People wonder why I don't talk or why I don't sleep.
The reason is because you're not here with me.
You were my heart,
You were my life.
My rock,
My anchor,
My angel.

I know I let you down
I know I wasn't there,
But it's because I didn't want to see,
I didn't want to believe...

I didn't want to see my world slipping away from me.
I didn't want to see you so weak,
I didn't want to see how I abandoned you...

I lived in denial,
I lived in fear,
But deep down I knew I'd wake up one day,
And you wouldn't be here.
I'll never forgive myself and I'll never forget,
But please come back to me...

I saw you with her today,
In your hands, you held both of our hearts.
Hers. Mine.
Her face held the brightest smile,
One that's been missing for quite a while.
So I ducked my head and let it go.
Gave up my love for someone else to hold...
After all, you were rightfully hers,
I really had no claim.
Just know that you took a part of me,
And while it's missing, I just won't be the same.

I hope you make her happy,
I hope you make her laugh,
Because if I ever see tears darken her eyes again,
I'm coming after you with a bat.

They say it's a pretty day,
But all I see is grey.
They ooh and ahh over all the colors,
But each one looks the same as the other.
They notice every single change,
But to me it looks all the same.

Their optimistic, holistic views,
Giving way to a heart that doesn't know.
The pain of losing and grieving;
They'll never know...

They tell me they've seen it all,
But in reality, they break every time they fall.
I fall, but I only chip,
I can't afford to break apart,
I have to tighten my grip.

Tighten my grip on the ones I love,
Pulling them closer in,
Trying to find a reason to live.
Anchoring myself to this world.
Standing firm for them.
For if I fall apart, so do they....

The Hand of Death grips me,
It's icy hold,
Peaceful, sweet.

The sweet voice,
Beckoning me,
Cajoling me,
The Hand of Death pulls me into the light.

The clinging grasps,
The searching fingers,
They pull me back,
Establishing an everlasting game of tug-of-war.
They don't understand,
They need to let me go.
It's for the best.

I'm straining for peace,
Straining for love,
But staying for them.
Why?
I honestly don't know..

Keep your eyes open,
This is your warning.
Close them, and lose yourself.

You're surrounded by monsters,
Lurking in the shadows,
Watching and waiting.
Though I know your body's weary,
And all you want is to give in,
I'm telling you,
Keep your eyes open.

They're sitting there,
Just waiting for you to fail.
Waiting for you to fall.
If you slow,
If you sleep,
They'll catch you.
Keep your eyes open.

Run,
Hide,
Don't close your eyes.

Ashlei Cottom
Sweetheart, fine art is not about pride. It's about FINDING pride. It's about creating something and taking pride in the fact that you did. When I read your poetry, all I hear is "Me, me, me, I'm the best." That's not what poetry is... Poetry is not self praise. Poetry is taking the most hurtful, joyful, mixed, complicated emotions that you have and putting them into words that make everyone understand. You may tell write back and tell me everything that is wrong with my poetry, but I will not care. Why? Because I know that I have successfully been able to express myself in ways that other people can relate to and enjoy. Ways that they may not have been able to express the same feelings. I have confidence in your ability to realize your mistakes and fix them. I look forward to seeing these changes. So please, take this to heart and write. :)
Loghain Carvó
How laughable that one of my lessors attempts to give I art recommendations.

Ashlei Cottom
It's not so much your art I'm trying to change, but your character. It's your character that is reflected in your art.

Ashlei Cottom  
And if I could ask, why do you assume I am your lessor?
Loghain Carvó  
I am not assuming, you already have shown that you are a lessor human through your words.

Ashlei Cottom  
By encouraging you to keep doing what you love and bettering your character? Sir, I'm sorry, but if that is your opinion, I don't think it is I who is the lessor human...
Loghain Carvó
That is not what makes you my lessor, You are my lessor simply because you lack the artistic vision to fully appreciate the magnitude of my grand works. Please refrain from responding to this message as I wish to waste no more of my precious breath on peasants.

Ashlei Cottom
And how is it that I am a lessor human if all I do is try and help? Some people cut down and criticize and make others feel like mere mud on other's shoes. I am not one of those. I try to see the good in everyone. I think you have great talent, but I wish you would use that and dig deeper. I can tell you right now, with an unbiased opinion, that you unfortunately come across as narcissistic, selfish and and as you so eloquently put it, a "lessor human."

Blow out the candles Birthday Girl,
Try for a moment to forget this cruel world.
Try not to hate that you were born.

Just for a moment,
Let it all slip away.
Don't think about those scars on your arm,
Nor the cuts on your wrist.
Don't think that you're the person no one will miss.
Just blow out the candles Birthday Girl.

Ignore all the problems,
Ignore all the hurting.
Ignore the hole in the wall,
Ignore the shattered glass in the hall,
And ignore the shouts and slamming doors.
Just blow out your candles Birthday Girl.

Close your eyes,
Take a deep breath,
Let it out slow,
And open.
Though you may celebrate by yourself,
Just blow out your candles.