They asked if i fear madness i replied with no
they looked at me oddly, as if they saw a ghost
but sadly they dont realize that all i know is madness
for i became insane the day they locked me in a cage.

its a new year but I'm still the same i will never change from the monster i am I'm sick mentally if i would die i would die with no soul so probably would burn they say death will take you to a better place but i don't believe it because I'm already dead and i still don't feel no love what am i suppose to do pray to a god who never answers me back well the only comfort i have is from my blade and sleeping away the pain I'm only sane in my dreams.

I'm lost with out a trace looks like I'm loosing the race sorry for taking up space I'm not man enough to face the dark evil demons within me  I don't think i can be loved to ****** up in the head and I'm already half brain dead people say i say too much but i think i say not  enough life is to rough but i aint that tuff so to deal with my problems i cut or use drugs no one taught me coping skills to deal with sorrow so i won't be alive tomorrow and i sigh cause i know I'm lying i will be here wishing i was dying sorry for being alive i know you despise me i am just lost in my maze i call a mind and i feel my sanity slowly fading as if someone were erasing me like a drawing and all i need is for some one to say I'm worth it not worthless )=

.
A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's the tears that trickle with radiance through words.
     It's a treasure trove that hides but longs to
     be found.
          It's a book shelved high that wants to
          be read.
               It's the freest of all birds caged but
               unbound...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't beat to the capable strokes of the artist.
     It doesn't pump in the most vibrant of
     colours.
          It doesn't wield a paintbrush to
          translate its thoughts.
               But it can see through the eyes of
               painters...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It doesn't conform to the conventional parameters of lyrics.
     It doesn't bind itself to the requirements
     of musical harmony.
          It doesn't follow the conventions of
          genres.
               But it sings its voice loud without
               restrictions of melody...

A poet's heart isn't like any other...
It's an open secret, that whispers in metaphoric codes.
     It's an exploding universe, that merges
     back into galaxies.
          It's a sought after painting, that boasts
          of unfathomable beauty.
               It's an everlasting song, that echoes
               within the poet that embodies...

Picture the word Devastation.
What do you see?
Bodies in a motorcycle accident.
Buildings of fire falling.

But that is not it,
it cannot be. Picture the word
DEVASTATION.

                                            ­          What do you see?

I see something so unbelievably
personal.

Devastation must mean my own life
in wreckage. A body in a
motorcycle accident.

                                                        A jump from a
                                                        burning­ building.

I cannot divulge how deeply
this is seared in my thoughts.
Picture the word

Shame
Incidence
Accident
Immolation
Remember
Breath­
Grass
Water
Wreckage

Picture the word Love.
What do you see?
Picture the word Devastation.
What do you see?

Are you surrounded?
Only a few?
Are you alone?
Do you want to be?

There is no shame in any answer.
I do not press my morality on others
but we must, must believe that.
There is no shame in any answer.