To me, it is both
a blessing and a curse
to fall for a writer.

If they love you,
they'll paint the prettiest words for you.
But if they don't,
they'll slash your insides with words too.

To me, it is both
beautiful and terrifying.
I'll keep reading them anyway.

-m.b

Can I borrow a feeling?
I'll take whatever you can give.
I've had a real hard time dealing,
with the way that we're supposed to live.
Can I borrow a feeling?
It doesn't even have to be good,
I'd tie a rope to the ceiling
if I wasn't so sure I'd break the wood.

Can I borrow a feeling?
I'll be thankful for what you lend.
This world has stopped being appealing,
'cause while we stand, our knees tend to bend.
Can I borrow a feeling?
I can promise to put it to use,
and it's not in my nature for stealing,
I'll pay you back, this is no ruse.

I don't want to be a blank page,
displayed on centre stage.
I don't want to be a blank page,
I'm too young to feel this age.

Can I borrow a feeling?
I so badly wish to emote,
I've heard that it can be healing,
and free the hands from my throat.
Can I borrow a feeling?
I'm now really begging here,
and it's so **** revealing,
that my desperation is so clear.

I don't want to be a blank page,
displayed in my skeletal cage.
I don't want to be a blank page,
I'm too young to feel this age.

Can I borrow a feeling?
I'll be thankful for what you lend.
This life has truly sent me reeling,
and I finally feel at my wit's end.

I hope that when you sleep tonight
your chest will hurt a little less,
your tears won't reach the pillow
and hope will bloom in your heart.

Honey, after everything you've gone through,
you deserve to have a good night's rest.
Minimize the volume of that sadness
and heal yourself. You deserve better than this.

I know your heart went through war
with emotions. That you feel things deeply
and I love that about you. But tonight,
I want you to make peace with yourself.

-m.b

She was my kind of hopeless
Eyes tired...
No, eyes exhausted
Far past the help of coffee
Exhausted from a world bitter and cold
Exhausted from the place she's forced to call home
I don't think her hair had seen a brush in a while
It was professionally done by a pillow
A pillow with years of experience
Still, when she looked my way, I couldn't help but look away
Wish I didn't
Cause she was my kind of hopeless.

I used to think it was just an expression;
                          a fancy way to say really, really, really, tired.

It's a little bit more than that.

It's
                                                 ­       exhaustion.
It's
                                      defeat             and             despair.
It's
                                             ­         hopelessness.


it's putting everything you have into something, and not making a dent,
it's believing in someone when they don't even try to have faith in you,
it's feeling so tired and knowing you won't be able to fall asleep,
it's seeing the inevitable and accepting defeat,
and not even trying to resist fate because it's sad but there's no point.


that
     is what it feels like, when weariness seeps deep into your bones.

You think you've
got it
Oh, so hard now
(And tears are streaming down your face and darkness beats at your soul)
And then you
go and
Look around
(Because all you are is one more complainer.)
And You
know full well
others have it worse,
(And for them,
you hope
they continue, to complain, because
maybe someone will listen, and
life is ruthless but death is death,
while you may as well be a ghost)
But that doesn't change your
insomniatic habits of being unable to sleep until half past one
or
your solitude of half-self-imposed loneliness because
you won't force your burdens upon your friends
or
the fact that you
cry yourself to sleep every night because
you can only mask your tears for so long.

So you
breathe in daylight like it is air
(because darkness lessens and you  must be ligherbrighter around other people)
and
fake a smile everyone believes and
(you still fall apart at night).


you like to think that the night might be forgiving (because nothing else is)
and you
Hope your
silent complaints
*might actually make a difference,
Even if
overall
the world has
just as many
Complainers
as before.

Different* people, react *different *ways.

Some of them, will stand still, and silent, and tall. They will make you think they are invincible. They will take your bruises, and accept your words, and they will retain their silence until it is all they believe. They will wrap their pain in darkness and shadows and glints of rain, until they fade away. And only then, will you notice the path destruction you left in their wake.

Others, will cower and flinch away. Weak, you will call them. Brave, someone will contradict, to wear their emotions so care-freely. You will stop, at some point. It is no fun, after all, to torture someone who never fights back. And it is obvious, too, too obvious to avoid getting caught for long. Will they fade, or shatter, or hide, or smirk? It depends. You will not always face the consequences.

The inexperienced ones, will fight back. Will match you blow for blow for cut for cut for life for life for death for death. An eye for an eye turns a whole world blind, but this has never been a fair fight. You have always had the upper hand, so you will always win. Time is a matter of opinion and resistance. You will eventually, crush their soul. But they fought back, and they fought against you, so justification is your dominate opinion and emotion, not regret, or fear, or remorse, not anything else.

There are more. Variants upon variants of everyone who didn't deserve your brand of torment. Variants of the bullet proof vests, and the children, and the soldiers.

The utterly helpless ones, will turn. You will beat them down, but somewhere, somewhen, they will become you. They will become the damnation of the freaks and outcasts and misfits, they will crave power and acceptance and use fear to gain it, they will inflict pain on others to starve out their own. If you meet them, perhaps you will understand what you did. Or perhaps you will join them, or cower in fear at your once-upon-a-victim.


Were you them, once?
                            humiliated, and scared, and bitter, and rejected?


Will I become you, someday?
                                 *torturous, and cruel, and cold, and powerful?

Find a person with a broken piece,
I'll hold them and assure them peace.
I say "I'll be here for you, I won't leave
I'll be your anchor, won't let you adrift."

I'm the glue, you see.
I'll fix you for free.
No matter how long it takes;
No matter how rough it gets.

I will fix you when you're undone,
I'm the shield to keep you from harm.
And when you're healed and strong,
this is the part where I don't belong.

Cause I'm the glue, you see.
You'll leave when you're free.
I wish I didn't get too attached, but that's just how it goes.
I'll carry a piece of you and I'll miss you most.

-m.b

when did i become like this?
saying sorry, over and over.
apologizing for things that
i didn't even do. feeling so
guilty at the tiniest things
even if i am not part of it.
the things i couldn't even
control yet i feel so bad,
i start scolding myself.
who taught me that? who
made me turn this way?
did i get hurt so many
times, i turn to blaming
myself for every little
inconvenience caused?
when will i stop saying
sorry when it does not
concern me? i'm sorry.

-m.b