when the wind falls back
dies down
the fire burns brighter
the flames sting again
but burning
is better than darkness
the inferno
is favorable over the abyss

Ever close your eyes and see where you are?
        it’s that vision again-
        the Earth spinning slowly among the stars
        and you’re that pinprick in a pinprick on the surface
        and all around the darkness is expanding out to nothing-
and you can’t help but wonder where exactly you really are?
Ever read something and feel as if you’re about to cry?
        that stab in of breath when you realize that all we have is guesswork
        that we’re sitting at the edge of exponential
        and no one knows where we’re going next?
It’s so hard to breathe when every moment you’re aware, you look to see if anyone else is choking but no one seems to care, It’s terrifying when you walk the world seeing through the smoke and mirrors, knowing how close we come to falling off the rope every time the wind stirs, It’s irreversible, It’s not pretty, It’s all beautiful, It’s euphoria and dysphoria all at once and you just
Hope
That all of these evers will somehow let you leave the world better
When you become an ever too.

When someone dies,
there will always be that ONE person who tells you,
"get over it"
as if the world hadn't stopped as soon as they left.
But what they don't know is the gaping hole in my heart.
The huge absence that was once always there.
Mourning is not just a word,
it's a practice.
Each time, we get a little better.
But tears still end up winding their way down our cheeks.
Each time, it brings a pain not felt last time.
Each time, bringing regrets and taunts because there was just something we did or didn't do.
But if you truly have the audacity  to tell me to get over it,
well,
let me tell you that the person I mourn for,
will not be coming back any time soon.
And when you open your mouth to speak,
you open your heart for all attacks aimed right towards you.
I will not stop crying so you can stop hearing me.
No.
Because my tears are life,
and they bloom to show that I am a human.
You cannot define me by something,
if you have felt it for yourself.
Who can say,
they've never lost a thing?
Because I can count one.
You lost respect
from ME

When I was thirteen
I had guilty secrets
Greasy hair and ***** mind
Pockets were always full
With pen-knives and matches
And pictures of **** women
And it was so good to be in long trousers!

Everything was halfway
Between the man and the boy
The devil and the angel
And I could not laugh at myself
For looks were so important
And the girls might see
They could make me blush
As I try to look so cool

My voice had broken
But my body was still growing
Nothing had been settled
And the things I took for granted
Were to change radically
But when I was thirteen
It was important to smoke
And not go out with my parents
Not to wear school uniform
And always have my jacket open
And never laugh too loud
In case I was the joke

                                    B y Phil Roberts

For me
Happiness is synonymous with chocolate
For me
Melted is synonymous with chaos
For me
Tragedy is synonymous with melted happiness.

To open a bar of chocolate
Only to realize what you have
Is the stain of a thousand crushed dreams and hope.

What is the point of living when even the chocolate I wish to consume can't even maintain its perfect shape?

What hope do we have at finding a perfect human when we can't even have a perfect creation of a simplistic sweetness?