You stare through her broken window, with peaceful, pondering eyes.
You realize the window is not the only broken thing, in the distance, you hear a lonely lover's cry.  You move a little closer to see where her shadowy figure lies. In one hand you see smoke, as a pair of lips go in for a ****, in the other an empty bottle. The devil has no doubt played a malevolent joke. You want to yell out "No!" as she goes to cut her wrist, but your voice is over powered by a strong, thundering hissssss. From there it gets a little crazy as you stumble and tumble, things start to get hazy. Next thing you know, you wake up in bed, "where did the girl go? It feels like I've hit my head." But as you get up and look into the mirror your face turns white, filled with fear. As you look at your red wrists and the broken bottle on the ground, you find the girl you stared at through the window, is staring right back at you now.

What is beauty?
Would you even know if it slapped you in the face,
turned around,
and backed over you?

No. You probably wouldn't.
You'd be too busy trying to dip your feet in the water of the next social trend,
You would run right by it on your way to pick up your pumpkin spiced whatcha-ma-call-it,
Do those even taste good?
As far as i'm concerned there's too much tobacco smoke in everyones lungs to know what real fresh air is like.

So take some time out of your life,
lay down in an open field with some one you love,
and just think.
think about what it is like to look down on the world from a star,
or look up at the night sky form the bottom of the ocean.

Take some time to realize that you're probably rushing through life,
and you're missing out on how truly beautiful this world is.

He was chilling.
He carried himself with a frozen solidarity,
something that Robert frost himself would be proud of.
Every candle that tried to melt the ice around him only melted any hope he had,
farther into the ground.

She was not just any candle though,
she was a blazing inferno.  
Something that cause's even the most blinded eyes to turn and stare in awe.
The gleam,
burned his stubbornness,
his fear
and his sarrow.
Now his hope and love, along with her, were the only things that stood solid.
So they burned brightly together,
Into the night,
through the morning
and above in the stars.
A beautiful blaze.

Here's to the writers,
The hopeless romantics,
The dreamers who create their stories with cuts of a knife in paper made of everyone who has ever told them they can't.
Here's to the people who said they can,
The ladies who have smudged enough of their mascara with tears, to create ink on paper.
The men who go against society and say "I love poetry."
Here's to the thinkers,
The achievers,
The good doers.
Here's to you,
May your romance be hopeful instead of hopeless,
Something I can finally say.

With a foot stuck between two trees,
thoughts fail to flow,
blood does too.

Which tree do you chop down,
to set yourself free,
or burry yourself under.

Could you just cut off the foot all together?
Killing two birds with one stone?
Surely you won't make the wrong decision,
or will you?

Let us run where the clouds call out our names,
like a wife looking for her lost soldier,

Where the sand bites at our toes,
and the sun ignites our face
letting us know we are, in fact, alive.

Alive,
not just living.

A simple mind puts one in front of the mirror,
and ignorantly see's the other.
Completely ignoring their differences.

Everyone lives,
everyone follows the lunch line,
in and out, everyday,
Mindlessly shoveling the newest trend down their throats.

You're never truly alive,
until you throw out what society gives you,
and create something for yourself.

Something new,
Something beautiful,
Something that is,
you.