You know,
I find myself saying
"I'm sorry"
quite a lot.

Back then
apologies were beat out of me,
so now they just bleed out
from the scars
on their own.

Death
is taking
a lifetime.

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.

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.

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.

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

I don't like mirrors.
No matter how much I stare
into my own eyes.
I can never see what you see.

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?

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?

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.

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.

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

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.

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'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.

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

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.

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...

If I showed you
the true feelings
you've always begged me to share,
the hate,
and anger,
and frustration,
and sadness.
Would you still be here,
begging me to talk?
Or would you be begging me to stop?

"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.

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

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.

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?

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.

Anyone can laugh off your problems.
But it takes someone special
to get you to laugh away your problems
as well.

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

My brain and my heart,
just can't agree with each other.
Trying to get them to play nice
has my thoughts and emotions
in the gutter.

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.

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".

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.

I've only lived in pain
so I can die in peace.

You confuse me.
I know you'll never like me
but I can't stop the enjoyment I feel
when I say
I love you.

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

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.

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

I know you're wondering,
If anyone's listening.
I know, the thought of being unheard
is sickening.

But keep writing.
Keep singing.
Keep talking.

I hear you.
We hear you.

For you,
the person I've adored.
From me,
the one you've probably abhorred.

I want to apologize.
I'm sorry for liking you.
You would never like me like that,
and I knew that too.

So I'm sorry,
for the late nights
and the early mornings.
Things could have gone different,
I thought they might.

Simply put,
I thought the idea of "us" was great.
But somewhere in me,
I knew you couldn't relate.

So I'll write this,
for You.
To the one who will never see this.
But the one I most want to, too.

So this,
is from Me.
My endearment was true.
And you know,
I think I'll keep falling for you too.
From Me,
For You.

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

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

If my feelings would show
their ugly faces right now,
I wouldn't be able to fight back,
would I?

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

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?

It comes out of the dark spaces.
Living in my closet,
behind the door,
under the bed.

It creeps up on me,
when I'm least expecting it.
Sending me
chills.

And for some reason,
it can tell
when you're not around
to help.

I'm sure
things will come to an end one day.
Whether by my hand
or God's.
But until that day comes
I'd like to stay with you.

We met
and played a game.
I was bad at it,
for that I'm sorry.

We met
and had coffee.
I got your order wrong,
for that I'm sorry.

We met
and talked about that book.
I didn't like it,
for that I'm sorry.

We met
and then we didn't.
You, now,
no longer want to meet with 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?

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

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.

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.