Maybe Max was just a figment of imagination that the Wild Things used to display themselves into something greater than themselves, a king, a different species than them. Maybe we are all Wild Things, and maybe each day a new one of us is king. We are all ******* crazy but have a desire for life in different ways than anyone else aside from us that I know. Maybe we all just want to be loved, all in different ways and different beliefs but also the same. Maybe the combination of all of our personalities and features, all of our art and all of our emotion makes a king. Maybe Max was the combination of all of the Wild Things as a human. I think that we are a unit, we have the strangest form of unity. It is not a conventional unity, it's a slight dependence, with a mixture of independence. We crave so much from the world and lose touch of ourselves far too often. The pores in our skin have been soaking up the sorrows of the world and those around us and I'm just waiting for the day that all of our pores turn into holes and the mass of light within us explodes through.

Your reality is what ever you feed your mind.

Your soul is what you collect along the way.

Rash decisions
made a monster of you
now
standing consumed
by regret
in ruins of the things
you
turned your back on
when deciding
what you thought was best
and realizing
too late that
getting what you wanted
wasn't what it
was supposed to be
now
left alone to
pick up the pieces
you didn't appreciate
what you had
sadly, they rarely do

I somehow forget how to write with a simple pen or pencil to express my feelings delight

I sometimes realize I'm not really a poetic rhythm to ring the ears of the people while being under hypno-tizum.

I see how people use their imaginations and creativity to create the fondest stories in history.

I can relate to the angry/hapiness/sadness that i read that sometimes makes my wrists bleed purposely.

Either way poem/poems are one of a kind  that people cannot duplicate unless we have similar minds.

                            sealed with a kiss
                                          Xoxoxo

I couldn't name the emptiness I felt
or identify exactly why the emotion
or lack thereof
was rearing its head into the cave of my chest
and making its presence known
but it was

I could no longer ignore the deafening volume of the world
and its constant reminders of my evolution into reclusion
from my father

I missed him in the deepest parts of my soul;
parts I was convinced were no longer capable
of feeling anything close to something this dangerous

missing you meant I had openly admitted defeat
in our lifelong war of silence
and surrendered to the weakness associated
with simply being human
unfortunately,
waving the white flag
just wasn't a risk either of us
were willing to take
for the sake of one another

the weight of it all was entirely too much to bear the night
I drove past the old video store we frequented
in my childhood
only to see it now,
after being abandoned for ten years,
reduced to rubble and ash
against the barren earth
where some of my fondest memories
were first formed

something unnamable was born in a part of my stomach
I hadn't previously known existed
as I realized with distinct distaste
that the world would continue to find new ways
to remind me
of the pain I thoughtlessly inflicted
upon you

*(I'm sorry, and I wish you knew.)

There's no hope in a mountain of regret
         Yet,
             we keep on climbing
    And piling it higher
                and higher
     Hoping to reach the top
                Knowing all we'll see
    Is the smoke floating
           from bridges we've burned
     And a  t r  a   i   l
                  of mistakes
   Leading to the lessons
             we thought we learned
     But regret has a funny way of sneaking up on you
            Thinking you're in the clear
     Making a run for it
Then smashing right into
       that MOUNTAIN you built out of fear
    Looking back is easier than looking ahead
           Cause there's nothing left to fear
            If you're *already dead...