I feel it making it's way
through my body
like the shiver I get when you touch me,
or the burning sensation I get
when I'm pouring ***** down my throat;
I feel it making it's way into my heart
and into my lungs
like your love,
or my cigarette smoke;
I feel it tightening it's grasp
around my neck
like your hands,
or my noose;
I feel it killing me
like the cigarettes,
and the *****,
and the love

I just need to be left alone,
but don't stray too far;
I just need to know that you care,
but don't let out too much;
I just need to be able to stand
on my own two feet,
but don't let me collapse to the floor
for I fear my bones may break;
I have grown weaker
and my mind is slowly sinking
into a comfortable nothingness
and soon I will be sleeping
with the dead;
I just need to wait,
but I'm staring at clocks
with broken hands
and they've lost
their voice

the beauty that comes
from that little black pen
of yours
is more than what will ever
come from the stars
and the moon,
or the sun
and a clear blue sky;
your mind is working
so fast
and your pen still manages
to keep up with your train of thoughts;
your words scribbled on paper
are better than any
misty lake
on a cold Sunday morning
or a silent forest
on a dark Tuesday night;
your pen carries every single
emotion
from your brain
to the paper it is dancing over;
your beauty is
written through
that little black pen
and you should never
stop writing,
even when you feel empty,
you can find something
to write about;
never
stop

Anger is like the headlights of an incoming truck. It's blinding, and you'll never realize you were on the wrong side of the road until the moment of impact.

a.g