"Are you okay?"
No, not really. "of course! Everything is peachy!"
Lies, they should be evident,
but they are not, it seems.
I am drowning in my own self hatred.
Demoralized by life, but of course,
I'll just tell you that I am okay.

I used to believe that humans
were beautiful creatures,
meant to be admired.
There was a wall
between them and I
I loved them so,
But could never be like them.
Until the day I realized,
That I was the one in the cage,
Kept to be gawked at.
I was the one who
could never be free.

I once wanted to be a doctor.
A surgeon, to be exact.
Blood never bothered me,
and I wanted to save people.
But, you see, I couldn't be that.
Surgery requires precision,
And my hands shake
when I need them to be still.

I wanted to save lives,
To heal the sick,
To revive the dying.
I thought I could be
that godlike figure,
Defying death and
Stealing its victims.

But I cannot,
Simply because my hands shake
With the weight of the past.

We parted ways,
never to see each other,
not to speak again.
It was a healthier way,
happier, less painful.

So tell me why I miss you,
tell me why it still hurts
when I think of you.
My mind wanders at night,
and it hurts the most at 3 AM

It was for the best, wasn't it?

I tried to write poems
About sunshine and butterflies.
The kinds that smell like meadows
And feel like summer.

But the only ones that mattered
Were my poems about sadness
And anger and death.
The trainwreck poems are oh so interesting

We like to see others' sadness
This misery that might be greater than our own.
Maybe we aren't alone,
If we see that others suffer too.

If you give a king an army,
****** war will besiege us.
Power is all consuming.
If you can, you will.
Isn't it your god given right?
Well what are you and your god
going to do when everyone is dead?
Your war has wrecked this havoc
and it is time to bring it to an end.
There is no nation to rule
when all your citizens have been
sent off to die in battle.

I dreamt I married someone beautiful
and when I woke up,
I was still alone.
I'm afraid of that.

Books
        F
          A
             L
              L
                    Open
  
And you fall in.

I dreamt that you left,
And I cried tears of blood.
They say dreams have meaning,
and I don't know what that means,
but I think you're killing me

Play

I am not the answer
I don't know the answers
Google it
I am not the reason the wax melts.
After years of staring at the flame,
entrancing, dancing, blue and yellow flame,
I've decided to touch it.
Ninety-nine cents per lighter
They told me not to touch it
but I like to do things I'm not supposed to.
Like kissing girls and eating icing off of the cupcakes.
Touching the flame is just another rule to break.
See wikipedia for a list of breakable rules.

I bought this candle for you
Only he knew I can't sleep without
the window cracked a  bit.
Researchers say that's bad for your health.

The flame flickers
But I didn't have the answers,
and I couldn't find them.
He wanted instantaneous,
but I'm still a bit old fashioned
in this digital age.
Everything changes so fast.
Get the latest updates on your device!

A breath, a whoosh, the flame is gone.
I knew things were different when
we reached out to touch *(the screen) but

*Pause

You make me feel
like I'm not good enough.

You make my stomach
do somersaults against my will.
My eyes tear up around you.
I think my eyelashes are falling out,
make a wish before there are none left.
I think I'm going to throw up.

You make me feel like I'm not good enough
*and it makes me sick.

How do you forget your suffering?
How does it become
just a nightmare?

You occasionally wake in sweat,
a loved one cradling your face,
whispers of "It's alright, dear."
Were you crying in your sleep?
A half remembered dream,
you no longer know.
You close your eyes and return to sleep,
loved one's body against yours.

When will your suffering
only haunt you on the coldest of nights,
like a half remembered past life?

Cupid's existence must be pretty lonely,
Watching all those people,
Fall in love,
But never being able to feel love.

The bringer of love, unable to feel love.
Isn't that a sad irony?

I never felt safe in my own house.
Could never climb the stairs without
nervous glancing, gazelle fleeing.
Could never turn off the lights
without another light beckoning in the distance
to guide me to safety like a white moth to flame.
His voice still echoes in the dining room,
I never fixed the holes he punched in the walls.
I don't know how to fix the ruins he's made,
To undo the damages he's done,
So for me,
This home will forever be haunted.

Stab me with a thousand needles,
Get your revenge and use me.
God knows that's all I'm good for.
I was worthless before,
I'll be worthless in the end.
To you I am a poppet.
As your rough voices chants,
Come here, poppet,
I know I'll only be worth a moment.
A moment of pleasure,
Before being tossed away,
Like the rag I am.

There are two types of tears.

The hot tears that pour from you eyes, suddenly before you realize you're crying. The violent , unrestrained sobbing.

And the cold tears that slide down your cheek as you fight the urge to cry. Quiet, and choked back tears.

Just as there is no lie
without a kernel of truth,
There is no truth
untainted by human tongues.

You say it is heaven
when I let you touch me,
So I ignore the way your
whispers sound like demons.
I'd let you drag me to hell,
If only to be called an angel.

My dad used to tell me
"You can't be a robot  and
hide your feelings forever."
But it didn't stop me from trying.
Someone else told me
"You're gonna catch a cold
from the ice in your soul."
Looks like I succeeded at
hiding my feelings.

How do I sleep?
I realize I don't do it
as often as I should.
I lie awake and stare at the ceiling
as the walls close in
and the darkness is blinding
and the silence deafening,
How do I sleep?
I need the rest.
My eyes hurt.

To the child who's youth was taken before it began,
Despite all your suffering, it is such a joy to see you play and smile and laugh. You are so brave, not to let your illnesses steal your light. I hope someday you get to see the world through healthy eyes and live without pain. You are beautiful and you are wonderful and you deserve to hold the world in your hands.

Stay strong, dear.

Authors do so love to romanticize cold hands.
Saying thing like:
"He used to rub my hands to keep them warm."
"He always held my hand to keep it warm."
Those are lies.
Nobody wants to share you coldness.
No one wants you to touch them,
Not with your cold hands.
And when they get painfully cold,
And your hands are stiff and red,
No one will be there to warm you back up,
I would know.

She cried and screamed at the edge of that cliff
until she tasted blood in her mouth
and her body collapsed
into the dirt, spent and shaking.
They led her away from the edge,
one officer looking down at the ravine,
her lover's crumpled, broken body
shattered at the base of the cliff.
Two days later, she followed him.

I hope you've finally found something that makes you happy.
Make me proud.
~Love,
Your past self

I cannot forgive myself
for forgiving you.
                                                            ­                         
                                       ­                                                I cannot find a way
                                                             ­                      to look past our mistakes.

                                         I cannot look into
                                             your ice cold eyes.

I cannot forgive myself
for letting you do this
      
                                                                I cannot forgive myself
                                                                   And I cannot forget you.

I saw the devil in your eyes.
You looked into mine,
your hand wrapped around my neck.
I whimpered in fear,
Not because I knew what you had planned,
but because I saw the danger in your eyes.

When I dropped the plates,
When he pushed me against the wall,
When his hand was at my throat,
When nothing was right,
And I wasn't good enough,
When I was bleeding on the floor,
And the crimson stained his shoes,
When I fought his lecherous touch.
It wasn't enough to save me.

I only create
so that I can destroy
and the love I so crave
burns when I hold it,
like the still smoldering ashes of my poetry
when I scooped them from the fire.
My hands are red
and it hurts to touch,
to be touched,
and maybe that's why
no on can love me
...because I burn them all

A man once told me
that hands say more than lips
and eyes cannot lie.

So I knew,
when your hand struck my face,
and your gaze hardened;
the apologies on your lips
meant nothing.

He told me I was too naive

Someone will take advantage of you. he said.

Innocent and cute, you're going to end up in trouble

How brash,
I was offended.
But he was right
And I should have listened.

Go to sleep before you dream.*
I've come to enjoy dreaming
far more than waking;
so much so, that I forget
to remember that I am awake.
Drifting mind and drifting eyes,
I swear, I want to be somewhere else.