My thoughts are contaminated with an unknown radiation
and the blood in my veins feels as if it has have been replaced
by toxic sludge.

There are ink stains on the bedding where my body rested
from the times were my quarantined mind was deprived of slumber, for further testing.

The moon danced with the stars all her nights until she met the sun. In transfixed passion, they began to dance together until one day, the moon tripped and fell and the sun didn't catch her in time. Now, they barely speak due to distance, but she always catches glimpses of him.
"I still love him," she tells the stars.
"I wonder if he still loves me, too."
-s.r.b.

You could illuminate as bright as the North Star
but you're settling for a shine as insignificant as
a street light in a crowded city.

He turned away from you while you were on the ground
with bruises on your face lying with a puddle of blood next
to your cheek on the floor. With plead in your eyes, you glanced
his way because you thought this was love and you wanted more.

Every cut on my paper heart
bled crimson love for the boy
with scissor hands.

Like a blazing fire to a city of 10 million,
there will be no end to the destruction.

Up in flames it will all go and down will ashes,
cascading to the ground like a snowfall of innocence no longer.

My hands are warm and I know it’s that same restless fire burning in me; a fire I know no monsoon could ever contain.

There’s power that surges inside- I am aware of it’s presence
because I feel the indescribable desire to wreak havoc tingling in my veins.

I don’t want to char the world for I know those scars won’t heal, but without something that lasts how will they remember me when

even the brightest flames die out?