I've stopped fearing death
long ago.
However, that is not to say
I quite adore life.

No, I've died many times.
You've broke my heart,
suffocated me,
and stabbed me.

And when it's all over,
you'll resurrect me once more
by whispering your quiet
reassurances.

Isn't this basically enough?
Even being average's pretty tough.
Even if greater existed, at the end of the day,
wouldn't have the courage to try for it either way.

Never wanted to be perfect,
maybe I never had that option, in retrospect.
Anyhow, I just want to live for the "now",
and no one will be able to tell me how.

Existence's puzzle paints a scenery
describing happiness,
knowing delight,
describing sadness,
feeling plight.

Every piece is in place
to portray such a full, diverse life.
But as I hold my own,
I begin to realize it has no place,
and can only exist outside.

It's something
you can't just laugh away.
Unease engulfs me
and I can't face the day.

I lay awake,
late hours of the night.
Knowing I've, once again,
done wrong,
how can I make things right?

And again
I made the mistake
of holding you.

Smokescreens of
unattainable luxury
dissipate.

Like tears you can't wipe away,
my feelings
were here to stay.

It's disappearing
and rotting
and the world will stop again.

In a tale like this
my happiness
is unheard of.

"See you then, okay?"
Please don't go away.

"I really had fun."
You were never just "anyone".

"Things will be the same, see?"
I didn't want to be...

There's a
hole in my chest.
Looking into it leaves me
with unwavering fear
and unrest.

It doesn't go right through,
and I can do naught but lament
the fact that inside
there's only a whirlwind
of torment.

Fueled by the
fragility of my brain,
it tears me apart,
leaving me
barely sane.

It's got nothing to do with logic
or emotions.
As I am now,
I need to become someone else.

If I could take on
the personality of another,
I'll never have to feel
inadequate again.

Tomorrow
I will still be the same
as always.

Laughing and
trying to joke with you.

I always knew
the things we feel
are different.

But since you
showed up in that dream of mine.

I haven't been
honest with you
at all.

I know it's okay
if you don't need me,
but I always wanted to try
and help if need be.

It's hard for me to do it
without making mistakes
and I wish I could hear you say
"it's okay".

You might never know
how I feel,
but it's better this way.
I'll keep doing my
best
every day.

So, I know you don't need it,
I just don't want you to feel alone.
Even if I'm only me,
I can at least say
you're not on your own.

You might not ever see this,
and I don't mind,
But if you do,
please just know
I only want you to be fine.

I want to
give you a reason to
look my way.
I want to do
something,
anything,
and yet I have nothing
to say.

Surrounded by
so many people,
I've nothing special for you.
And even though I'm here,
I'll never be special
no matter what I do.

Everyone is always
hanging out all the time.
Everyone's always smiling,
and my envy's a crime.
Finally, I realize that I'm letting
slip by
the things that once
were mine.

Everyone is always
hanging out all the time.
Everyone's always smiling
as I watch from behind.
My inferiority
leaves scars on mind.
One day, I want your laughter
to finally complement
mine.

Everyone is always
hanging out all the time.
Please,
can your time
be mine?

Every day,
is the same.
The sun rises,
and again I'll face
the onslaught of pain.

Caught in a rut
of endless unhappiness,
it seems again
I'm stuck.

If every day is the same,
rife with suffering and woes,
a person like me will never truly have
a "tomorrow".

At times like this,
drowned in misery
and suffocated by the night,
I wish I could hear you say
"It's alright."

To ask you to recite it,
I couldn't bear.
Yet still,
I yearn to hear.

Deathly afraid to be troublesome,
I stay silent,
while the pain in my chest
grows violent.

I could never
be someone I'm not,
and everything I do
is for naught.

I can't be
someone I'm not.
Knowing my futility
is leaving me distraught.

For you to notice me
is what I want, it seems.
But I could never say so,
and it will remain
a dream.

I can feel it,
I'm running out of time.
Someone will come 'round
and never again
will I cross your mind.

I love to listen,
even if my company
can't substitute
what you're missing.

I can't help anyone
in real ways.
And soon enough
with me, you'll be done.

I love to listen,
but now it's strange, see?
Why is what I'm hearing
starting to sound a bit like me?

Am I really
content with this?
The things I would do,
to be anyone else.
Anywhere else.
At any other time.

The things to change
are countless
and innumerable,
but it could all be fixed
if what changed
was the direction of your gaze.

If I could change
the direction you look,
to be seen by you,
maybe then I'd find it in me
to change myself.

At somewhere past 3
in the morning,
my feelings trickle.

Down my face
and down
my arms.

I stretch towards
what I believe to be
the sky,
past this gray ceiling.

And yet these hands of mine
will never find
a single thing to hold
and call "mine".

"There's no point",
is the favorite phrase of
an indifferent loser
such as I.

Hideous negativities flow in harmony,
with the stream that stings my eyes.
Putting on a show of apathy
and pretending love is a misfortune,
my true feelings will scrape
at my conscience.

Stowed away are the words
that bear years' worth of sentiment.
"Could you
love someone like me?"

Happy friends are always
a pleasant sight to see,
but how quickly that sight sours
when I realize they'll still be happy
without me.

I'll be thrown away.
You don't
really need me
anyways.
It's nothing, right?
I'm out of sight.
I'm nothing,
right?

I'm translucent,
as if I were an apparition.
I had always thought
you were looking through me.
I see now,
that you were looking past me instead.

It's not poetry.
Everything I write is a maddening
thought spewed, almost saddening
to watch. And I claw
at my brain to get it out, and gnaw
on the nails I bite between shouts.

Poetry is beautiful
yet my words are ugly,
to call it righteous
would be untruthful.

My pain's no good
it's a non-art with no use.
It's not art to me,
but what does it mean to you?

Take a deep breath.
Count to ten.
The only way.
In a second I'll feel
the chill of a blade
creeping down my skin again.

In the darkest nights,
lurking in the alleyways
or under a dim street light.

Monsters lurk everywhere.
Heed caution when you roam,
as the most dangerous ones
are likely in your own home.

So tasteless and unrefined.
I can feel every word,
but not one ounce of love,
can I find.

In a world,
where I could go anywhere I wanted,
how long would it be
until I didn't want to go anywhere at all?

In a world,
where I didn't have to be an outcast,
would I be able to accept
the kindness in the first place?

In a world,
where everyone listened,
would I be able to think
of the right words?

In a world,
where my self-made scars didn't have to be hidden,
I wonder,
would I have any in the first place?

In this world,
the world of reality,
life is harsh
and filled with struggles.

In this world,
I'll leave this message.
If I were to die now,
may my words never fade.

Good things come to people who deserve them,
and good people deserve happiness.
I wonder
if I'll have to wait for long,
or if it was never meant for me
at all.

Seeing your smile is free,
but it's worth a lot.
I can't put a price on your laughter
but it's priceless to me.

Is it wrong to grieve unhappiness
in the same way it's wrong to boast achievements?
I want to live, but I'm told to die.
I want to die, but I'm told to live.
Is disappearing an option?

I wanted to help,
I really wanted that.
But I guess you only saw me fit
as a doormat.

This is really unfair.
You're blessed with a pretty face,
and yet I can't even see my reflection
without being revolted.

Time lost,
My fault.
I'm useless
by default.

Slacked off,
did nothing.
Feel tears,
they're coming.

Can't cry,
not fair.
These problems
are my fault
and mine to bear.

Life goes on.
But at this point,
it's going to have to
go on without me.

I'm in pain.
My head pounds terribly,
my legs shake uncontrollably,
and there's a gaping hole
in my chest.

But I can laugh,
although my eyes are saturated
with tears that sting.


I can finally laugh,
because giving up
on everything like this
will set me free.
Right?

Again, just like every year
summer shows itself.
A relief to many,
but fills myself with dread.

The warm summer breeze,
doesn't blow in cozy feelings.
Instead, it sends disgusting,
frightening,
"emotions"
that send chills,
not fit for the season,
crawling up my spine.

I can't lose a chance
you never gave me in the
first place.

I'm sorry
for all those times I was a pain.
All I did was annoy you
and for that I'm ashamed.

And I'm sorry again,
for the times you wanted me to go away.
I really should have,
but selfishly I tried to stay.

And I'm really sorry,
for still being here.
But today,
I definitely plan
to disappear.

I've always tried to help,
but when I'm in need,
your help was always
needed elsewhere.

I could be gone,
just like that.
Everything about me
vanishing forever.
But there wouldn't be much to miss,
right?

Please don't try to
spare me.
Your sweet smile
and kind attitude
is hurting me more than you think.

I don't want
kindness anymore...
Because your sweetness
has put honesty
on hold.

I'm not afraid of things like
pain,
and getting hurt,
and being forgotten.

Because those are things
I can understand.
But this love that won't quit
terrifies me more than anything.
It makes me want to run away.

My heart's practically
beating out of my chest
whenever I'm around you.

I'm not flustered,
I'm scared.
My heart pounds terribly,
so please,
stay away.

I'm not a great writer,
not a deep thinker,
not even thought-provoking.
I'm just some kid,
some kid who's hurting.
My writing could never
meet your expectations.

"You're ugly."
"And mean.
"You have acne."
"And bad grades."

I'm not your punching bag.
We all have flaws
and I've never bullied you for yours,
so won't you leave mine alone?

"It's what's on the inside that matters!"
If that's the case,
you'd probably hate me much more
than you did for my looks.

Death
is taking
a lifetime.

Finding different emotions
to feel every day
is such a pain.
I'll just reuse the same
"happy face" as yesterday.

I'll throw it all away.
These useless emotions
and feelings.
I don't need anything
of authenticity.
This cheap plastic smile will do.

I'm glad my problems
are a joke to you.
But I'm not so lucky
to be able to laugh them off too.

The sharp sting you feel
when you see me hurt
is nothing compared
to the stabbing I feel
when I'm getting hurt.