I'm here sitting
alone,
the smell of coffee runs through
my veins,
some music i probably will forget
in a few years arguing with
the thought of you,

But I'm here,
I'm here,
writing about what's happening

pretty boring huh?

i call myself a poet
but i can't use high metaphors,

i call myself a poet
but i can't describe fully
how you make me feel

i call myself a poet

but what am i?

I'm just a kid
scared of life
finding new ways to cope
searching for someone to love,
desperate,
not holding unto my dreams
how can i choose with my mind
what's right for the heart to choose.

and you see?
don't you see?

don't worry i can't either

i can't see how great i am
i can't see how other people see me
i wish i could.

i want to believe this was a dream
or
a nightmare at that.

But at last.
I'm here wishing that in another life
i could be with you,
or
maybe in other deaths,

i crave your touch,
i crave you..
with coffee waking up my senses
like a kid in summer waking up early
to go play with his friends.

i wish things were different,
so i wouldn't have to wish.

Maybe your jokes aren't that funny..
But I laugh anyway..
So now you think you have got the way to my heart...
Maybe I modify the thoughts in my head..
When I tell you what I like..
So now you think you can certainly make me happy...
Maybe I dont miss you that much...
When I tell you my feelings resonate with that melody..
But now you think I think of you most of the time...

I´ ve lost the count
of sleepless nights
when dark window
mirrors my face
I no longer recognize
without you
I am nothing

We are in a state of war, my friend

The trees are turning red

My mind are soldiers preparing for death

Their families, distraught, words left unsaid.

I'm in a state of war, my friend

I cannot keep on fighting till the end

The creatures in my head play jumbled words;

Not a soldier in my genes,

It's my reflection commanding enemies

Prepare for death;

I have given up my home,

Unto heaven, my martyred self.

My bones ache
Like crumbling stone cliffs
Constantly battered
By a sea of exhaustion.

If I gave you my soul,
would you read each page?
Scribble notes of interest
and know me.
Would you take the time,
to help tape the seams?
Would you mend,
the fragility of my soul?
It tears and rips,
easily, emotionally.