Back in ninth grade when I first saw him, before I knew his name, before I knew who he was or who he would become to me. The first thing I noticed was the enthusiasm he spoke with.
I didn’t think he noticed me, even if he showed how much he cared for someone who was basically a stranger.
I didn’t see what he showed everyone else, the long hair and baggy clothes. Someone who didn’t care. I saw this boy who was too intelligent for his own good and could end the world if he so desired to. I saw this boy who found it so funny that I squeaked when poked and did it nonstop.
I stood on the sidelines and listened to this gamer kid who was so caring to his friends even though he picked on them to show it.
In tenth grade, the first thing I noticed were his eyes and how it felt to give him a hug when he asked, telling me he missed me when we sat a desk apart in science.
I didn’t know this kid with long brown hair who I thought I would never see again would turn up in my science class and my heart would beat just a little bit faster.
When I first saw him I saw past what he showed everyone else and even though my head didn’t know it, my heart did and it spent all semester trying to tell me.
I saw this guy who looked like he could care less but was always smiling and laughing and was so interesting to listen to, even if what he was saying was gibberish to me. I saw someone who liked to joke around with his friends.
I saw his smile, his laugh and how much he cared. I really liked when he smiled and the look he would give me when I did something weird.
He cared about his girlfriend and then friend, sometimes he would talk about her. I liked how much he cared.
All this time ago, I didn’t know who I was looking at was the boy I’d lay in bed having a pointless conversation with while my heart screamed at me to tell him how I felt.
I didn’t know that I would look forward to science class, just because of him.
I didn’t know that I’d be unexplainably sad when the semester changed and then oddly happy when I saw his name on the desk beside mine.
I didn’t know this was the guy that I’d have so many firsts with.
I didn’t know that this was the guy who would use my own ring to (jokingly) propose in sophomore year when we were 16 as we walked to fourth period.
Somehow he managed to see me. I still don’t know how though. And 3 years ago, I had no idea who he’d become to me.

When I first saw him, there were so many things I didn’t know and today there are still so many things I don’t know. But one thing I do know is that I love him.

I am torn.

Lines have been drawn for me.
Lines for me to exist in.
Lines for me to follow.

My life planned out by society from day one.

As children we were told to color in the lines.
The grown-ups were talking about coloring books, right?

Who knew such a simple instruction could become so sinister.
Who knew it would one day control our lives.

We're supposed to fit in these boxes.
But what if we don't?

My King,
At sixteen we have the world at our feet.
We're building our future with unsteady hands.
One day we might run, leaving this little town in the dust.
Hand in hand. Crowns atop our heads.
The two of us against the world, off to build our own castle.
Battles raging around and between us, but we will win them.

One day we will walk through the doors of our castle, our kingdom, our home.

One day our story will be told.
They will tell it.
We will tell it.

To the little princess or prince that fills our castle with the pattering of little feet, beyond contagious laughter, and more mess than we'll feel we can handle.
It will be wonderful, an adventure we face together.
A journey through life, all our own
                                                             ­     Love, your Queen.

First Minutes
The discovery sinks in as we spring into action
Adrenaline kicks in, heart pounding, blood rushing.
My mind confusedly putting pieces together.
First Few Hours
Calls are made to paramedics and cops and investigators swarm our house.
Our car goes faster than what is safe as we follow the ambulance as it carried what we would later learn was only her body and a few dedicated paramedics.
A time of death is announced and more tearful calls are made, this time to family and later to friends.
We leave hours later surrounded by a mournful silence.
First Day
We sat on the on the couch in a shocked silence, which was only broken by my calls to her friends, the ringing of the house phone and doorbell.
First Week
The silence was deafening and I had to escape.
So I returned to school after making arrangements with my family for the cremation and shedding my own tears for the first time. I caught the last two classes of the day and began burying myself in my classwork after telling those who needed to know.
First Month
Our own questions were behind every turn as we handled finances, possessions, settling things and celebrating her short life.  
I began to tell more and more of my friends.
Second Month
The pain was still fresh and stinging,
My mother returned to work for the first time.
Third Month
I held back my tears in English.
The play we read reminding me of her and running lines with her the previous year.
Fourth Month
I let it get to me while locked in my room, wishing it was my boyfriend's arms around me instead of my paint-stained jacket as I painted the canvas as black as I was feeling.
Recording my tears for him and watching how he hid his own watery eyes the next day in class as I honored our promise.
Her birthday passed and my mother planted flowers.
Fifth Month
After an uneventful spring break, my dad began staying home from work, unable to handle the weight of his thoughts.
Sixth Month
School ended and summer began and for the first time in what was now fourteen years, I didn't have a sister. I was alone.
Seventh Month
Slowly but surely the pain faded, with the help of scattered therapists, counselors, and mountains of support from family and friends. Summer traditions continued but were never the same.
Eighth Month
The weight of her absence doesn’t rest on my shoulders as heavy anymore.
Ink stains me with her memory. The pain I felt, saw and personified over many pages as we still face it.
My father has returned to work as we each learn to deal with the missing piece of our family in our own ways.
Ninth Month
School begins.
It's my junior year and school is starting for the first time since 3rd grade without my sister. My mother would always take a "first-day" picture, the tradition faded when we attended different schools. Maybe it wasn't so annoying after all.
Tenth Month
It's October, my, our, favorite month. Lost memories run through my head along with missed opportunities. Did we even carve pumpkins last year? Last year we argued about passing out candy but both ended up falling asleep. When was the last time we went to the County Fair? The Mullet Festival? Missed opportunities for silly reasons.
Eleventh Month
The Holiday season is kicking off. Soon it will be Thanksgiving. Her absence is noticeable as I stand amongst my family and celebrate. The only ones who don't ignore it are the little ones, repeatedly asking where she is as the grownups look uncomfortable. I don't know what to tell them.
Twelveth Month
The Holidays are in full swing and I can't help but think of the last one we all spent together. She passed before Christmas. They aren't the same anymore.

One Year
Its hard to believe that a year has passed without her. Her room is the same as if shes just at school. We spent the anniversary doing things she enjoyed, like taking the family dog to the beach and sharing cotton candy.
We haven't moved on, not in the slightest. My mother still cries, I don't think she'll ever stop. But as the days pass I can see how it gets easier and easier for my family to be happy again.

He had asked why I often refer to him as a soldier or warrior.
I answered because he had liked something I had previously written and he was- is my soldier. He has bravely faced everything that comes with me, my dark, my light, my chaos, my calm. Our resulting exchange was this:

But I am not your knight in shining armor, do you know why?
No, Why?
"A knight in shining armor is..."
*"... is a man who has never had his metal truly tested."
But a soldier marches into battle time and time again and continues the fight on broken bones covered in blood, sweat, tears and above all passion and loyalty to his cause, his fight, and the ones who fight alongside him.

You can be mad that I lied, but you can't be mad that I didn't tell you.
I am a million and one secrets wrapped only in flesh and blood.
You see the original drafts, the ramblings of my frantic mind, and no one has seen those, other than the trash.
I trust you more than anyone and I've shared the deepest parts of myself with you. You know my secrets.
I'm laid open in ways I've never been before and I'm scared.
I need my secrecy, I revel in it. I live in my darkness.
This is the farthest anyone has ventured into my mind and you've bravely ignored the warning signs posted just behind my eyes and every step along the way. And no one has done that before.
Eventually you'll get stuck on something and maybe run like everyone else has. Please tread carefully, The ground is unsteady, the silence speaks and the dark chaos reigns as king.
The only armor I've ever has against them is the ink stained paper I've wrapped myself in with my pen as my sword.
You've stripped my defenses from me and I feel lost without them.
Maybe you'll stay and fight, the brave and adventurous warrior I've come to know you as.
Maybe you'll run like those before you and leave me to piece my armor back together and ready myself for battle once again.
The ones before, the ones who turned around, the scared and frightened ones, they'd taken a piece here and there, keeping a trinket or two. They'd never braved the darkness of my mind, kept under lock and key, hidden away in caves and underwater, pieces littered along the landscape. You get closer with every word you read and this land fights back.
The warrior has conquered the king, the queen awaits in the castle.

I.    Scared
This is real for me
This is love to me.
And some days I’m scared out of my mind at how genuine this is.
Nothing has ever felt this authentic to me, other than maybe pain.
This is new to me.
You read the stories and love is this all powerful magic and its so **** powerful that it scares me. It scares me that this thing, this emotion, may rip my heart out of my chest and leave it in a million little pieces.
I’m not scared of you,
I’m not scared of us,
I’m not scared of a fight,
I’m not scared of love,
I’m not scared of forever,
And I’m definitely not scared of heartbreak, my heart has known its scars and I’m not afraid of gathering more.
I’m scared of an ending that’s everything but happy,
I’m scared of the strength of my feelings,
scared I’ll let you down,
scared I’ll hurt you,
scared of anything and everything, all my demons coming out to play and every inch of me is screaming run.
I’m scared that I’ll run,
I’m scared of losing you,
of not being enough.
But as scared as I am, I’m willing to fight for this.
For us.
For our forever
Our happy ever after.

II.    Two
Two souls, more different yet similar than most, met while on their own paths.
They continued together for a while, like many others.
A poet and a soldier, each claiming their own hell, living in their own darkness.
Finding comfort in each other’s arms.

III.    Love
How do you measure a relationship?
By the future?
By the arguments?
I’ve always measured it by how far I could see down the road.
And honestly, with some I could see into 20’s or 30’s, but never the end of our road. Those thoughts were foggy, these are too but more clear, everything is blurred but your face, where with them everything but their face was clear.
With them, I saw lives I didn’t want, lives that were comfortably numb. I saw superficial happy endings.
But with you I see my forever.
I see 5 years down the road, chasing dreams
I see 10 years, building a family
I see 15 years, balancing life
I see 40 years, retiring
I see 50 years, walking down random city streets, hands intertwined
I see 60+ years and meeting again someday in another existence  

I see forever with you
I want forever with you.

My soul longs for all the lives I've lived
Lifetimes ago I was someone different

Maybe once long ago, riches draped from the curves of my being
Maybe whiskey graced my lips far to often
Maybe smoke stained my lungs
Maybe my feet touched mountains
Maybe in a life long ago, my figure was shrouded in darkness
Maybe it was helpless
            or not, maybe it was a warrior, hard and sharp and deadly
Maybe my back was once adorned with wings
Maybe satin dripped from my lips
Maybe symbols littered by skin
Maybe my name was death,
                                       chaos,
                                       mercy,
                                       life
Maybe I died for love
                        for war
                        for a cause

I have lived many lives
                      and I long for them all
My soul longs for its place, its home
            a home that I have no memory of

I am filled with an unyielding ache for things I know nothing of

My ears long for words from worlds long ago
My skin craves the ink that once ran from my fingers so freely
My hands ache to dig into the earth to which they have been a stranger to for so long
My skin aches for the long forgotten bite of steel that was once so familiar  

I am homesick for places that have never been my home,
My soul is cursed to spend its eternity searching for its place.

I wanted to write you something but I couldn't find the words.

Growing up
I was indirectly taught to hide my feelings
I was told she was doing it for attention
     "It's easier to ignore the situation than stop her"
I was told not to give her the satisfaction
I was told she would stop if I ignored her long enough
I believed my mother didn't care
       I was 8

I stopped showing my emotions
I stopped showing my annoyance
                                  my displeasure
I stopped caring
I became reclusive
I hid
I caged my words
      I was 12

Writing became my safe haven
Ink bleeding from my fingers
My words were all I had
My soul stayed hidden between the pages of my notebook along with my words
     I was 13

My sister died and it was in a counseling session that my mother realized her mistake
One I had forgiven her for years ago
     I was 15

If there was anything I learned it was that my words are mine and mine only

I don't think in linear paths
I think in images, not words.
I think through what I see
                       what I hear
                       what I feel

For instance, that night,
I found my sisters body
I saw her lifeless body hanging there
I saw my mother fall to the ground, a strangled mix between a scream and a gasp escaping her lips
I saw the red eyes of my father
I had never seen them before and I've seen them too many times since
I saw the strongest people I've ever known fall to their knees in the rubble of my family
I saw my family fragment, break and stumble under the weight of our grief
But I also saw my family stand up, rise, fight and pull the ripping seams together with our knuckles turning white

I heard my father's panic
I heard my mother's cries
I heard my own disconnected voice as my body and brain worked separately
I heard the voice of the 911 operator in my ear
I heard the sirens
      the ones that now echo in my ears
I hear an unknown voice say "I'm sorry, we couldn't revive her. She's gone," as my mother crumpled into my father.


I felt my blood racing through my veins
I felt my heart pounding in my chest
I felt my muscles moving and tearing and ripping as I ran, fueled by adrenaline
I felt the loss
I felt the icy numbness blanketing my family

I saw a life end that night and dozens of others permanently altered

Her life ended that night and ours changed and came crashing to a halt but we got back up
I got back up

I only hope that wherever she is, she's finally happy

Happier than she was here

It hits me in moments
   sometimes in the silence of the night
   sometimes in the bustle of the day
   others in the middle of a laugh

The truth?
          She's dead
                   gone
She won't hear about the long list of firsts that will eventually happen
                                   first kiss
                                   first date
                                   first love
My only sister is gone and I am alone

That word, suicide, has been forever changed
        Every time I hear it I flash to that cold December night
                                                to everything I saw
I have no questions
My day goes on
        but I know there's that little empty hole hidden behind a filing cabinet in my mind
Should it be bigger?
It will never be filled

If I could ask one thing,
     It wouldn't be why or even comeback

It would be...
                    
Are you happy where you are?

I want it to show
I want red eyes,
           tear stained cheeks,
           ******, bruised knuckles
I don't want these echos in my head at 2 a.m
I don't want these images burned to my eyelids anymore
I want to wear it, to show it
I want it to cover me, to surround me like it did my parents
I want it to show but I hide it
                  So they don't worry

Thantophobia
Noun.
The abnormal fear of death, whether it be your own or someone you love.

The thing is,

I do not fear my own death.
I fear the death of others...
         Of the ones I love.

I know you think your eye are nothing special,
But I disagree.
I love that they light up when you’re happy or when the light hits them just right and they aren’t just brown anymore.
They turn gold.
They shine and sparkle with amber flecks.
They turn chestnut,
The color of the tree we shared lunch under.
They turn the color of your favorite chocolate candy, streaked with caramel.
They turn to color of the coffee you drink in the morning.
They turn the color of the hot chocolate we shared one cold Friday morning.
And all these different shades of brown.
I especially love when they light up because of something I did.

They remind me
Of warmth,
Of your hugs,
Of a lot of other things.
All are good.

My first kiss was on a Wednesday in a third-period math class.

I like him.
                 But the situation was complicated.

He had told me weeks ago he was going to kiss me.

When I asked him why he said:

"Because my words can no longer describe what I feel anymore."

But for weeks I had avoided it, pushed it off, too scared.

But one night I finally decided I was going to let him, to kiss him.

Our lips barely touched but it was my first

I spent the rest of the class trying and failing to focus on my work.
He couldn’t focus either.

Instead, he spent the class teasing me.
His goal was to make my face as red as possible, he succeeded.

I thought about it for the rest of the day.

We kissed again the next day after lunch.
That Saturday we spent the afternoon stealing kisses when we were hidden.

Does our constitution not preach of the unalienable, God-given rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness? Does our Statue of Liberty, one of the most historic figures of our freedom, not cry out for the “tired, poor, huddled masses, yearning for freedom?” Does our freedom bell not ring? Has the golden door closed? Has Lady Liberty turned her light off? Have our soldiers laid down their guns?  Who are we as a country to deny our foundation and shut our doors? If all men are created equal, why are we watching with judging eyes?

It’s him.
His hair, his eyes (that he hates), its how he says your name, his smile and those sleepy conversations. The way his thumb grazed your bottom lip and it was all you could do not to lean in. It’s the high from those three words, it’s the first thought in the morning and the last at night. It’s how his name falls breathlessly from your lips and yours from his. It’s the pounding hearts that first time, the breathless lungs and the never-ending smiles. It’s him, head to toe. 

It’s everything, then suddenly it’s nothing.

Then it’s smeared make up and dripping eyes. Gasping breaths and breaking hearts. It’s the crippling pain in your chest. It’s falling to the floor with this crushing weight on your chest as you cry out his name. It’s breaking down and thinking the pain will never end.  It’s the why screamed over and over in the night accompanied by the echo of breaking glass. It's heartbreak, plain and simple.

Sometimes when my bed is comfortably warm and the silence of the morning is all that I can hear, I wish to myself for you by my side.
Curled together, limbs intertwined.
Wearing sleepy smiles paired with sleepier eyes, the light not yet reaching the sky
We’d move closer and drift peacefully back to sleep.

My mom once told me to never discuss politics or religion with someone you love.
I believed her but it never really sunk in.
Today it did.

Today I watched my friend praise a classmate when they gave the right candidate.
Today I was jokingly told that my classmate couldn’t speak to me when I said I had no opinion but favored the other side.
Today my neutrality was wrong.
Today my answer wasn’t good enough.
Today I learned that someone I previously thought was joking, wasn’t.
Today I felt worried and trapped and overwhelmed.
Today I questioned my future and the future of my country.
Today I realized my classmates were against me.
Today I realized it’s not politics anymore, its life and death.

Today it became real.
Today we voted.

I will rip the storm from the sky and bring it crashing down around you. Then you will truly understand the storm in my eyes.

I will thread my fingers through the sky and stand before you, dripping and stained by stars. Then you will see the constellations scaring my veins.

I will envelop you in the passion my heart holds. The heat reminding you how fiercely I could've loved you.

But then, as the weather calms, you will fall to your knees, lost at sea, finally understanding how bad you hurt me.

12:08 AM

I have people to talk to but would they understand?
Would I be able to articulate my words and untangle the mess that my thoughts are in?
Would it stay the same or get lost in translation?
Would it make sense?
Would they understand that I'm lost at sea?
Lost in the waves crashing through my veins?
Would they even care?

I want to be the villain.
I want to be the hero.
I want to be the rebel.
I want to have lived and loved and died happy.
I want to die old.
I want to die young.
I want to burn and thrive and spark and fizzle and explode.

I'm conflicted and my mind is a mess.
But maybe I thrive from chaos.

I want to be somebody.
I want to be nobody.
I want to be crazy.
I want to be free.
I want to be a poet, a writer.
I want to greet death with open arms.

I want to make mistakes and learn and live and regret.
I want to be thrown out on my ***, helpless, fighting to live and survive.
And I want to make it.

I want love.
I want hate.
I want happiness.
I want sadness.
I want adventure.
I want regret.  
I want life.
Death.
And everything in between.

I want to be me, but what happens when I don't know who me is?

My biggest fear may be being only mediocre.
I want to live while I'm alive.
I don't want to live on dreams and die empty without adventures and stories to share.

But my greatest fear could only be fear itself.
I don't know.
I've never known for I haven't lived yet.

My heart beats in my chest.

And blood runs through my veins.

I'm alive but why am I not living?

What makes me different?
What makes you stare me down with hate?

Is it the hand I hold?
The one belonging to whom I love?
This heart of my own, is it not allowed to beat for another?

Is it the fact that I don't fear your god?
His callous eyes, always watching.

The fact that my music isn't what you like?
It has been called satanic time and time again.
But it has also saved many lives.
Including my own.

I walk the same line as you.
Admittedly, my path may be different.
My passions completely my own.

I may be young, but I, like many others, will face ridicule, just for who I am.
At my own hands, along with the hands of others.

I've been born into a world of chaos, battles raging all around me.
Battles that are not mine to fight.
Ones I have no desire to win.

Is that why your eyes are filled with hatred?
Because I am not a mindless soldier like you wished?
Because I have an opinion?

I will fight my own battles, the ones I wish to win.
I will walk with my head held high.
I will carry the wounded and help bury the dead.

I am me.
I am different.
I will not cower from your eyes.

We set out on our journey, that one fateful day
The winds of ****** shrieking angrily above our heads, filling our sails
Our ship tossing from Poseidon’s restless sea, sending us astray

As our journey wore on, and as night soon fell  
We found ourselves awash upon the Isle of Gael

Venturing from our ship, now sunken
We were met with fearsome creatures, their faces twisted and scarred

Escaping from death, daylight soon broke
The sky turning grey
The thunder rolling in, showed the might of Zeus
His anger flickering with jagged lightning, bringing tales of what once had been

A guide approached us, his face sunken and pale
He begun to tell us the fears of the Earth
A time when titans roamed and the mountains burned

As he finished his tale
He stood and led us through to Mother Gaia’s fortress
We walked, hearing Polyhymnia sing her chorus

The art lining the walls, long forgotten
Depicting tales of battles raged long ago
Between the family that ruled
Four elements would battle for control, the throne would be held by the mighty Zeus

Our journey had soon begun to close
We had learned the history of our past

As we returned home, our minds alight with new history
We found the battles had not ceased
We dragged our travel worn bodies upon the shore
Only to have to fight for our lives once more

As our battle on ground wore on, the gods became angry
The mountains rose up and the tides crashed
Sending the world into darkened chaos once again
We would fight the never ending battle
Until all the wrongs were righted

You're perfect, you're beautiful, you're so ******* gorgeous the stars are jealous. Everything that has lived before and will live, its all rooting for you. the world wants you to live and your spirit to thrive. Our bodies are only a temporary temple. You are a god/goddess and your body is your temple, your temporary resting place until you reach your destination. Life is a journey full of demons trying to rip you off your path and make your soul feel mortal. You need to ignore them; the ones who take physical shape and those who have made their home in your mind. They're testing you. Trying to tear you down. Don't listen to them.

She was the poet, her hands stained with ink
He was the soldier, his hands stained with blood

The gentle hands of a dreamer intertwined with the rough hands of a fighter.

The Joker, they called him.
         Your fate resting in the cards he held

The deck he carried
      kings, queens, aces and jacks.
but, no joker.
    Why?
Well because, that was he.

"Smile, its your turn."
          He'd laugh,
   A sinister smile staining his lips.

"Lets play a game, my dear."
    "What game?"
The question always fearfully asked

"Well...
         simply,
                     a game of Russian roulette!"
He'd gleefully exclaim.

"But, just one question....
                                  What's your lucky number?"
He'd say, shuffling a deck of knife sharp cards.

"And in the end we all lose!"
He'd grin, before going to capture his next game.

Lines randomly surface from the chaos called my mind
then
         in the dark of the night
i stitch them together
                                  piece by piece,
                                  line by line
       just as a seamstress would

but when day comes

demons and monsters alike
                                             attack
ripping through my creation
                             much like Cinderella's evil stepsisters did the night of the ball

as day turns to night
and
night turns to day

the process repeating

until armed with a silver needle and a red string
i piece it together for the final time

now it stands in front of me.
and i watch as
it joins the many pieces that have journeyed through hell.

you never really understood why I couldn't meet your eyes, or anybody else's for that matter. Eyes are the windows to the soul and i have more secrets than you could ever count. i never met your eyes because you'll read me and I don't want to be read like an open book. I don't trust many people with a secret but a total stranger could look me in the eyes and know everything. i guard myself with maximum security, my eyes are the only part of me that ever gets a break from the cage i locked myself in. you never really understood why i talked low either. someones voice could give away everything they're feeling, no matter how strong the mask they've pasted on is.

a boy stands chained to a wall
silent words left unspoken line his lips
but,
Angels never stay silent
he's an angel among the shadowed souls
who save shattered spirits
they silently stand by
       repairing cracks that no one ever sees
                                         not even you
look around you...
                         Don't you see them?

Ever wondered what a shadow is?
Scientifically its the absence of light when something comes in between it and a surface.
Actually..
a shadow is the person reading your story.

running into the night
chasing dreams
with a bottle full of trouble by your side

passing streets filled with blood
searching for silver soldiers craving escape
to fight against a rising hell

when the dust has cleared
the rebels stand tall

the rebels have defeated the army
and a nation has been born

the nation of misfits

"I love you."
just three words
alone they mean nothing
but together they mean everything
from the special person, from you
they mean eveything

the girl who was so strong, broke
with tears streaming down her face
cracks began to appear in her facade
similar to the ones on her wrist
the world watched on in horror
at how much she had kept hidden
her smile faded, the world figured out
just how much pain a smile can hold
her smile held all the pain, suffering and torture she endured
her last breath left her and her smile froze
the lesson learned will soon be forgotten
when the society we live in
finds another lost soul to pick on

you saved me from...
myself
countless scars upon my arm
the faceless opponent in my head
breaking point
You kept me from giving up.
i cant help but love you.

A figure stands in the distance
their wings billowing out behind them
a crooked halo sits atop their head
the figure comes closer
revealing his self
hes the fallen
once a warrior angel in heaven
who held the hand of the devil
now the fallen savior,
leads the army of outcasts;
the honest sinners trapped by tattered minds
warring together in the battle fought among us for acceptance of the different.

Its amazing how the stroke  of a pen or a flick of the tongue can form a letter.
Or how a few letters in the right order can form a word,
and how just a few words can make something that could be the best thing that ever happened or the worst and end someones life.  And just a few sentence can express any emotion you have ever felt.
And they can be arranged and used against you at any moment.

Words Hurt
Think before you speak.

A shadowed boy with piercing blue eyes
The quiet girl with guarded brown eyes
When brown eyes meet blue,
   the world stops, then jerks suddenly
with a torn gaze from frightened souls
The demons awake filling troubled minds with haunting thoughts

The only problem...
A love that would have grown so strong...
Was cast aside as a stray thought.

My attention is never focused,
  always claimed by an idea needing to be written down.
My heart beats out the rhythm and rhyme of something unwritten,
My mind, full of
   gears that are constantly turning,
   producing and rewriting lines.

With my mind, body and soul
Captured
I become slave to the pen

Here's to the one who will never know my true feelings
He’s saved me from myself
He can tell my story better than I can tell it myself
He knows the secrets lurking behind my smile
He’s the one who loved me when I couldn't love myself
He put me back together when I fell to pieces
He cared when no one else did
Never judging me
I was able to trust him
But my feelings will remain buried
Forever...
I’m sorry I couldn't tell you, I was scared.
So here's to the one who will never know.

Silence kills
because the boy locked in his room
lets his thoughts run lose and get the better of him every night but he suffers in silence
so no one has to carry the burden he thinks of himself as.

Sitting here thinking alone,
Peace and quiet have all gone home
the 'What if's have come to stay.

What if I break down?
What if I can’t be strong anymore?
What if I can’t find my perfect life?
What if I can’t trust again?
What if I can’t show the perfect person the real me
What if everyone only looks skin deep?
What if no one helps me with my habit?
What if everything goes wrong?
My thoughts don’t scare them so they’re here to stay until another day and another unsuspecting victim comes their way.