If home were where the heart is, am I to be considered careless?
Still young with four parents, why do I feel so alone?
This hostel that calls me a student, do they care for me?
How am I supposed to adult on my own...

I have biological and sudo-step family and they seem happy
As they are, they are content with their nuclear families
And I am content with solitude. Something to call my own.
But solitude ends with the term.

I sleep in living rooms and, after emotional diffusers, at friend's houses.
My little half-brother hasn't yet learned that he can ignore me while I wallow in my pity
A lesson that he will learn with my termly absences
A lesson my parents surely have

I don't think that it's being sent away that makes me feel alone
Nor the sleeping on couches, many people seem to be fine and they were also raised like this.
No, it's the happiness. Their happiness...
Yes, I am the bad guy of this story, the antagonist you boo
I arrogantly assume that if they loved me they would be sadder when I went away.
And, maybe, at first they were, but that was before the wedding bells rang, again.
Before they promised to death for the second time

I know there are more lessons to be learnt now that I'm growing older.
Lessons that have served me well, but that childish rage in me will always glow.
So I'll finish my education, get a job and a house
And hopefully emotionally I'll grow.
And maybe, just maybe, my heart will grow softer, or bolder.

My heart might be for you
But my body is with another.
You treat me like nothing, you do,
Now I've decided that I love her.

You won't ask me for my heart back
No matter how hard I wish it.
For if you did, I would,
And immediately regret it.

Maybe, maybe if a lot of things..

Maybe if you cared more,
Maybe if I pushed softer.
But now you're gone,
And my heart grows harder.

Life isn't like a movie
It isn't that threatening or romantic
It's always too short, too busy
An action-packed craving

It might be like a book
Filled to the ends of the pages
Full of detail
Moving, for some, but never going anywhere

But one thing I know
Life will happen,
And like the spinning of a top,
One day, it will slow,
And stop.

I'll wear my good face if you wear yours,
We'll smile the night away.
You might not care for me anymore
But I'll wear it anyway.

What happened to us being thick as thieves?
Where did the good times go?
It isn't my fault that they up  and left,
I swear..      I guess we'll never know.

Now it's a polite hello in the midst of silence.
No more passion, flare - Our eternal spark -
Which shone bright amongst the shadows,
Is nothing to the overwhelming dark.

This isn't a sonnet that gives new breath,
The only cure for our sickness is death.

They* sit there, week for week,
Surrounded by their own unique reek
That these people are breathing
When forgetting the mornings' heaving.
Surrounded by smoke
On which they do choke,
These people drag near,
Their deaths they do hear.
The thirst that they feel is raging,
Unquenchable, and it gets greater with aging.
These people drink and drink
Only to find that they don't float but sink.
These people, they, both one in the same,
Run from the good to play their good game.

Love is a pit that carries on down,
With ledges, with edges.
It's why you fall and break-up.
Why it's so different for each.
Every pit is strange, but always itself.
Death changes not the pit. For life,
Again, once more would jump off that ledge.
Neither winged nor fledged. Only to hit another edge.
Unending. Unchanging, you fall, stumble, tumble, stop.
For the edge you fumble,
Craving the heart racing, heartbreaking drop.