It's funny how you dont care about things that are important
Or things that don't matter.
Like life
Or this poem rhyming
Or spelling
Or people understanding it
I just feel like staring at a ceiling
Or hanging from it
I don't even care if a murderer would come and **** me now
It's just an overwelming feeling pushing at my skin
And I don't even care
My best friends seem like nothing
And my enemy knife and rope are what I imagine
Blood running down the drain
I paused the movie and don't care to Un pause it
I don't even want to walk up the stairsbut
I will
And I will stare at the ceiling until the harsh morning light comes
And I will not pay attention to anything
People will call me lazy.
And I will not care
I don't even care to give this a title
So use your imagination
Cause I'm all dried up.

And I realise that once again
I am in a world I do not comprehend
Einstein himself could not convince me
That everything we have has an answer
Physics, learning and math
All unnecessary in our happiness
It is causing me such misery
I am thinking of leaving to sea
To just look not question
But I am afraid my misery will keep me here until I'm done with this
This everevolving life
I am to tired to care
But I have enough energy to pretend I am listening

I see the rainbow in science
But I want to stand in the rain and sun.

I like her

It's her eyes
The brightest I've ever seen
Yet so brown,
It must be a sign of a siren.

It's how fierce she is
Not caring
And yet she blushes like a blooming flower
Whenever we talk indecently.

It's the way she criticises you
Purposely as a joke
And then she will do it herself.

It's her quirks
Always having sugar and chocolate
And yet always having toothpaste and brush.

It's her accent
So clear and foreign
And yet you can't understand her on the phone.

It's when I call her cute
And she tells me to shut up
But she smiles a little.

It's her taste in music
And how she goes mad when we talk about them.

It's how she wouldn't admit she likes me
But I pine because of that look she gives me.

It's how she is
Always just so

****,
Am I in love?

I've lost faith in words
Words have so many meanings
You can't know what they really mean

Perfect.
Nobody's perfect
And yet
Everyone is

Loyalty.
Being able to tell them everything
All the lies that they don't know because it won't hurt them

Imaginary.
It's not real
Yet it's the most real thing in my life

I love you.
Not the whole you
Not the future you
The you right now
That is perfect.
That is loyal.
That has such an imagination

I've lost faith in words
So how do I know what you mean?
How am I suppose to tell you without you misunderstanding?
Easy.
Don't speak.

He's out there.
I can feel it.
His breath through the crack in the wood.
He knows I'm here
But he won't open the door.
He's waiting for me to ***** up.
He's trying to scare me, knife in hand
It won't work.
That's why he's here
Because he's scared
Because he's been here before
But the feeling of dread was worse
Because he was tied to a chair
So was his young wife
And best foolish friend who tried to help.
I had a scissors
And knifes
And jumper cables
(They were fun)
And a big toothy grin.
Only he survived
So he's the one that's scared
to open the door
He hears something behind him
He turns
His mistake
I have a knife as well
The police will see it as my defending myself
But they will be protecting the culprit
Not the victim.
"A sweet, little, anxious girl could never hurt someone without reason
Right?"

They say you put everything into a piece of art
So what if a piece of you is left with it.
And then you are stuck in a room
Constantly surrounded by the same walls
I know I would feel depressed.
And if they painted enough
Enough of there soul would be stuck in a room forever.
Maddening.
Maybe that's also why they appreciated the outside beauty
Because that part of there soul knows what is is like to be trapped
And the shard left is there to take in as much as it can.
Be it a porcelain beauty
Or a thieving crow.
They know they must take it in
And never live like their paintings.
Trapped.

What is a dreams shadow
I have often wondered?
I believe it is that feeling
Of not being able to remember it
That terrible feeling.
It's not a physical thing.
I know people will think I'm mad
Feeling down about something I can't even remember
But it's what I lose
My memories that my mind has created
Just for me
Just so I could have a pleasant dream
Or an eventful one
If I do happen to wake in a sweat.
Maybe that's why
Because it's only for me
It doesn't want me to tell anyone else
About my adventures
But I promise I won't
I just need to see them once more
So this aching chest can be free
So I can know what you want me to.
I will never be able to recall
And that might be the most heart breaking thing
I can do to myself.