I wish I could write a happy poem because it seems there’s not enough to go around.

I wish that I could paint a visual picture but my prowess does not afford it.

Wishing I could make you guys smile, they way some of you do to me.

But my forte is the dark shroud of unhappiness I find my calling in it.

My favorite artist once said he couldn’t write a song when he was happy.

Let’s just stick with that.

Sometimes I sit in silence.
I stare at my reflection and ask where the time went.

Sometimes I look different.
Like I’ve really realized how it’s all been spent.

Sometimes I sit in silence,
but no amount of serene atmosphere could calm this mind.

Sometimes I feel different though,
I told my self I’d give up forever ago.

But I guess I don’t have forever, so I’m glad that I didn’t.

I want you to like me, I do.
Just please don't talk to me,
I won't know what to say.

I want you to like me, I truly do.
But you're starting to make me uneasy.
I would much rather be home.  

I don't like you, I don't.
And uh, it's not exactly your fault.
I really just don't like people, which is why I never answer calls.

I wanted you to like me, I truly did.
Now though, I think I'm fine on my own.

I'm fast approaching death, but not telling anyone.
So I have intentions to leave a note on my front porch for my family.  
It was probably more for me,
so I know you'd have some peace of mind
and you don't go looking for me in the winter time.
Cause I loved when it was coldest and I had this place I went when I felt like I needed to get away right outside of the middle school near my best friends house.
I'm fast approaching death and you're not helping anymore.
Your smiles aren't  as sincere and my lack of motivation's made it clear that I don't need to be so "here".

Dear Beautiful,

I know sometimes you can't take it.
My lack of motivation to get a good nights rest.

I really only stay awake to see the rising sun hitting your face.
To watch your body.
I'd like to examine your freckles, where each mole on your body lies.

I'd like to etch out your beauty like mountains on a map.
I almost wish I was a painter.
What I really love is to watch you breath, sometimes I turn off our peddastle fan just to hear a little better.  

Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.

Somehow you always find the will, even in your slumber, to catch my hands like roaming butterflies and hold them.

I only want to bask in the moment.
That's why I'm always last to bed.
I only want to make sure your image is imprinted in my brain.

Like stained glass.
A portrait in oranges and yellows
Browns and blacks.
Reds and blues.
I want you to know you'll look this beautiful forever.

Dear Beautiful,

I know sometimes I must really be annoying but,
I'm only trying to breath you in.

Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.