A blank page, so much space to write everything that could be said
-- yet nothing should be.

Sometimes silence is the only true reflection of something that can't be bound by any combination of lines or sounds.
When words cannot give me the peace of defining that which overcomes me,
I fall into a void of dulled existence;

I call, crawl, scratch the walls of the mind that bound me.
My heart screams and breaks itself to free me.
I fall, lay flat on the back that carries me;
look at the walls that stare at me;
feel the emptiness of my own echo chamber.

I remember that I am not skin and bone,
that I am planets and galaxies;
that I am a universe imploding;
that heartbreak is a human condition and that love is a string of energy that binds our stardust particles.

I remember that everything is temporary, and I remember that you do not define me.

Emotions are illusive like the monsters one can see. Monsters cannot be seen, so they live inside your head.
Are the monsters really destroying you? Or is it your thoughts whilst alone, lying in bed...
The illusion of life itself can lead to many emotions of ones mind...
Blinds us.
So we feed on the illusion of negativity.
Things happen that make us see the darkness.
Destructive, like a dead body and a ****** mess.
Corruptive...
Yet still I test.

I look around,
I see a sea of faces...
So many faces pretending
To be content with the life they have.
They walk around acting as if marriage and kids is the only source of fulfillment.
I feel a deep wealth of sadness
As the ones without those things
Still continue to progress forward,
While I sit washed away feeling useless.

Useless like a bird without wings...
Numbness is a glimpse.
As the emotions pour into you...
Your soul feels inburdened with dread.
Sins...

Sin isn't something that I believe in,
I believe in enjoying life to the fullest...
Yet I'm always with both knees to the ground.
Wondering if I'll ever be worthy of success,
I mean I'm just an outcast to most eyes that inhabit this planet.
There's not much meaning to my life.

An outcast with a craving for happiness.
So I take the devils side in hopes for success.
Failure is an illusive matter that my dark mind cannot cope with...
I judge myself in misery.
My dark philosophical thoughts rise inside of me...
Blind eyes see the lies...
And when in doubt, I see it too.
My third eye shut down...
My spirituality is all but gone...
I crave the high...
I need the drug in my veins to fight through the **** pain.

But even happiness is forbidden fruit,
An illusion best served as a party favor.

Dropped off in a desert.
Combat uniform tight against me.
Sweat gripping my skin in a desperate plea
For sanity to return, so I may escape.
Gunfire stutters its loud whispers of death against my eardrums.
Explosions drown out screams. My own?
I blink. The dust engulfs my body as I writhe on the ground;
Fetal position my permanent placement.
Longing for the ground to swallow me whole,
To the comfort of death's womb.
Cries of, "Get the hell up! What are you? This is a man's war!"
I get up.
The gun at my side like an old man's artificial hip;
Comfort and support in an unstable land.
I look at the chaos and depravity around me.
This is supposed to be Heaven to me,
Yet the combat boots feel too heavy.