I've worked for months,
Trying to build something sustainable.
But when I get angry,
I feel an urge to burn down everything,
And start over somewhere else.

It's maddening.
There's a senseless drone,
Like an audible vacuum.
It claws at my ears,
Making my head ache.
I wish the quiet wasn't so **** loud.
Because things always get worse when all I can hear is my thoughts.

We're all the same,
Yet different beyond words.
We all lack something,
And search fruitlessly for it.
Yet we all search for something different.
Recognition,
Power,
Love,
Money.
The list is literally endless.
But I'm not searching for something.
It seems I'm searching for someone.
Not to have and to hold,
Not to love or to lose.
I search for an old friend.
Someone I know well yet have never met.
I'm hoping he'll lead me home.
But Death is never very accommodating.
Besides,
How does the old saying go?
You'll always find what you seek in the last place you look.

A hero?
Me?
Laughable.
I've broken many things,
Hearts, bones,
Mine and theirs.
I'm a menace,
A monster.
I promise,
If you don't idealize me,
I won't save your ******* city,
And the villain can keep the girl.

Some are born with the rhythm,
Some have rhyme but lack imagination,
Some have all the passion,
And lack subject.
Some are endowed with poetry,
Some hunt it,
Others steal it from their peers.
I have to trap it,
And twist it to my liking.
I have to use it,
Like an addict I will do anything.
The rhythm sates me,
The rhyme feeds my fire,
The passion gives me drection,
And the form keeps me sane.
So I go from pen to pen,
Looking for the next rendition.

A number is not an identity.
My weight is not my beauty.
My test scores are not my intelligence.
My age is not my level of responsibility.
Everyone is beautiful regardles of size.
I may be better at some things,
Music, artistry, creativity.
At 18 I've lost more than most before me.
Is this poem #244?
It is, yet it isn't.
It needs a name.

A beast inside
Gives comfort,
Yet ferocity.
A place to hide,
A friend to know.
A foe to fight,
A sense of timeless lies.
A monster may guard me,
But he traps me as well.
Pinned against a wall of thoughts,
A chain tied to the weight of myself.
My demons protect me,
As they scrape swords 'gainst my brain.
I'm a free prisoner to them,
Until they need me again.

I've come to the realisation
That we are all unknown,
Yet legendary.

I looked up from where I landed,
And saw a face peeking over the edge.
Overcome with curiosity,
I forced myself to rise,
And came face to face with a startled girl.
And we started to talk.

I stopped a ******* the edge of the road,
The road we all walk together,
Yet alone.
Her face was red,
Eyes bleary,
Makeup smeared.
She kept murmuring:
"He doesn't love me...
He never did."
Your life isn't about gaining approval from others.
Her head snapped up.
"Who said that?"
An old soul who has walked the same path. The difference is you still have a choice.
A broken sob.
"But it was all a lie..."
Then find something real.
And something clicked in her eyes.
"Who are you?"
They used to call me The Silvertongue.
But the question you should be asking is who are you?

I have myself so thoroughly fooled,
I'm not sure what the truth is anymore.
I don't know what's real,
Who I know, who to trust.
I don't know who the enemy is,
And they deigned to give me the ROE.
I don't know who my allies are,
Or where I can hide and still be safe.
There's no list I can read,
No dotted line I can sign on,
Nor a box I can check,
To request reinforcements.

It angers me,
That I can't find the words to express
The fact that I belong on a battlefield.
It's worse to realize,
That I'd hoped to die in combat all along.
But that way out is gone.

My eyes may not be kind,
Or a light happy blue.
But that is because they are tainted
By the things they've seen.
Grime and unpleasantness
Will build up.
But you can still look through broken windows,
No matter how cracked.
But that's only if there's something on the other side to see.

A lost cause never makes a good lesson.

I've got a bit of a reputation.
One heartbreak and I end up alone,
Find a heart to latch onto until,
Eventually it falls apart.
I make it down the road called life,
By hitchhiking,
From heart to heart,
Love to love.
There's a reason I'm no longer trusting.
You should know that.
But the boy with a broken down red truck
Is now the villian.
Not like I expected any different.
Like I said,
There's a reason.

There's a reason
That I identify as a being
With four legs,
A tail and sharp teeth.
Paws, swiveling ears,
And a cold wet nose.
A life as a wolf is simpler.
**** or be killed,
Eat or be eaten.
Protect the pack,
And always stay loyal to your mate.
Except when you don't have a pack,
And your mate left you lost.
I can survive alone if I have to.

Under hesitant moonlight,
I listen to the thrum of the world.
A silent pulse that seems all to loud.
A world in pain,
That absorbs all felt by her inhabitants.
The wordless screams I've felt inside
Now reverberate between blades of grass,
Echo from the clouds to the ground below,
Carried by jagged bolts of lightning,
Burning and scarring the mother.
Causing her pain.
Pain from ours.
Ours to hers.
Then we die...
And she dies with us.

I remember the day vividly.
You sat huddled,
Your disciples egging you on.
Your soft cheeks and long hair contrasting the dark walls.
Blessed words fell from your lips and echoed through the masses.
The crowds whispered them.
And I could feel the eyes.
You told them you would save them.
I was a curse.
I should be deserted.
Demon or not,
I don't want your holy disease.

I stopped myself on the edge of oblivion,
Down the road to my right,
All I'd ever done.
Everywhere I'd ever been.
Everyone I'd ever known  
Down the road to my left,
All I had yet to do,
Places I had yet to go.
People I had yet to meet.

And I spoke.

"People tell me to keep fighting.
That it's not all that bad.
That things happen for a reason,
And the reason just hasn't shown itself yet."

I gaze into the structureless abyss.

"The truth is no-one gives a **** how I feel,
The ones who encourage me only do because they can use me. I'm constantly being told to buck up."

Fists clenched and my nails cut my palms.

"If anyone ever lived through what I have they wouldn't want to keep fighting either. They wouldn't want to keep surviving. So why should I?"

A deep breath and shoulders sag.

I stopped myself on the edge of oblivion...
And couldn't talk myself down.

I stopped myself on the edge of oblivion...
And I jumped.

A little boy stopped me today,
On my way past an overgrown field.
The one where the peewee teams play football.
He needled me,
"They'll put me in, right?"
And rambled.
"My daddy said he can't come to this game, by he'll come to the next one, won't he?"
He dreamed,
"I wanna be a soldier someday, and help people."
And my heart broke more and more as he kept talking.
Youth and innocence have their place.
So I walked on.

A tired man stopped me today,
Outside of my old high school.
His eyes were full of tears and madness.
"Please, for my sake, don't give in."
He sobbed.
"I don't want to end up this way."
His hands were scarred,
And his eyes scared.
"I want us to be better than this. I wanna be what we meant to end up as."
Age and wisdom aren't always synonymous.
So I walked on.

Past the field,
Past the school,
Past the struggling masses.

I stopped myself today,
On the edge of oblivion.
We're not done talking yet...

A dead man stopped me today,
In the big field under the willow tree.
You know,
The one with the tattered rope hanging from it.
And he told me.
"I know what you're thinking."
I stayed silent.
"You don't want to do it. It's not the way."
I just stared.
He sighed and gestured upward.
"That's my rope. My way out. But also the reminder that I gave up."
My eyes drop to the ground.
"I wish I hadn't. There was so much I never did. A lot I never accomplished. I wish every day I'd lived a little more."
I glance over and then step off.
He hangs his head and dissipates.
Later, I return to the willow tree,
And climb it.
I untie the tattered rope, letting it drop to the ground and open my backpack.
It was about time for a new one anyway...

An old man stopped me on the bridge,
The one in the park over the pond,
And he asked how things were.
I was honest.
It was ugly,
It was angry,
It took a while for me to finish.
And he told me:
"You're much too young to be bitter."
He said,
"You need to focus on the future instead of the past."
I thanked him for his advice and thought.
Then I realized.
He was right,
But I'm not too sure I have a future to focus on.

I think I know you.
Stories of fire and fallen angels,
Intermixed with teardrops,
Frozen on the edges of eyelashes.
If I do, I apologize.
I've never been good at making the right call.
If I don't...
Well then never mind.

You may think you know me,
A man with flight born of shadows,
In love with flickering flames,
And a tendancy to turn wolflike.
I tend to use my teeth only after my walls fall,
And even then I'm prone to giving priority to a rebiulding.
If you do, I apologize.
I'm not much worth knowing.
If I don't...
Re-read line 8.

I won't let them in
for the same reason
I won't let myself out.

I keep thinking,
I can't wait to get my first tattoo.
But then I realized,
It's just a scar,
Covered in ink to make it pretty.
But the difference is,
I think.
The difference is I'm getting it on purpose.
But in reality?
The rest were purposeful.
I wasn't attacked.
They weren't ****** upon me.
Nobody forced the blade to my body.
It was intentional.
I was taking my anger out on myself.
Is it the same?
I wonder.
Am I doing it to express anger?
No, I'm doing it to show who I am.
Exactly.
And these are meant to be visible.
I won't hide them,
Like I did the others.
They're different.
They're...different.
Aren't they?

My eyes open.
The world is millions of different hues,
Yet limited to black, grey and white.
Everything seems to shimmer,
The outlines constantly shifting.
Then I know where I am.
The blood spatter on the carpet still there,
A ****** handprint on my guitar.
The knife is still stuck into the wall,
Where I left it.
Stained sheets and towels sit in a pile,
A crimson mountain of past misery.
A shirt sits rumpled on the floor.
I pick it up,
And see a groaning hole
Where I cut out the US Army logo.
This is the day after I got back.
Pleading words cut into a chipped wooden desk.
A trail of red circles leading toward the bathroom door...
Non vincere bello fortis.
"A warrior without a war to win"
But I'm not a warrior at all.
At least,
Not anymore.

January 1st, 2017.
Another year of survival passed.
Another 365 days lived.
A bullet dodged each day for 12 months.
A mask worn for 31,536,000 seconds.
So I take it off,
Pick up my shovel,
And deepen the trenches.
Then I sit on a throne of obsidian,
And bid myself goodbye for another year,
As I lock myself away,
And put my mask back on.

I'm a battered ship,
Adrift in stagnant waters.
My hull is cracked and I'm slowly sinking.
My masts are snapped,
Crows nest shattered on the deck.
My sails are torn,
Too ragged to harness the wind.
I was abandoned after the battle,
Labeled a loss.
The Captain decided I would sink in my own.
I'm wishing she'd helped me along.
Now I'm waiting,
Hoping I break up against the rocks,
Or breach my hull on a coral reef.
I'll be at peace at the bottom of the ocean.
Where the tide can't pull me back into that vicious cycle I know all too well.

I think I'm broken...
Everyone is enjoying the season,
Swimming in the holidays.
But I would enjoy nothing more
Than to spend Christmas Eve
Stalking my house with a loaded gun,
Waiting for a man I know doesn't exist.

We're more than tired conciounce tied to broken frames,
More than crying eyes linked to broken hearts,
More than clenched fists wired to ****** flashbacks.
We're a species.
We feel
We  ARE
We experience love, hate, pleasure, pain, jealousy, empathy, greed, guilt and countless other things no beings ever have.
We've spread our reach beyond our world.
We've created monuments that dance with the stars.
Our buildings kiss and rise over the clouds.
We were born from the heavens.
We created both peace and war,
And have each for the other's sake.
We **** each other in droves as new life flourishes within our race.
We are both a balance and an imbalance.
A creator and a destroyer.
We've made mistakes,
But we try to learn from them.
Hello,
My Name Is Human.
Welcome to Earth.
Population: Boundless
We're a strange people...
But we're not so bad really.

I've wandered that path,
And I beg you, please,
Go back.
Take the other path down the road.
Be stronger than I ever was.
Don't lock yourself down,
Once done it's almost irreversible.
Don't cause further damage.
Look at me.
I bear scars, bruises, broken bones.
All healed,
But none of them gone.
Needles, knives, razors,
I've even turned a boxcutter on myself.
A fishhook through the finger,
An exposed wire to the skin...
I've done it all.
And I tell you it's not worth it.
I'm going to tell you what no-one ever told me.
It gets better with hard work.
You're important.
You matter to a few people not pushed by pride.
Pain is not a release,
It is a bind.
A crutch.
Don't be like me.
You don't want to end up with shadows as your only friends,
And anger your only salvation.

Many look at a sunrise and see romance.
But I'm unconventional.
A Rorschach could tell you that easily.
I grit my teeth as the light floods the city.
The darkness flees,
Like a man buried alive.
It's dragged,
Clawing at the buildings,
As it is forced to vacate.
And when it is gone?
I feel exposed.
Ungaurded.
The night is my hunting ground
*The light is a savage bloodbath

I'm sorry.
By nature my writings are cruel.
They speak of angry things,
Abused animals and beaten children.
Brother killing brother,
Families splintered.
I can try to soften them,
But the euphemisms only last so long.
Metaphors sharpen themselves,
Turning into barbed hooks.
The truth is that's all I've ever known.
War, death and heartbreak.
There's a reason I'm more comfortable
In a shadowy corner with a knife,
Than I am on a sunlit street holding hands with the girl I love.
It's because she's not there anymore.
She always leaves,
And my knife hasn't ever left me.
It's dependable,
And always sharp.
A man's knives should always be sharp.
*Hie par in tenebris est et in tenebris caput meum

If only you knew the power you have
You never needed the depression
You've always been beautiful
I wish I could say the same

I'm not normal.
Not your everday guy.
Not a regular Joe.
I've never hooked up.
I've never cheated.
I'm not the type to kiss and tell.
But I don't do that often either.

I'm a silent sentry,
Waiting until I'm needed.
I'm a soldier,
Looking for a war.
I'm a broken soul,
Looking for a change.
I'm a broken heart,
Looking for maintenance.

I'm always ready.
I'm never hesitant.
I'm constantly on guard.
I'm never trusting.
I'm always going to be different.
I'll never be like any of you.
That'll always be the case.
Because I'll never want to stoop to this world's level.

An empty hallway lit by a creeping gloom.
Walls lined with old photographs,
From past, present and future.
These alternate with sealed passageways.
The door behind me is bolted shut,
It is impossible for me to return there.
A shallow fog clutches the floor,
Rolling towards the far end of the hall.
It seems like it's trying to pull me along,
But I brace myself by leaning back.
No doors are open,
So I wait in the hallway.
Maybe I won't be stuck here for long.
Maybe...

You have no idea,
Yet you seem to think that saying
"I know how you feel."
Shows your empathy for me.
No, you don't and you never will.
So please stop wasting your time.
Just leave me with my misery.
I don't care what you think you know.
What you think you've seen.
It's irrelevant.
Pretending so you can try to relate doesn't help.
I don't want your ******* pity.
I think I'll be just fine without it.

The whispers have returned.
You still don't matter...
You really thought you were done with us?
End it and we'll leave you alone...
I turn to the shadows,
But they hiss in anger and gesture.
They point towards the opposite corner,
On the side of the room with working lights.
Three people stand there.
Their eyes are sewed shut,
Their mouths always open,
And they each hold a needle and thread.
We're still here.
You've lost more of those that cared.
We're getting closer.
More start to gather,
Until I'm faced with a horde of those I trusted.
The shadows screech and stand between us.
The only protection I have.
It's only a matter of time until you have nobody.
You know the rest will turn their backs soon.
They always do.
They're right.
So now I wait,
Sitting in a corner,
Surrounded by shadows.
I have a knife in my right hand.
Like a General waiting for his capture,
So that he can end everything.
Sed tantum de tempore...
*"It is only a matter of time."

It feels plausible,
Like I'm living a play,
On the stage across from hers.
Sometimes between shows I sing,
Not very well,
But because it feels right.
And she sings in reply,
And we go back and forth.
More often I play small songs,
More pieces of songs really,
And if she knows them she'll sing as I strum.
We trade paper airplanes,
Secretly holding notes.
Talk quietly across the room,
Over the heads of an unknowing audience.
It feels strange to have a friend so far away.
It shows that there are friendly places in the world,
Though few and far between.

Her words were stolen by the wind,
But the message was easily understood.
The fence was close to collapsing.
He knew he had caused this,
And there was no time to lose.
Obviously he wasn't meant to cross back over.
He memorized her face,
Every miniscule detail,
And offered a strangled
I'm sorry
Before turning and fleeing.
He shepherded the shadows as far from the fence as he could,
Trying to give it time to stabilize.
Trying to repair the damage done.
The shadows knew what was happening,
And they fought him.
The desired nothing as much as they did to escape,
To plunder the rest of the world.
The crack became a breach,
And the shadows began to rush through.
The fence then ceased to be.
The light seemed to hide as the shadows spread,
Infesting every corner.
He watched as his children changed her world,
And he hated himself a little more.

He saw her,
Eyes piercing the darkness
To seek him out.
She seemed to be thinking heavily,
Hanging over the fence that divided them.
He saw her everyday ordeals,
The facade she put on to pass through the sunlight unmarred.

The light never crossed the divide,
Because of his own doing.
He had control of the shadows
And they protected him.
They still hissed at him sometimes,
Weren't always friendly,
But they never but him.
They knew he would bite back.

You see, controlling The Shadows was easy.
He simply bound them to the song.
A song that reverberated in his very being.
They knew he had nothing to lose.
They feared him.
He had always been more comfortable in the dark,
It spoke of silent beauty and danger.
He'd been breeding them because he wanted to further his territory,
But he couldn't bring himself to darken the rest of the world.
The result was a swirling vortex where the shadows frolicked,
For now they had a domain,
And a keeper,
All their own.

Day after day,
The Girl would sigh,
Hop down off of the fence,
And secure her mask.
It covered tired eyes and an accusing frown.
Once the mask was in place,
The others didn't see a difference,
But he could see the lines where her skin ended and the lie began.

The eyes were too cold,
The smile too shallow.
Her laughs rung hollow.
And each day,
She had to tear it from her face,
With more difficulty each time.

He missed her that morning.
He started over as she hopped down and put her mask on.
That night he was waiting for her on the other side of the fence,
His guitar slung across his back.
The shadows followed like they always did,
One flanking each side.
As if they are silent sentries.
He stood silently as she approached,
Wondering if she saw him,
And what she would say when she arrived.

I have
Nowhere to hide.
There's a vacuum within,
And my skin is naught but mirrors,
Reflecting the world back unto itself.
People see the norm when they look at me because no real part of me breaches the surface.
It's all
consumed
and compacted,
Ever more to hold in an ever shrinking space.
I wait, wary for the day I know is coming.
When instead of compacting it expands,
Because then, nobody will be safe from what escapes.

Maybe I'm mistaken.
It seems when I look ahead,
There's a figure.
He's hunched over a pitted six string,
Plucking, playing and making it ring.
I recognize the songs,
But I don't know where from.
All I know is that the shadows gleefully frolick as he plays.
They multiply and scatter.
As the guitar sings faster and seems to scream,
They keep in time.
And just when I get close enough to see,
The figure turns and grins,
It's me.
Then I realize I practice the same songs,
Over and over every night.
Me, who whispers of darkness to the world,
Who urges the shadows to breed and be bold.
But of course,
I don't believe in fate.
But I do believe in wishful thinking.
Because I know myself.
I'd much rather infect the darkness,
And twist it to my own use.
I'll be ****** if I become its victim instead.

I come from a place where the shadows, they breed, in back alleys and give birth to bad things.
They feed them with greed, and they nest in the trees 'til decay kills the branches that snap free.
Some people say that it's not all that bad, we'll survive as long as we believe.
But I don't believe that this thing called belief gauruntees a future that I'll see.