Maybe I will die today,
Maybe I am dead.
The song of day rattles in my head
As though it is the last
Of many faint tunes
Distant in blankets of snow
And tears ran cold.
And I think I am dead,
Lead me back for I am scared,
I know not where I step,
I know not of myself in this world
It all seems sad,
To wish death at mornings break
And to regret it within nights blinding dark

Evert night at 2 AM
Different poems are written
Different words are scribbled
Different papers are crumpled
But only one thought she had
Yet, word can't help her convey the feelings
"Empty" has much more than herself
"Sad" is not sadder than she thought
"Broken" is more whole than her
"Hurting" ain't just bleeding just like her
And when words can't take the role
It's the blade that play with her
Every cuts has meaning
Everything is her unreleased feeling

In a room full of faces
She was nameless
She was invisible
In a room full of faces
She felt worthless
She was full of emptiness
In a room full of faces
She wish someone would notice
In a room full of faces
Would anyone care if she was gone.

How can emptiness be so heavy?

He writes poetry
But no one knows

He writes poetry
He writes about love
And loss

He writes about smiles
And frowns

He writes about sorrow
And forgotten towns

He writes about how lost he gets
Caught up in his own mind

He writes poetry to
And about others

But no one knows

Know one knows the depth of his soul
Because they all choose to see the exterior
And that exterior screams

Preppy
And preppy
Don't have souls

Or so they thought
Until the day he was consumed
By his own poetry

Sit, pause, relax
This journey is taxed

Destination is ought to come
The journey ought to end

Wonder if you see this again
The trees, the scenes, the mountains

I say sit, pause, relax
This journey is taxed