They let themselves feed off my light
So that they could remain sustainable in their void.

Choke on the darkness.

Stars begin to doubt their shine

When surrounded by the blind.

It's not poetry.
Everything I write is a maddening
thought spewed, almost saddening
to watch. And I claw
at my brain to get it out, and gnaw
on the nails I bite between shouts.

Poetry is beautiful
yet my words are ugly,
to call it righteous
would be untruthful.

My pain's no good
it's a non-art with no use.
It's not art to me,
but what does it mean to you?

I'm translucent,
as if I were an apparition.
I had always thought
you were looking through me.
I see now,
that you were looking past me instead.

I'll be thrown away.
You don't
really need me
anyways.
It's nothing, right?
I'm out of sight.
I'm nothing,
right?

Growing up you hated time outs.
Now I wish, I could have a time out…