I'm an outsider
I don't follow social norms.
But being an outsider has become the norm,
so am I...
normal?

The simpler life becomes,
the worse it seems to be.
As things turn to basic,
for both you and me.

Take my hand,
elevate me far away.
Bring me to the place,
where there is no dismay.

Where the birds sing freely,
where the skies never turn grey;
where we can both live happily,
and our souls will never fray.

If I never say what my motives are,
then nobody can judge me.
This is the worst poem you've read;
there. I judged myself.

Time flies like a bird into a window.
A cold, shut window.
It's very abrupt.
Also the bird is blind.

Life passes like the sakura tree,
with its majestic pedals chipping away,
and the next thing you know, it's been cut.
Sold for wood and nothing more.

This is the worst poem you've read.
There, I judged it for you.
You can't say it's better,
because in my head
it's the worst poem you've ever read.

I made a cocktail.
It's 40% tears,
30% despair,
20% regret,
and 9% doubt.
There's a hint of hope somewhere in there also.

And I'm getting drunk tonight.

I watched the sun rise today.
It welcomed me and made me allay,
but it's not the best sight I've seen anyway,
that title goes to you.

I gazed at the sunset today.
I witnessed the light's dwindling rays,
but it's not the best sight I've seen anyway,
that title goes to you.

I witnessed the late night today.
I noticed the stars; they made me say,
"It's not the best sight I've seen anyway,
that title goes to you."

The sun was bright, and so were you,
The sun came down, and so did you,
Now, the night is as cold as you,
Ever since you went away.

Cup of solid gold,
Probably makes things taste foul,
But it still looks great.

Oldspeak:
Save me from this government,
which envelops the land.
Which doesn't give me freedom,
or help my weary hand.

Newspeak:
I'm saved in Oceania,
which is doublegood; much nonwasted land.
BB unstruggles workers,
BB helps unwear hands.

As the day draws to a close,
and the breeze around us blows!
As the leaves from the trees,
encircles us in a twirl,
do you not feel our connection on this world?

From the skies overhead,
to the land below us,
Oh, can you feel it?
The sensations of nature;
ever so bountiful.

From the mountain tops,
to the ocean floor,
Oh, do you feel it?
It's the wine of love;
never to be dry.

I can't stop thinking.
Thinking about the future,
about the past,
and about the present.
About time,
and about you and I.

Some things don't go together,
others do,
by nature.

I'm a book,
written in a foreign language;
one nobody can understand.

Try to comprehend;
you'll be met with confusion,
as you can't decipher what doesn't make sense.

Don't let a book lead your life,
Don't let a book help you out,
Don't let a book teach you something.

Just read the book,
see what you know,
and return it.
Immediately.

With my teeth clenched,
And eyes shut tight,
I let my knife dictate my future.

The cold seeps everywhere,
through my fingers, onto my arms,
and directly to my heart.
The fire heats everywhere,
through my fingers, onto my arms,
and directly into my heart.

Will you light the fire,
to combat this cold winter I've dealt with,
and bring warmth to my heart,
and thaw it to let it feel again?

So, I sing the song,
The jubilant song,
The one I sang with you by my side
So long ago.

I lay in the place,
behind the warm oak trees,
The place I lay when you were by my side
So long ago.

I listen to nature,
the calm, surreal nature,
The nature that existed when you were by my side
So long ago.

Life has moved on from us,
You have moved on from me,

Have I moved on?

Do you hear it?
It's the smell of colors,
The sight of sound,
The taste of light,
The warmth of the voices.

I follow them
They take me to my future
and make me forget my past.
They
Make
Me
Forget
My
Past.

Some might call me insane,
For following my heart,
But I swear that I hear them,
(Especially when I'm alone).

One day I listened,
and followed my soul.
What would it let me do tonight?
What does the future hold for me?
Where will I be when the skies are bright?
What mental state counts as "alright"?

The smell of colors,
The sight of sound,
The taste of light,
The warmth of voices.
Don't tell me your deaf and blind,
to what's obviously there,
maybe you too can adhere to these,
if you might dare to care.

Fear.
We all feel it, but we all don't want to.

Do you think Satan has fears?
Does God?
What is there that can scare God?
And if there proves to be something that fears God,
what's the chance that I too don't fear it?

Some say they don't have any fears,
that any sense of terror doesn't harm them.
I laugh at these people.
The only time they can't feel fear is that one time,
that one special time,
they're laying,
cold,
dead,
alone,
six feet in the ground.
A simple figment of history.
Their lack of worries won't matter.
It won't.
It doesn't even matter now.

We all fear death;
Some more than others.

The pain.
It hurts.
It hurts so much.
I've tried every drug,
but the pain doesn't dissipate.

It's been so long
since my mind has been sound.
Since my body had been free;
Free from this defeating pain,
Free from the issues of life,
Free.

It's a bird,
knocking on my window.
Every. Day.
It never goes away,
It'll surely knock tomorrow also.
I need it gone.

There are manacles;
Shackles on my soul.
I would do anything to find the key
and set myself free.
They might never go away;
The chains will constrain me tomorrow.
I need them gone.

The pain.
It hurts.
Like a bird pecking constantly,
Like restraints tying me down,
I've tried it all,
but the pain doesn't dissipate.

Where do you see the moonlight in the darkest of days and the worst of nights?
Where do you see the warm sun-rays among the storms and the terrible weather?

Perhaps you are mistaken,
and there never is any light when days are dark,
and there never are any sun-rays in the storm,
and you're conceptions are simply askew.

Are you delusional?
Perhaps I am insane,
for never looking at the moon at night,
during the cloudiest of days.
And I am so, so insane,
for never checking for any sun,
while I struggle to survive the winds of life.

Will I try and search for the moon's light,
in the wild forests and with the pitch-black glow,
and allow myself to get lost?
And will I try and search for the sunlight,
in the plains and amid the harsh hurricane,
and allow myself to get attacked?

It came to me tonight;
Today would be the day.
No longer would I suffer,
no longer would I feel pain.
With ambition I climbed on top of the chair,
finally ready.

I'm a map,
I can tell you where to go,
I can guide you through life,
I can aid your journeys.

You can use me to help you.
You can use me to care for you.
You can use me.
For I am merely an object,
that has no sense of feeling.

I have no feeling for pain,
so you can throw me around.
Batter me.
Taunt me.
You can crumple me up to throw me out,
and replace me with a new map.
One that's more up-to-date and stylish.
It doesn't matter,
I can't feel,
so I surely can't be impacted.
At. All.

I'm a map,
Use me right and never get lost,
use me wrong and ruin a good map.

These scars.
They will not heal.
They stand as a memento,
from a time long past.

If I ever meet a new person,
they would observe these marks,
and realize how insane I am.

They will run away from me,
they all do.
They all do.

I can't deal with the scars.
I can't deal with myself.
I can't deal with the future,
just like I couldn't deal with the past.

These wounds will stay,
even if I change,
so what's the use in sticking around,
and being reminded of them?