I am thankful.
At the same time I am not.
It's hard to be thankful.
When your wishes are never met.
That if you were to be honest.
Well speaking honestly.
No one would ever grant my wish to make me thankful.
Logical or rational.
How you would explain my mind.
If you were to meet me.
You would hear the titter tatter of a robot's mind.
Seemingly skimming through numbers.
To phrase through the facts.
But if I were that logical.
Does that mean suicide, I do the same?
That if I spoke my mind about this, would you not agree?
Convincing those the idea of equality.
While at the same time planning times of when I won't be.
You call me too young to know so much,
but age doesn't equate the pain.
And with pain, we learn so much.
That while I am young and some are old.
I know the concepts of what we can gain,
and what I am willing to lose.
I want to be thankful for other things,
but I am thankful only for one.
Either show me something that I do not know,
or grant me my final wish.
I am thankful.

From where I am.
Under the stars.
In the fresh night air.
Buzzing sounds.
Flashing lights.
Sounds drowning.
Worlds twisting.
Amidst the thundering world.
My mind swirls,
and I begin to hurl.
Then everything stops.
No more.
Lips bitten.
Tongue swollen.
Eyes ******.
Heart breaking.
Hands shaking.
I begin to go numb.
My view crashes.
Locked onto the ground.
Stuck,
frozen,
crippled,
unable to move.
Only able to think.
Possibly feel,
but too empty.
Blinking,
stuttering,
convulsing.
Save me.
Help me.
Someone.
Screaming.
Opens my eyes.
Closes the door.
Walks back into my room.
Maybe I'll try tomorrow.

The love of your touch.
I imagined your hands.
As if they were a part of me.
That they would slowly sink into my flesh.
The warmth.
The essence.
The sense of existence.
So soft.
Pure.
They take hold of me.
No longer sensing two beings, but the semblance of one.
I feel at balance.
That somewhere I was missing a part of my body.
That I had long last lost.
When we are no longer touching.
I feel as if I have just been through surgery.
That some piece of me has been cut out.
That strongly I have the urge to be touched by you; again.
My insides scream for me to find, you.
My lungs tell me that there is no oxygen.
That I must find, you to breathe.
My liver tells me that there is too much alcohol in my blood.
I must find, you to filter out the pain.
My stomach twists as it screams for food.
I must find, you to motivate me to eat.
My whole body is tearing itself apart.
For just one more touch.
But I know better than to go back.
I cry and miss those hands.
My brain whispers to never let them touch again.
Never let them abuse.
Don't let those hands crush anymore.
They controlled.
Your lungs do not gasp for air out of love.
But because those hands were rapped around your throat.
Those hands brought all the alcohol into your veins;
So you could not resist.
Only yourself can filter out the pain.
Your stomach does not twist for them
Not out of hunger, but the sickness that the medicine brings.
These flowers next to the bed calling me dear.
Will not bring me back to those hands.

Sleeplessly I stumble the side walk,
A man.
No, I was something other than a man.
A man would hold their head high and sing songs of glory.
Deep bellows would slush around his words.
Dominance would gush.
Strong and unburdened.
Shoulders wide and broad.
Just like the horizon that rose for him.
Setting ablaze his inner beings.
Tempers unable to be tempted.
Slightly tipped to one side.
Animosity of being such a way.
Strongly glaring at the world.
A mold that doesn't fit whom he should be.
Never told to be a man.
Because that's how he always acted.
Edgy and living up to expectations.
Male companions never wavering.
Unable to shed this masculinity.
A stage set for man.
Started when he was a boy:
Pick fights,
Be tough,
Never shed a tear,
Do not show weakness;
When brought to your knees, that could never happen.
A man never falls down.
Never sees darkness.
But the wholesome sun that rose for him.
It's the way everything started.
It's the reasoning behind his ability to batter and abuse.
It's why his lovers always felt the strength of his hands.
Why his brothers in arms never said a word.
It's the same reason I walk the streets alone.
Never able to ask for hand with a closed fist.
And never taught to open them.
Only taught to beat yourself dead.
No longer able to continue life as a man.
That's why so many of us end up dead by our own hand.

Reality is a troublesome topic to persuade.
Subtly tiptoe the tropes of life and death.
Black Swan tips the scales of good and bad.
Light and Dark.
Misanthropy, how can we not.
The good die young.
  Is all we've ever heard.
Beauty dies fast.
One glance of beauty.
An ever long war.
The greatest and the best only strive for success.
Not the redemption or aptitude that they test.
Many bring emotion,
but folly the ends.
Greatness dies.
And only reprized in final a glance.
Unrecognized do we part.
Our being sold wrought.
Once escape is our parting phrase.
Stodgily will our image fade.

A maniacal machine of glad and fad
A thing of mystery
A man that smiles the brightest of us all
No matter the weather, even in the fall
The darker stories that he never tells
Ring the most often of all the bells
These chimes are the very loudest
and his least proudest
They are the things that lead him to the bars
And honestly he hides these scars
His laughter is among the most of any
Because he was told not to frown by the most of many
He is not mad
Only empty and sad
All alone he is
Sharp edges are his only friends
Deprived of self expression
He's been in a depression
And this is why he is a maniacal machine of glad and fad
No longer a thing of mystery
At least here he's not the smiling man

When you sit atop the clouds.
Will you peek through the glistening white strings of cotton.
To peer upon the shining smiles of the ones that you loved.
Maybe you will avoid their glances to the sky.
Maybe you will avoid them all together, and never watch their eyes, once more.
That even in the cloudy paradise of fluffy cotton candy.
There is pain that seeps into the pores of your fleshy, pudgy being.
Even while surrounded by pure existence.
Those ones still hurt your inside the most.
Not because of what they've done, but because of what you've done.
That after your final shadows has crossed the earth beneath .
You knew that your final bow was the greatest blow you ever dealt the, ones below.
Forever left to faded shadows and corrupted memories.
Signs that were hidden beneath your vague expressions.
Only thing left was the one time you cried out your pain to those below.
A simple ode to those lovely faces, typed out across your Macintosh .
The world through a looking glass
Only shattered for a brief moment before the show came to an end.  
A simple message,
I'll watch you from the clouds above.