My bed is a box, filling with water when I least expect it
I am asphyxiating
I was fine until I remembered that there's no one here
Being alone is like

There is smoke in my lungs,
But ice on my skin
The fissure in my heart, the great divide
Why does it even bother to pump my blood anymore?

This is not the kind of poem I like to write

My bare feet pace the same dust again
In this prison of old, weathered wood
And shattered china that was priceless once

Value is fleeting
Freedom is temporary
Why do you all take it for granted?

Sightseers are waiting for me downstairs
Another audience fascinated by the macabre
Expecting a grand performance
From me, the circus animal
Oh, how I mourn my dignity

I know how this story ends
It happens every time
And yet, my cold feet pad down the staircase again
As if new characters will change the denouement

My fingers brush against the blood-stained paintings
Portraits of those long dead
Swallowed by eternal rest
How I envy them

I step into the ocean of shattered glass without so much as a second thought
Here I am
I hope you're entertained

They stare at me with their terror spangled eyes
Some sort of sick intrigue
Their mouths ajar, spilling deafening breaths
Their scent and sound and image so sharp
I am hazy and dull, unfocused
But they are cuttingly crystal clear

Help
Can you help me?
I'm alone, and injured, and trapped
My hair is sticky with blood
You have to get me out of here

Please don't leave me alone again
Why are none of you LISTENING to me!?
I've been through this before
My voice is muddled, nothing more
Than an underwater scream

And it chased them away
Leaving me to wander the abandoned hallways again
There is nothing else to do
Nothing

The dust does not part for me
The oaken floors of the upstairs welcome me back
To the reality that I am trapped
In a prison of wood
And of my own ancient mind

Adulthood daunting, calling, taunting.
Empty applications haunting.
Heartbeat thudding in my chest,
Through one more standardized test.

Fear ascending, never-ending.
Transcripts somehow aren't sending.
Catch me dangling off the edge,
Scrambling, I can't feel my legs.

Time interfering, disappearing,
Ground beneath my feet, commandeering.
Lungs burning, filling with water.
Panic prepping me for slaughter.

Indecision, like a prison.
One path splintered by division.
College here, or college there,
Growing up is a nightmare.

All falls silent and still as she perches on her throne;
the world falls asleep under the diligent gaze of her pale, white eyes.
Her crimson lips part in the gentlest of sighs.

She entertains a fleeting wish for companionship--
for someone with which to banter away the cold, quiet nights.
Her pale, snow-hued skin is freezing without the contact of another.

So many eternities have passed since she last knew conversation,
she has long since forgotten how to speak.
Collected, quiet breaths are all that fall from her lips now.

Her hands fold in her lap, her slender fingers intertwining in ennui.
Her jeweled feet take to tapping the floor listlessly;
it's hardly regal, but she struggles to care.

The endless river of her midnight hair cascades over her shoulder.
It is reminiscent of the apparent length of the night,
which begins to feel eternal: an isolated afterlife of solitary confinement.

She brings forth hell's fury from my mouth;
A black, burning rage swimming through my veins,
And she smiles, and tells me that it makes me pretty.
I want to strangle her.

So effortlessly, so cluelessly, she begs my attention,
My obsession, my affection, my addiction.
She wraps her little angel legs around my waist,
The waist of a lonely god.

She's aware, as am I, that to continue this charade,
Is to dig her grave in the cemetery of a commoner.
Her stone will be unmarked, her death on my hands,
and yet, still I cannot bring myself to leave.

She intoxicates me, drives my mind
To the very brink of insanity, with
Love, and lust, and hatred, and desire, and guilt,
And absolute, catastrophic fury that threatens Armageddon.

I crave her lips, and her hips, and her hands,
And her stubborn, loud mouth,
And her words that tear me down,
And the violence she incites from my mind.

I am the worst substance for her, like drinking chlorine.
She is even worse for me, like mercury,
Bringing out the demon in me,
That awful creature of chaos that she loves to see.

And as I've mentioned previously,
Despite my desperation for release,
She has me in the palm of her hand. I could never escape.
I more than long for, I need, I crave her infuriating arrogance.

I am just another sad case of addiction,
Without hope of rehabilitation.
As long as she lingers on my breath,
I will continue to destroy.

Poetry grows as a function of pain.
Organized anguishes conquer your brain,
And drown your joy in a river of doubt,
With a poetic structure you must write about.
Brilliance is a burden so rare,
You can not ignore it, so it, you must bear.
The sorrow is swelling, not baggage, but freight,
It demands that it, you articulate.
Agony restless, it calls to the pen;
The cyclone in your mind is starting to spin.
You will not sleep; no, you’re not allowed.
You’re a slave to the page til it’s all written down.
Your hands may tremble, your brain may burn,
But you will not rest until the last word.
Insanity replaces your sense of time.
Seconds and minutes dissolve into rhyme.
One o'clock, two o'clock, five o'clock, eight,
It has grown quite early--or is it quite late?
The night is long gone, but there’s no time to mourn:
As the sun starts to rise, a young poem is born.
The inspiration is gone, and leaves in its wake,
The pain that it somehow has still failed to take,
And still even worse, a hollow chasm,
Where the inspiration and pain had just been.
You lament for lost sleep as you stumble around.
Your pulse in your ears is a deafening sound--
Like thunder that fills you enough that you pour,
Like drugs that aren't enough anymore.
The pain has subsided, but you’re well aware
That though it’s appeased, it is always still there.
Now, it lies dormant, in a slumber apart,
A luxury you forfeited for art.
Inspiration lurks, ever waiting to strike.
It exclusively chooses a time you don’t like.
Try as you might, you are bound to the pen,
And after each respite, it comes back again.

Why am I your effigy?
You burn, you mock, you curse at me;
You tell me who I’m supposed to be,
But instead, I’m just your effigy.

Rip my skin, and scream and shout,
And tear all of my stuffing out.
Then whine, and cry, and moan, and pout,
Then beat me blue, and scream and shout.

Pin me up, and pierce my heart,
Then rip all of my limbs apart.
Blame me again, and then you’ll start,
To bruise my lungs and pierce my heart.

Punish me each time you drink;
After all, I’m only me.
Your daughter? No, it’s clear to see,
That I am just your effigy.

Is this blood mine or yours?
I want to go home.
I don't know you, and I don't want us to die.
We both lay here, barely alive.

You look scared, a deer glowing faintly in the headlights of a rusty green vehicle.
I can see the tempest of my own fear reflected in your chocolate eyes.
Must we be enemies, only because our homelands are?

I see you finger something under your shirt.
It's probably a snapshot- mine is.
You keep it there to remind you of your promise:
Your oath to lay eyes on them again.

I know that we fight for our countries.
For what we believe to be right.
But...
Do you suppose...that only for tonight
--presumably the last night of our lives--
We could ignore the politics, and just fall asleep together?

In the morning, if either of us wakes up,
We can once again plummet into the ocean of duty and justice and pain.
We can drown in it then.
For now, could we take a swift breath at the top of the waves?
That would be nice.

Neither of us has said a word, but no matter.
Language barrier has not kept you from agreeing with me.
A simple series of countenances has signed our temporary truce in our place.
A mutual gaze of farewell,
As I drift...

Into...

Sleep...

Skeletons in the closet,
Voices in your head.
Cobwebs in the corners,
Monsters under the bed.

Ghosts from the past,
Shadows on the floor.
If I face mine,
Will you face yours?

My perfect small friend, you were so young.
I'll never forget all the songs that we sung.
It's true you were always in the mood for a fight,
But now that you're gone I can't hold you at night.

Did you know that you stuck out your tongue when you slept?
Did you know that no one was safe were you crept?
Or that when you were mad, your jaw would drop down?
That you were the angriest darling around?

When you were too lazy and tired to care,
You'd finally allow me to play with your hair.
And you'd stretch on the bed, and glare at me,
With those young, tired eyes, as green as the sea.

I can't count the tears I've cried all this week,
At the thought of your fingers dug into my cheek.
And here's what I wonder if you'd approve of, my friend:
I will not fall in love, not ever again.

I am a human,
I have emotion,
I act like a fool;
It depends on my mood...
I scream and I cry,
I argue and I fight,
I mess up every little thing that's good in my life...

I'm sick of my heart ruling me; it doesn't do it very well.
If I mute the pain, will I be able to escape this hell?
I will lock it up inside, and I will let my heart grow cold.
My mind will have it's time because my heart has let my weakness show.

I am not human
I feel no emotion
I feel no pain
I feel nothing
I'm unable to cry
No matter what I try
Oh how I want to feel something and know that I'm alive

I'm sick of my mind ruling me it doesn't do it very well
Now that I've gotten here I hope I'm able to escape this hell
My mind knows of the love that's there but my heart is a deadly cold
I have become mechanical a statue nothing more than gold

I am half human,
I feel some emotion
My mind fights to win,
To lock up my heart again
I'm not sure what to think
Should I float, should I sink
My heart is fighting for its life, but my mind can't blink

I guess I feel the need to linguistically,
like poetry,
express everything that's wrong with me
emotionally,
and I guess that ironically,
canonically,
almost comically,
that led to my downfall in all honesty...

I promise me
we're meant to be,
cosmically,
and things change allegedly,
but it seems to me
you swore to me
you'd let it be,
and truthfully,
the way you did that was painfully,
unchangeably,
not how I meant it to be...

And all of that won't change, you see,
that I love you unequivocally,
in a way most strangely,
and unmistakeably
the joy in me,
and the suffering
you're causing me...

I regret my attempt to anonymously,
incriminatingly,
express my need
in light of the unexplainably
vivid heartache it's caused me,
But who's to pay the price but me?
Who but I is eligible, conveniently?
To be,
Accidentally,
The ****
to your Germany?

We’re dancing on the edge
Between friends and more than friends.

Don’t come any closer,
My mask is on tight.
I know who you are,
But we’re strangers tonight.

No I don’t love you,
I couldn’t if I tried.
And I would never dare,
With the way you almost died.

Blood on the ground,
But we’re feeling fine.
When you take my hands,
We slow dance on the line.

We’re dancing on the edge
Between friends and more than friends.

Don’t say anything,
Some things are best unsaid.
Like what we really are,
If we’re really more than friends.

No I don’t love you,
I couldn’t if I tried.
And I would never dare,
With the way I almost died.

Time is running out,
But we’ll make it out, perchance.
The night is almost over,
But let’s stay for one more dance.

We’re dancing on the edge
Between friends and more than friends.
Our balance is maintained,
At this tightrope masquerade.

Death comes knocking at my door,
My footsteps echo on the floor.
Because of time, I know it's him;
Who else would knock at 4 AM?

Opportunity comes a'knocking,
Watching, waiting, sulking, stalking.
The clock is ticking, ticking, ticking,
Time's conniving, tricking, tricking.

I tilt my head and listen near,
His breaths outside still reach my ear.
He's come to taunt me, nothing more,
To flirt with me behind my door.

I want to run, to back away,
but fear has frozen me in place.
Fear and footsteps, time and lore;
Death comes knocking at my door.

You ask if I’m depressed.
I’ll have to say, it’s true.
If you wouldn’t mind,
Tell me, why aren’t you?

Aren’t we all depressed?
Or do zombies roam around?
Do you see through colored glasses
All the bodies on the ground?

I’m certainly depressed.
If you aren’t, you might be slow.
The world burns around us,
As they’ll all burn below.

I’m naturally depressed;
I have great pity for our kind.
If you call yourself content,
I assume you must be blind.

I’m incredibly depressed.
The standards are so high!
I can’t keep up with social trends;
They make me want to cry.

Of course I am depressed.
If you’re not, then you’re insane!
Life is so demanding,
And existence equals pain.

So yeah, I am depressed.
Doesn’t that make sense?
This world is like hell,
But slightly less intense.

I’ve said that I’m depressed,
And I’ll stand by what I said.
Society is torturous;
I’d much rather be dead.

I am a hero of shattered glass.
The girl in the mirror is my second half.
Her heart is freezing as she meets my eyes.
She isn’t like you; she sees through the lies.

I am a hero of shattered glass.
I try not to cut anyone in my path.
The moonlight casts an eerie glow
On all that I pretend to know.

I am a hero of shattered glass.
Who are you, that you might trespass?
Love me or leave me, whichever you drive.
I may be broken, but I’m still alive.

The sun dances with the ocean,
His forbidden love.
They perform forgotten motions;
The horizon bleeds above.

The ocean dances with the sun,
And she tries not to think.
For surely as they’ve spun,
Soon he must come to sink.

The sun dances with the ocean,
And tries not to despair,
At the bewitching notion,
That soon, he’ll leave her there.

The ocean dances with the sun,
But now, he must take leave.
He melts away at once,
And she is left to grieve.

The silence will speak, and it will say
All the things my words can’t spell.
The silence will scream, and it will convey,
The emotion my words can only call hell.

The silence demands your attention, so hear:
These are the things that my words failed to say.
The silence is waiting, so listen my dear,
To things that force my lips to stay.

A love unspoken is twice as sweet,
A beauty that you don’t hear and don’t see.
But it tears me apart and my lips cannot meet,
So the silence will try to say it for me.

I clutch at my ears, and yet I refrain,
From offering even the quietest mention.
Deafening silence, crushing my brain,
Complaining that you are not paying attention.

My brain is a train,
Left the station in the rain,
Crashed directly into pain,
Now derailing and deranged.

Who drove onto the tracks?
Put their car into my path?
Now I’m burning in the grass,
Watching everybody pass.

No one’s calling 911,
Do they think I’m having fun?
They look like they cannot see,
Now they’re walking straight through me.

And I just can’t believe
I can’t get up to my feet,
I’m drowning in gravity,
I’m just another tragedy.

Tonight, we live like kings:
Hijack the prison and break out our dreams;
Kick off our shoes and rip our jeans;
Sing until our lungs burst at the seams.
Tonight, we are wild and free:
We’ll climb up skyscrapers and then ride the breeze
With our broken wings.
Tomorrow we’ll be damaged teens,
But tonight, we live like kings.

THE POET IS AWAKE AT NIGHT
HER PENCIL SPEWS OUT PAIN AND FRIGHT
A GOOD NIGHT’S SLEEP IS OFTEN RARE
WAKE HER TOMORROW IF YOU DARE
THE PAIN IS RAGING, COUNT TO TEN
ERASE IT ALL AND START AGAIN
A FEW MORE WORDS, YOUNG LOGOPHILE
THE TORMENT ONLY LASTS A WHILE
THE LYRICS FROM HER SHATTERED HEART
THE SEAS OF DULLNESS SEEM TO PART
HER BODY AND HER HEART GROW COLD
SHE HOPES THE AUDIENCE IS SOLD
THE POET IS AWAKE AT NIGHT
HER PENCIL SPEWS OUT PAIN AND FRIGHT

I love your brown eyes, but your lies aren’t white.
Your lovely pink lips sink into the black night.
Your whispers turn me red, but the colors aren’t right.
I love your brown eyes, but your lies aren’t white.

Queen of hearts, atop your throne.
Who stole your tarts? You’re all alone.
No one to hurt, and no one to love.
Wherever you flirt, death will certainly come.

House of cards, but no one’s impressed.
No knights or bards, for you to distress.
You broke all those hearts, but they weren’t enough.
Now you’re breaking apart, and I’m calling your bluff.

A beautiful palace, for no one to see.
The whispers of Alice, “You’ll never be free.”
So young and so restless, alone with your head.
Alice is headless, but you’re truly dead.

Poetry grows as a function of pain.
Organized anguishes conquer your brain.
Brilliance is a burden so rare,
You can not ignore it, so it, you must bear.
You will not sleep; no, you’re not allowed.
You’re a slave to the page til it’s all written down.
The night is long gone, but there’s no time to mourn:
As the sun starts to rise, a young poem is born.
You lament for lost sleep as you stumble around.
Your heart in your ears is a deafening sound.
The pain has subsided, but you’re well aware
That though it’s appeased, it is always still there.
Inspiration lurks, ever waiting to strike.
It exclusively chooses a time you don’t like.
Try as you might, you are bound to the pen,
And after each respite, it comes back again.

I'm sick of writing songs for you.
What did it ever mean to you?
What did you ever do
to deserve them?

I'm sick of bleeding out for you.
Sick of losing tears for you.
What did you ever do
to preserve them?

I am so sick of loving you.
So very sick of needing you.
When all that you ever do
is ignore me.

I'm sick of looking up to you.
Of searching every crowd for you.
Of telling myself that you
Don't abhor me.

But see I think the problem is,
Even though I'm sick of it,
You're the only one that fits
with me.

So yeah, I'm freaking sick of you,
But I can't really say I'm through;
Oh what ever did you do
To me?

Darling, your eyes are a chocolate sea,
And though I can swim, they are ever drowning me.
Your smile is the sun, so perfect and bright,
And oh so cold is the oncoming night.

Darling, your words are a siren’s song,
Beautiful, but they’ll have me dead before long.
Your hair is a fire, is burns down your back;
The smoke swirls forth and it paints my lungs black.

Darling, your name is a tritone chord,
It sounds so hypnotic, but it leaves my ears sore.
Your touch is a cloud in the middle of the day,
Delicate soft, and yet so far away.

Darling, your heart is a priceless masterpiece,
Colorful and pure, but so very out of reach.
My heart is porcelain, so easy to shatter,
But when I tape the shards together, I’ll pretend you never mattered.

All she ever wanted was the touch of his hand-
A request which was far too much to demand,
For he was a very sought-after young man,
And to him, she was but another small grain of sand.

So she whimpered in her room at night, alone in her bed,
Replaying their few conversations over in her head.
She wished on every star, "Just let him hold me," she said,
"And if that's too much to ask, then just let me die instead."

As time went by, and his graduation neared,
She lost a lot of weight; that date was what she most feared.
The last day she ever saw him, she wiped away her tears,
And soon after that, she ran straight off of the pier.

He heard the news the next day; he thought it a shame,
Though honestly he didn't really recognize her name.
He went on to pursue a life of fortune and fame,
Without another thought about the girl he could have saved...

I am the wind always whispering your name.
I am your pawn, but you never play the game.
I am the hope that you can never quite find.
I am the safety that you'll never reach in time.

I am the beat that sounds underneath the show.
I am the seed, but you never let me grow.
I am the breeze you don't feel on your face.
I am the voice that you can never quite place.

I am the passerby that you won't recall.
I am the spring, but you're stuck in the fall.
I am the sound when you think you're hearing things.
I am the telephone that never seems to ring.

I am the detail that you forgot to mention.
I am the math, but you didn't pay attention.
I am the scenery you never think about.
I am the trend from last year that's now out.

I am the lost thought at the back of your mind.
I am the rainbow, but you are colorblind.
I am the girl you're unable to see.
I am praying for the day you become aware of me.

This is the story of my Juliet;

Of her Montague and his Capulet.

Roses smell sweet with no care of their name,

But with “Montague”, this just isn’t the same.



As a cruel joke, fate bonded their hearts,

For fate knew too well that they’d be torn apart;

Torn apart like the brawling in the public square,

Where Montagues and Capulets disagreed there.



I am the one whom Romeo loved,

Before he’d first seen his Capulet dove.

It happened quite fast, and inside the year,

We were something akin to the three musketeers.



We knew if the secretive lovers were caught,

They’d both be destroyed; impaled on the spot.

So I covered for them, and I helped them along,

And I did my best to sing over their song.



I witnessed the wedding, the friar’s compliance

In hopes that the families would form an alliance.

And while I had my doubts, I kept my lips sealed;

I allowed them to hope the tooth fairy was real.



Soon after that, I was with Romeo and his friend,

When Tybalt came along and caused Mercutio’s end.

I ran after Romeo, begging “Please! Use your head!”

But it was to no avail, and soon Tybalt was dead.



So Romeo was banished, and I sat with his wife;

I comforted her as she wept of her strife.

She was almost alright, but fate slipped on its gloves,

And she was betrothed to a man she couldn’t love.



Three times, I convinced her to put down her knife;

“You can do this, Capulet, don’t you take your own life!”

I spoke with the friar, and he had not a clue,

Till I formed a plan and a mysterious brew.



I sent a letter to Romeo, warning him of her sleep,

And so Juliet drank into slumber most deep.

Two days went past, then I felt my heart stop-

My letter had been returned, and Romeo’s address dropped.



I tripped a few times as I sprinted towards her grave,

All the while howling out Romeo’s name.

I leapt across ditches, I dashed around trees,

And I fount Montague, fallen to his knees.



“She is pure beauty, even in her death,”

Said Romeo as he took his last breath.

I lunged, and I screamed until my throat bled,

But bleed as I might, Romeo was now dead.



Juliet yawned, and it turned into a cry,

As the sight of his body burned into her eyes.

I stood up, hands shaking, and reached out to my friend,

But I knew this was a wound my soft words couldn’t mend.



“Juliet, don’t,” I pleaded weakly.

She shook her head sadly, said “I’m sorry, Rosaline.”

I held her small frame, and I felt her depart,

As she drove her own blade into her broken heart.



Montagues and Capulets sat together that day,

And they mourned their children and regretted their hate.

I stood up, though it pained me, and they looked distressed

At Juliet’s blood that soaked through my dress.



“This is your fault!” I yelled hoarsely at the lords.

“You ran your own children through with your swords!

If you are so noble, ordained from above,

How could you destroy their lives and their love!?”



“Don’t you dare let their sacrifices end in vain!

They were my friends, and they died so you’d change!

I hope you make peace, because your bigotry

Took Romeo and Juliet away from me!”



So it was, that the families have since lived in harmony,

But that is something that now hardly matters to me.

A rose by any name would still smell as sweet,

But if “Montague” was different…





This would not be a tragedy…

I collect all my miseries,
I tuck them in my pocket.
I fumble with my memories,
Toss them in my heart and lock it.

I count all my impurities,
I label them and jar them.
I hide my insecurities,
Pretend like no one saw them.


I'll brandish all my miseries,
I'll wear them like a locket.
I'll make peace with my memories,
I'll free them from the closet.

I'll forsake my impurities,
I'll feather them and tar them.
I'll fight my insecurities,
Pull out my faith and spar them.


Hope is not free;
It comes to those in need.
And with a violent speed,
I hope it comes to me...

Memories like fireflies;
They flash and then they flee my eyes.
I could chase them all night long,
But as I run, they're too far gone.

Hello there!
It’s me, your prize-winning, intellectual, “gifted” brain!
I’m here to tell you that everything you’re doing is wrong.
Remember that conversation that you thought went well?
You’re wrong. Think again.

Oh, and also, all of your friends secretly hate you.
You annoy them all.
In fact, the apparitions probably lurking around the corner hate you too.
And they have weapons.

Also, you should probably just give up on life.
I mean, you’re a terrible person.
Honestly, I can’t tell you a single good thing about yourself.
How do you ignore the fact that everyone hates you?

One more thing.
Are you suuuuuure your God is real?
Because I’m not.
And… even if he is, you kind of **** as a believer and as a person anyways, so you’re kind of *******.

Well, nice chatting with you!
Go on. Have a good day!
And don’t forget what I told you…

I am incomplete;
I am coffee without cream.

Without you, I'm only me,
Just a part of a whole.
The puzzle isn't finished,
I am an abandoned goal.

Homework forgotten for TV,
I sit in ever hope,
That you will remember me,
And choose me over the remote.

I'm a painting never finished;
My completion is no rush.
I hope my artist's waiting,
and designing the right brush.

And though you can't agree,
You, sir, are my missing piece.
For I am incomplete;
I am coffee without cream.

"Mom and Dad, I'm sorry;
I just can't take it anymore.
If you're reading this,
You must have busted down the door.

For too long I have suffered,
And you have never known.
You never saw that I was slipping,
Never heard a single moan.

All those friends you thought I had,
They were never really there.
But there was another girl-
This one that truly cared.

You may not have noticed,
But this girl cared enough to see
That I was locked up in depression,
And she tried to set me free.

'Don't take yourself from me!"
She begged, shedding another tear.
I told her she was selfish
to ask me to stay here.

Several times, she saved my life,
But this time it was no use.
Tell her not to blame herself;
The world tied my noose.

Tell her that I'm sorry;
I know she'll make it on her own.
Tell her I said, despite the pain,
She's the best friend I've ever known.

I'm sick of gasping at the surface,
so finally, I'll drown.
I'm ready to embrace my death
When silence triumphs sound."

He wasn't supposed to know, wasn't supposed to find out

That he was what she was always crying about.

He said, "It really doesn't bother me, nothing has to end."

He said, "Things won't change and we can still be friends."



But the lies that he told were not as white as he had thought,

And he left her all alone with the darkness that she fought.

He never meant to hurt her, and it hadn't occurred,

Because no matter how much pain there was she never said a word.



At times, she finds that silence is more deafening than words.

She's screaming in her soul in octaves he has never heard.

He goes about his daily life, and just on a whim,

He says hello as he walks by, though she is nothing to him.



She smiles as he passes, but it's nothing more than a lie.

She's tired of living, but she doesn't want to die.

She goes about her daily life, and just on a whim,

She writes a little poem, and her mother calls it grim.



She lifts up onto the bus seat, and she closes her eyes.

The bus begins to roll as she silently cries.

She slips on her headphones and disappears into the sounds

Of a world in which his face is not the only one around.

Sometimes things go bump in the night,

Sometimes shadows dance.

Sometimes my soul writhes in fright,

And sleep has not a chance.



Sometimes my imagination runs free,

Sometimes my senses lie.

Sometimes I feel them after me,

When I am surely fine.



Sometimes I doubt I will be spared,

Sometimes it never ends.

Sometimes I feel alone and scared,

While I'm among good friends.



Sometimes my soul is screaming,

Sometimes I hear no reply.

Sometimes my heart is streaming,

Into a silent sky.



Sometimes I fall into the crack,

Sometimes it isn't fair.

Sometimes I glance behind my back,

But there is no one there.



Sometimes I feel them lurking there,

Sometimes I see a face.

Sometimes what I thought was clear,

Disappears without a trace.



Sometimes I stare straight into death,

Sometimes it stares into me.

Sometimes I take my final breath,

But then I've taken three.



Sometimes I hear them screeching,

Sometimes I see them glow.

Sometimes I just keep reaching,

For what is there, I know.



Sometimes I see my end,

Sometimes it was just a reflection.

Sometimes I seek my friend,

But I can not find the connection.



Sometimes I write this down,

Sometimes my pencil's shaking.

Sometimes I hear a sound,

That starts my sanity breaking.



Sometimes I know true terror,

Sometimes I stare into the void.

Sometimes I wonder where's my carer,

As my soul is just destroyed.



Sometimes I pray my heart out,

Sometimes I beg someone hears.

Sometimes I a battle through a bout,

And never feel him near.



Sometimes poems are not fiction,

Sometimes the story is true.

Sometimes a poet knows her diction,

And just wants to escape through you.

3 AM, I roll onto the floor;

No use trying to sleep anymore.

Anxiety shakes me to the core;

I walk to the bathroom, I lock the door.



The raven pecks at the window, so I let it in;

It tells me there's no escape from my sin.

It says that I've failed, and I'll fail again,

It says it never lasts when I try to repent...



I humor the raven, I listen to its lore;

I begin to think it's right, as my head grows sore.        

Will I ever different from who I was before?

Quoth the raven: "Nevermore".



Once upon a midnight dreary,

A midnight I have dreaded dearly,

I crawl to the sink, and I can't help fearing

The raven's words I hated hearing.



"I'm sorry!" I cry, "I want to do better!"

But how many times have I written those letters?

How can I ever pay? I'm the hopeless debtor;

And I can't always hide in the fabric of my sweater.



The raven tells me I'm a figurative *****;

I'm huddled in the cabinet, writing metaphors.

Will I ever have a mind free of blood and gore?

Quoth the raven: "Nevermore".



Why won't you leave me alone, you Godforsaken bird!?

To hell with you, and your pessimistic words!

I'm sick of being beaten, broken down, and disturbed;

You might be right, but you might be absurd.



I will try to change once more, as the night gives up its reign;

For a short while, I will return to being sane.

But the night will come again, as the sun can not remain,

And with it comes the raven, waiting at my window pane.



Why me!? Why me!? What does it bother me for?

I tried to do what's right! I can't take this anymore!

Will it ever stop peck, peck, pecking at my door!?

*Quoth the raven: "Nevermore".

You're the sun.

So beautifully bright that I have to stare, even though it hurts horribly.

I live in Antarctica, where you only light up my world half of the time and then leave me to suffocate in darkness for months on end.



You're a deer.

Unaware of me observing your adroitness from the dark depths of this brazen bracken which conceals me.

If I make any sort of sudden movement, I know you will sprint away into the trees because you're so afraid of letting anyone get close to you.



You're a puppetmaster.

Pulling at my oh-so-vulnerable heartstrings in the most musical way while creating the most fantastic and addictive art.

Your fingers are magic to me, and their slightest movement can either plunge me into endless despair or **** me up to the most heavenly of all cloud nines.



You're a siren.

Drawing me in with your sweet song only to ultimately unravel me.

You taunt me with colorful hints of false hope, making me wonder if you're really that cruel, or if you're merely  unstable.



You're a child.

So oblivious to the obvious, yet incredibly innocent.

You brighten my day with your silly antics and sweet gestures alike, but you're too enthralled in your own little world to ever notice.



You're Doctor Jekyll.

Always changing your face from friendly to arrogant and asinine, then right back again.

Sometimes I wonder how I could love someone like Mister Hyde, until you turn into the nice guy again and remind me.



You're a weaver.

Excruciatingly twisting the threads of me into the fabric of my being, leaving little streaks of sorrow and joy.

You have shaped this tapestry in the most painful and beautiful way, and without your unknowing influence, it would surely be unrecognizable from its current battered, but unique, condition.





You're a thorny rose I keep trying to pick.



Sending me away ******, bleary-eyed, and smelling sweet.



I wish you could understand how much I need to carry you home.

DEPRESSION IS BLACK AND WHITE

SOME COLOR WOULD BE FREAKING NICE

LIKE THE CHOCOLATE IN YOUR HAIR

OR THE CHESTNUT IN YOUR STARE

LIKE THE SOFT PINK OF YOUR SMILE

I'LL THINK OF THAT AND FEEL FINE FOR A WHILE

LIKE THE ALMOND OF YOUR SKIN

OR YOUR GREEN JACKET I WISH I WERE IN

THE WARM REDNESS OF YOUR HEART

YES THAT WOULD BE A LOVELY START

THE FIRE BURNING IN MY SOUL

IS A DULL GREY THAT'S GETTING OLD

DEPRESSION IS BLACK AND WHITE

SOME COLOR WOULD BE FREAKING NICE

Falling in love is the stuff of dreams, thought she.

A kiss away, can happily ever after be.

I'll find someone to love, and he will love me.

And we'll exchange thoughts under the weeping willow tree.



But falling in love was not as she had perceived.

A nightmare replaced her broken bright dream.

A woven heart tattered, torn loose at the seams.

And now she weeps with the weeping willow tree.



Paranoia takes root, *Does he even look at me?

Every night, she sinks to her knees.

You may hear her murmur a repetitive Please...

Because hope still lives on in the child that she's.



But as time goes on, she still begs to be free.

Begs for him to look up, to understand and to see.

She begins to wonder, Is something wrong with me?

If he is the victim, am I the disease?



A child nevermore, she no longer believes.

She now understands, I'll never be free.

Trapped in a place she never dreamt she would be.

*Falling in love became the death of me.

If pain develops character, why am I so lousy?

If love wakes you up inside, why am I so drowsy?

If life is an adventure, I'm a stereotypical hobbit.

If I was holding my own, well then I think I might have dropped it.



I'm walking on eggshells, and they're cutting my bare feet.

I live in a glass house, and it's about to sleet.

Love sets your soul on fire, yet I'm feeling pretty cold.

New dawn, new day, they say, but these nights are getting old.



I've barked up the wrong tree, and I'm being driven to the pound.

Back to the drawing board, but I think I lost my crayon.

I'm having my stomach pumped, cause I bit off more than I could chew.

If actions speak louder than words, then I'm so lazy I'm a mute.



I was burning all my bridges, but then I caught on fire.

I never gave up my day job, I just wasn't ever hired.  

Can't judge a book by its cover, but my story is ugly too.

I would make a play on words, but my theater class is through.  



If love is blind, then why do I have 20/20 vision?

I was accused of cutting class, but I made no such incision.  

In the heat of the moment, my icecream sadly dripped.

Beating around the bush was fine, until I freaking tripped.

  

If clouds have silver linings, then I see an empty sky.

It's hard to keep my head up, while the sun is in my eyes.  

I guess I need to lighten up, but I was saving battery power.

If it's all a piece of cake, I have an allergy to flour.