block is desired
Forgetting lines, forgetting life.
Hindrances to my growth, never not present
If not my memory, than monotony
The drive I have, denied a forward
Decisions to quit, hollowed by comments.
Afraid I may be, but friends have I still
Complimenting my lines; complementing my incomplete stanzas.