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

Oh the songs,
The stories,
Misappropriated words,
Misspoken information.
Choose your side,
But when your allegiance
Is based on lies,
Your very defense of your point
Is a mistruth in of itself.
So run your mouth,
But I've got
A bullet for
Every person
Who falls for your
Fearful facade.
And my trigger finger
Is definitely getting itchy.

The passage of time
Has become torture.
The seconds slipping by
Scrape against my conciousness,
As a rowboat does against jagged rocks.
The pain presses outward,
And I can feel invisible blood
Running from my ears.
The ticking of The Clock
Pounds at my temples.
Existence is Pain.
*Death is Release.

I can feel it.
Always ******* there.
A constant pressure.
An uncomfortable force
Pushing on my skin,
My soul,
My brain.
Deep breath in,
Flick of the wrist.
Sharp exhale.
One more slit for the pain to escape through.
One more splatter on the bathroom floor.
One more day of relief.

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 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.

It can't rain all the time
Says the sun as it rests
Nestled above the pulsing clouds
While wave by wave of shining silver
Give a cool respite to the world below

What most people don't realize is,
Death is relative.
You decide your own destiny,
Whether to go quietly,
Or to use it for your purpose.

I don't intend to slowly fade.
I plan to go nova.
Spread the heat of countless stars,
Create a black hole,
And take the entire ******* universe with me.

*Ut mori solent stellae vivere...

I stand in front of you,
Blood on my hands.
A monster like you've never seen.
I hiss and spit.
I rage and roar.
And beg.
I spit bile from my mouth and wail.
Asking why you won't do it.
Why you won't end my pain.
End it.
Please
Shoot me.
I'm tired of this existence.
I'm tired of taking lives,
Of destroying dreams,
Of ending happiness.
I'm tired of never having any of my own.
Shoot me again
I ain't dead yet
Shoot me again
Shoot me again
*Shoot me

There is a reason for the end of life.
To give rise to the future.
As the seasons change,
And our elders pass,
With us we bring new art,
New music,
New ideas.
I hope one day my poetry will be my legacy.
But the end is never easy.
My Great Grandfather,
Much you taught me.
But saying goodbye to you was the hardest thing I've ever had to do in front of you.
*Avus meus sapiens requiescant in pace

They'll never see us.
The real us.
The broken ones that have nothing to lose.
The 19 year old lost in his sorrows.
The 15 year old who hates her body.
He drowns himself in ***** while she forces her fingers down her throat.
The girls that do what they shouldn't to find love in the wrong places.
The guys that can't hide everything.
The kids that hide razorblades in their dresser drawers.
The suicidal, the lost and forgotten.
The ones that are different.
The boy who clears his conscience using poetry.
We make up the majority yet are powerless to change the way things are.
Nobody wants to help us because then they become associated with us.
Then they become us.

We all know the feeling of something missing,
But what about when what's been misplaced is a piece of the soul?
I feel like I've lost my identity.
My better half has been whisked from my sight.
Now all I can do is endure until she returns.

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.

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.

Even if I told you the truth,
Would you believe it?
Or would I need to spin a new story
So you could happily accept a falsehood?

If you can't handle me at my worst, you don't deserve to  be around at my best

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.

She was the first to read it all.
The sprouts peeked through the dirt.
She watered them with wonder.
My masterpieces shot up, a testament to her.
But now she's gone.

You know, inspiration is in short supply.
I'm addicted, have been since we first talked.
Now my source has disappeared.
My metaphors seem strained.
And the pen seems foreign on my fingertips

Where are you?
Have you given up?
Given in to this world we used to laugh at?
Or are you still waiting...
For your angel with a shotgun?

After all this time.
One truth stands out.
A cold steel blade
Is still more dependable
Than a flesh and blood
Human being.
Because people change.
But I can always keep
My knives sharp.

A blue sky doesn't gauruntee good weather.
The sky won't necessarily stay clear,
And lightning can strike from miles away.
A downpour doesn't have to be bad either.
Sometimes an acid rain will cleanse the landscape.

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

On the final day
Does the pain give way?
When I bring myself to my end
Will I finally be happy?
Will the freedom from
Flesh and feeling
Allow me to spend eternity
Alone with the universe?
Only one way to find out.

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 am their rock,
But
The little ones
Are my legacy

Someone, please help me.
I'm looking for a friend.
One I have not seen in quite some time.
He left me empty.
Perhaps you know him?
The Silvertongue?
He who was the weaver of words,
The teller of tales
And the creator of worlds?
He was so quick with his tongue.
His humanity was intact,
Yet he was not foolish.
He understood people
And cared about them.
It matters not...
The Silvertongue is gone I guess.
I wish I could bear the name of one so great.
Bah, such thoughts are foolish.
Do not wish for things that cannot be.

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.

Most wild animals don't like being touched.
You look at me quizzically,
Before reaching closer.
That's what I am.
An animal.
You may not think so,
But it's true.
An amused smile crosses your lips.
Oh, if you only knew the danger you were in.
One thing about wolves.
We like to bite.
Your eyes go a little wider, you grin,
And tuck your hair behind your ear.
Daring me to.
That's okay
You say.
Do it.
And I lose control.
It's more of a tender bite.
You inhale.
That's weird.
I think.
Usually when I bite, something dies.
A soft laugh.
*But I like it

Life and Death
Love and Hate
A life lived ******
Is a live lived lonely

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'm a monster.
Tendrils of anger lash out,
Wrapping around those nearest.
They gasp for breath, choke for air,
Plead for mercy.
I close my eyes, try to ignore the begging, the screams.
But they bore into my very being.
Then everything stops.
I open my eyes.
Another daydream.
Another moment of wishing destruction.
Another moment of imagined eruption.
One more time where I wanted to let go.
I wanted to explode and wreak havoc.
I need help.
No, not help.
Mostly I need a target.
A focus point.
Something to align my sights to
So I can pull the trigger.

Too tired to sleep
And I know my dreams
Will be soaked in
Blood and sweat
And waking up
Means blaming myself
For the friends I lost
All over again

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.