Kudos!
we reached the goal
Tightened the knot,
Sewed the hole
in the curtains
of life
And somehow
Hid the blot
that bothered
the people
rife
But what about
the tiny spot
still seen
in the midst
of white.
And
the glimmer
of long-lit
light
that peeps
through
the slightly
left,
unmended
hole of sin
into
the darkness
we shut
ourselves
in?

not all desire of the same strength
not all fingers are of the same length
some desire of momentous smiles and peace within
some desire of lesser distance and bigger hearts
some desire to win their souls and walk their ways
some desire to have in their lives those
not with expensive cars and exquisite homes
but those with exquisite hearts and expensive souls.

So let me get this straight: you wish to be desired and get respect,
but hey, your personality is that of your looks that which reflects.
Yeah, and let me just further state:
I hope your future has one sick grim fate.

Slick *****, don't care.
No point tryin' repair.
Slick *****, don't care.
No point tryin' to repair.

because let's be honest: your *** deserves ******* nothing.
I can't believe I even fathomed at one point you were something.
Slug once said that he's the captain of a sinking ship
and now, I finally get it. I've got nothing left to lose
because at this point, I've already been used and abused.

Slick *****, don't care.
Pain is something I must bear
Slick *****, don't care.
Anger is something I must bear

You're ******* toxic. Nuclear waste to be exact
and as a matter of fact: **** the goody two shoes act.
We all realize that you're being fake
Now, just how long will this take?

Slick *****, don't care
I'll rise above you though, I swear.
Slick *****, don't care.
I'll rise above you though, I swear.

You may have stripped me down to a **** man,
doesn't matter for I still stand,
resilient and proud to prove your *** wrong
because I sing this song and I walk that walk
proving to myself that I am that strong.

Broken angel wings, burning in the sky.
Little angel don’t you cry,
though your wings will never fly.
Broken body hits the ground.
Not a whimper, not a sound.
Clouds gather, gray and dull.
Their rain is like a breathless lull.
You’ve fallen now, your grace you’ve lost.
You fell in love, you paid the cost.
For love, you said, I’ll give my grace!
The tears are streaming down your face.
But you will live, safe from harm,
a human life, in the embrace of
loving human arms.

When I die, dear Mother
don't give my body away
to science.

I'd rather have it given away to poetry.

I want people to cut me open
and observe
how my bones were riddled with
melancholic verses of joyful pasts.

They have to see
the scarlet of my blood was the hue
I stole from the sunsets of
wishful thoughts.

Dear Mother,
give my body away
to the art of writing:
for they have to look past
everything they have ever learned.

They must know
of how much I loved and I lost,
and how that made the twine of my ribs
a story to tell.