Thank you darkness,
For you have made it possible
To see the stars and moon
In the sky

Thank you darkness,
For without you
I would not have been able
To imagine the light
at the end of the tunnel
And so,
I would have no reason to keep walking towards it

Thank you darkness,
For you keep everyone
"In the dark"
And I wouldn't have it any other way
Because if we knew the future
There would be no point in having it

The things I do
For your approval
And your excitement
For my accomplishments
Usually aren't healthy
Or good
For me

The things I lose
For your happiness
And your calmness
Usually are the things that make me feel that way

The things I cover up
For your agreement
And support
Usually are the things I care about most

Don't tell me
I'm being disrespectful
When it's simply impossible for you to stay pleased for more than a few moments
I try
And I try
To no avail
I am done trying

I have opinions
Thoughts
Feelings
If you don't like it
Don't see me
That's what I wanted
To begin with

It's getting old
The same story told
Same heart every day
Fighting the void
I tried to be perfect
To have a clean soul
But then I got cold
And lit it like coal

The fire burns bright
And lights up my eyes
I cannot tell
Am I in hell?

I'm fighting back urges
And mental diseases
I have very few things
that survived the purges
My bible has creases
I smacked my head with it
I wanted a new lease
So I burned all my bridges

The fire keeps burning
Devouring and spreading
I cannot tell
Is this hell?

The days are now shorter
I'm waking up later
The sun races off
But I am moving forward
No longer picking up pieces
Of missed opportunities
Tomorrow will be different
Life will get better

she casts her pencil like a wand as magic soaks into the page her flannel cascades around her work, shielding it from curious eyes she tilts her head to listen to the lecture, but her heart is elsewhere running through castles and stumbling through candle lit streets colors tangle to mirror the expanse of her dreams she shares her soul with every meticulous stroke each face blessed by her style but never the same when she designs she never aims for perfection for she knows perfect is just a fancy way of saying flawed she erases and redraws as if her art could never satisfy her desires it can always be better but it is never good enough if only she knew I meant it when I told her I loved her drawing her art speaks to me like Mona Lisa never could

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

There are pauses in between musical notes and stops between an artist's strokes and periods in between a writer's sentences. We have come to an end. We have come to a stop. But sometimes the only way to continue is to halt. The only way to begin is to end.

- apbq, pauses and stops