the title says it all

it describes who i am

i had my hand on the trigger and i couldn't pull it

symbolically speaking that is

you were there..

i was there..

timing couldnt have been more perfect

but in between all of that i had to think and ask my self..

am i worth it?

..because i knew that you were and are

and will always be

but i still have no idea what you think of me

a friend?

or just Crystian?

Crystian is who i really am..

but im also really your friend..

but i really want to be so much more..

but you'll never know

because im simply pathetic

and when im old i'll look back and regret it

not this feeling

but the fact that i cant confess it

Why are we scared of the dark
The dark holds many mysteries
From the dark deeps of the ocean
To caves
The dark hides many incredible things
It is the unknown we are afraid of
The dark just is the one thing that hides the unknown
So I challenge you
Go outside at night turn off all your lights
And look up
The view from the dark side will take your breath away
I guarantee it

Waxing and waning like the phases of the moon
are my emotions for you
Back and forth like the ocean on the warm sand
Crazy is how you drive me
but the cycle goes on
Gravitational pull on my heart
refuses to relieve me

Bottle of life
Blurred vision to sight
Nevermore

I had a cat named Snowball.

        She died, she died.

Mom said she was sleeping.

       She lied, she lied.

Why oh why is my cat dead?

      Couldn’t that Chrysler have hit me instead?

You sit in front of your laptop,
your imagination lacking
You reach for a cup of coffee,
and take a sip.

Maybe you can write about love?
Nope, you have none
About family?
What about it?

You look at the clock.
9:30 it reads
Oh well, you say
It's still early

You browse through facebook,
blog at tumblr.
You chat at y!m,
rant at twitter.

11:00
Nothing.
You stare at your laptop,
open your MS Word

11:30
Your eyes are closing
But you look at your laptop
Blank.

Maybe you can write about friendship?
Or the lack of it.
Maybe you can write about stress?
Yes. Perfect.

So you type. And type.
And you finish a ****** work.
You think of a title, and smile.
“Creative Writing”