When you love someone do you tell them,
Well, if you do then you're lucky,
Many people can't, how do i know, because i am one of them,
The ones who love, feel the love, but hurt inside.
You wait for them to notice,
That little hope inside you grows,
Your feelings grow,
Then,when it is too late you have to let go them from your mind but they still remain in your heart.

A white caravan , clean and shiny 
drove past many . 
Inside of it was a 
limp and a frail body .
Kidnapped in broad daylight ,
the sun should have illuminated 
the struggle , the evil . 

Despite her struggle , 
she was forced into the vehicle. 
His face is on the news,
that face with a cynical smile 
that still drives his caravan miles 
and miles away from prying eyes.  

She lays on dry blood 
in a car that has stored
loads of corpses 
stored in piles of boxes.  

Far in a field , he gathered 
his tools as his ideas
of human torture 
elated him with joy.
He dragged her by her ponytail 
into a field of blades , acid and knives .

With these tools he has stolen 
innocent lives and 
deformed a face once full of smiles.

Little by little I am drowning
inch by inch, bit by bit.

And little by little I am losing
every breath, every sigh.

Little does it matter what I say
what I do for you, to get little
attention from you.

This little thing I do
This little thought I have
means nothing to you.

You with the marble eyes
Fragile with porcelain bones
You look at the stars and you wonder why
Are you as hungry as I?

I can't see me or someone I used to be
I can't see you now
or someone who used to be you
Are you someone new?
Are you someone I used to know?
Have you been there before?
Have you seen me before?

When was the last time you cried
I think it was centuries ago
A stake through the heart and sunrise
Will keep me away

I used to be an atheist
didn't go to church
I sinned a million times
and didn't listen to the bible's words.

But now I sit crouched in front of the window
every night
hands clasped
eyes closed,
Dear God...
praying for death,
praying for death.

There are things that are forbidden
The small black box in the darkest corner of my mind is forbidden
Things, bad things are in that box
It's locked
And it must be for good reason
There could be a thousand lifetimes my soul has lived in that box
Or it could be old memories best forgotten
I don't know, and I may never know
All I know it that that box is forbidden
And I don't have the key
I don't know where it is or where to begin to look for it
*And my feelings tell me that the key is just as forbidden too

beware when you fall in love
with an artist
be it a painter, a singer, or poet

for the artist will
paint you
with strokes and hues
in shapes of every kind

sing about you
with heartbreak lyrics
and feelings which rhyme

write about you
with the simplest words
and a secret message she wants to say

beware of the artist,
and her love
one wrong move
and you're an artwork in her display

A writer isn't a writer without something to write about
I've got nothing to write about
I've been breaking my bones trying to figure it out
A word, a phrase
It all feels delayed
My fingers used to write
Something beautiful to type
They used to just move
And that is just what they should do
What is wrong with me?
Why is this so hard?
I'm running,
and running
Getting no where far
I'm running,
and running
Getting no where
I'm writing
and I'm writing
Still no where
How can this be so hard?