A game is just a game
Many have said this, and I am one to blame
But for the gamer at heart, it means so much more
The ability to escape the reality from before
Going on an adventure or quest
Or battling over which strategy is best
Fighting by fellow gamers against an impossible foe
Being able to destroy or create wherever you go
Surviving an endless horde of undead
But this doesn't stop the lie that is said
For a game is not just a game
And if you saw one through my eyes, you would say the same

I need to heal...
But you keep on ripping my stitches
It's kind of suspicious
That flesh and bone can be this resilient
You're one in a million
But I can't help but believe that you're guilty
Of trying to **** me

Why do you ****** my feelings?

I swallow pills...
So I can continue my mission
To tune out all the *******
And self-obsession, it's sickening
I'm ripping holes in your memory, turning ashes to sigils
I can't believe that you think
That I'd take all of this sitting

I promise you, this time

There will be blood on the ceiling!
And on the walls
All down the halls
And up in the Attic
Chop you up into tiny pieces
And hand feed them to maggots

"I want to be a poet. That's the only thing I really want.
I want to find my own way of writing, my own style.
I know I haven't yet, but I am striving to do so.
How should I put it? It's very hard to explain.

I want to write in a way that they writing is me- is myself.  I want to write so that what I write and the way I write is me, because of the choice of words and the arrangement of the words, the way I combine them, group them together, orchestrate them. For me words are music as well as- as much as- they are meanings.
Writing is different from talk."

-Cordelia
This is All
Aidan Chambers

Her eyes had cast down,
burning into the tiles below,
I didn't know white linolium flecked with black spots could be so interesting.

But to her they were.

To her it was more important,
to prove how much I meant,
by showing interest in a
dirt smudged walkway,
over sharing a passing glance at me.

I bear witness to people searching for homes at the end of whiskey bottles and in the beds of someone unknown. Which causes me to wonder:

Where is home?

I can pinpoint
the exact moment
you cross my mind--
(I mean,
besides all the time.)
That moment I think of the way your mouth presses against my skin,
l involuntarily bite my lip,
remembering the way you kiss.
Enraptured and tangled,
like the secrets of the universe,
the meaning of life,
the cure for cancer,
would be found on your tongue.
It would take every single fiber of my being to will myself away from your embrace.
I still feel the weight on my chest,
as I breathe heavy,
and e x h a l e.

So now,
I think of you,
and bite my lip.