I constantly try to control
what I say,
how I say it,
who I may hurt or embarrass
with my words.

But ****
it seems the more I try,
the worse I sound,
I speak words of total *******
I write poems filled entirely with *******

I worry so so much
about my voice,
that I forget what it feels like to just  
speak -
so d'you know what, tonight,
***** it

I find myself,
in a pit of total denial;
'I do not need anyone,'
I tell myself this each day
and this is
the first lie.

'You must wait'
As though this will provide me with some comfort,
as though this will ease the ebbing in my heart and
render me cold no longer -
this is
the second lie.

'Strength is  found through resilience',
I apply this to feelings of anything,
Banish any thought of anything other than the
emptiness I deserve to endure
and this is
the final lie.

make it stop, please,
for I am running out of time,
I am losing all abilities,
to control my petty mind.

shut it down, I ask,
with total earnest,
for I am disillusioned,
by the extent of the wreckage,
within myself.

end it all, I pray
to anyone who will listen,
for I am not sure who is even there.
    and thats the point, I implore
    I am not sure,
   who is there and who is not,
   what is real and what is misguided fiction,
   who I am and who I want,
   to be.

make it stop, please
for I am running out of time,
I am losing all abilities,
to control my petty mind.

I was struggling,
to feel
inspired - for so long
I was unable to form words;
coherent sentences

Then,
suddenly,
I became over-whelmed with incessant emotions
of albeit incoherent ramblings

The cause,
why of course -
it can only be
attraction
I'm too afraid to call it love

Torn, conflicted
Split in two

One half,
Awed by talent,
Impressed with skill,
Dismayed through maturity,
clouding my judgement

The other,
Transfixed,
Lingering emotions,
Pangs of jealousy surging,
with the signs of his distaste
He is the first,
the only one of any worth

I started off unable to write -
with a lack of inspiration
Now I am content with my inspiration
of emotional turmoil

And in the beginning,
there was hope,
there was innocence,
there was fearlessness,
Uncontrollable naivety of youth

And then - as the path of life twists in a labyrinth of mystery;
there was the fear of the unknown,
there was the loss of others once deemed vital,
there was the darkness cast into the sunlight -
The weathering of life had begun

And in the end,
there was sorrow and regret,
of actions not taken,
of words unsaid.

And there was pain,
For in the wake of destruction,
There was a replacement of hope with anguish,
of innocence with weariness,
of fearlessness with danger,
Uncontrollable transformation: as from caterpillar to butterfly.

Everything seems to happen
to everyone else;
relationships form and
break apart,
dreams are achieved and
shattered also -

yet, I am left,
overlooked,
cast aside -
the spectator.

I can never understand,
they think,
she's not be trusted,
they envisage,
just leave her to the side, she'll interject if she wants to
and I never do, not anymore.

because,
I am nothing
I am merely a reflection for everybody else
to glance at once
in a while.

I used to seek answers,
to unsaid questions,
to incessant ponderings,
of the world in which we live in.

I used to fill the world with my voice,
never stopping,
hesitating,
for my greatest fear
was something far bigger than heights;
it was the silence.

The illusion was unmasked,
and at once,
I understood
why those questions were left
unanswered.

And now,
I find myself basking in the silence,
breathing it in,
trapping the words inside;
leaving them to roam within the confines
of my intricate road map.

The silence assures me,
that underneath the tangle of human complication,
of man-made solidarity,
the world is still a simple
silent
place.

There was once,
a friendship bound in four,
entwined with trust,
fueled with love,
compiled with ceaseless chatter.

  Once broken,
Each bond shattered
beyond the point of rectification,
There could be no going back.

             And yet, at one point
                    or another,
                          they each pined
                                     for their remnants of youth.

Reunited only once,
A friendship loosely tied,
Stilted -
Ceaseless silences,
Entangled in doubt;
tainted with judgment,
Refracting the similarities of a friendship,
once bound in four.

Disappointment
Is something that I have
become accustomed to,
daily life generally is.

Though, there is one thing that I
cannot accept,
cannot fathom,
cannot comprehend.

How is it that I,
portray images,
of people how I want them to be,
build them up in
frantic fantasy;
only for reality to shatter
each fragile fragment.

Disappointment
is something that I have
become accustomed to,
because I am it's greatest creator.

I honestly do not
know, how to feel;
how to think,
how to see clearly:

because, it was unfair
and unjust,
incomprehensible -

and worse still,
there is nothing I can do,
to prevent the pain from
inflicting everyone else.

There was once a girl,
And she was loved by all,
and she was beautiful,
and she was young. 

There was once a girl, 
And she was innocent, pure, 
and she was honest, 
and she laid bare all. 

There was once a girl, 
And she was beautiful,
and she was unaware, 
and she was filled,
plagued with insecurity. 

There was once a girl,
And she was pensive,
and she was overlooked,
and she was numb, 
she was broken,
yet she was still young. 

There was once a girl,
who lived a life of battle,
who drank for the pain,
who swallowed for the suffering,
who jumped for the isolation,
So that she wasn't a girl anymore.

There are so many things happening around me,
People are living their lives accordingly,
And they seem to not struggle,
Or falter.

Children are born;
Perfect,
Flawless,
Well at least that's what they say.

One thing that cannot be denied,  
is a child's innocence.
There is no child that is born tainted,
By the circumstances of life;

A child is pure,
And they shall remain so,
Until life poisons them,  
In a unique way.

Thus, remember this:
Silencing innocence
Only magnifies,
intensifies,
the evils of this world
and the poisons within us all.

There's so many people,
Talking,
Communicating but never sharing;
No, never revealing,
Their true self
Because everyone's ashamed:
Of who they are,
what they believe in,
where they're from,
where they're going

So that's why,
I sit and watch sometimes;
Silent
Because its quaint really,
To see everyone pretend,
and occasionally,
watch the masks peel away

Quiet,
Everything's so silent,
Eerily so 
Silence creates 
Mystery,creates fear;

Alone, 
Isolated by my being, 
My persona shatters,
I am not who you thought
I am much, much worse

Derived from insanity, 
Carved in imperfection,
Encased in pessimism,
Warped with confusion, 
I am done.

Take my hand
Let's get away from here;
Let us escape the intensity,
That is reality.
Let us wander:
Into the realms of imagination,
The spectacles of fantasy,
Stopping not once.
To reach the light, we must travel through the dark
Past the broken hearts
Past the sorrowed days
The dark is immense.
Past the antecedent
We walk through the perils of life
Of love, if it exists,
This is an uncertain time.

At last, the light approaches,
We reach the area of escapism,
But alas it's tampered
With the remnants of solace.