i saw a dead man today

how creepy

it was a really eerie thing
looking at his eyes
his mouth
his soul

i wondered how he had died

did he want to die?

i poked and prodded at him for a while
i wondered if he knew i was there
i wondered if he knew he was dead

was he watching me?
did he have a spirit?
was he completely gone from this world?

he was so cold
and stiff...
and still

did he feel cold and stiff inside?
or did he just feel that way to me?

i splashed water on his face

could he die again?
am i killing him?

yes and yes

i saw a dead man today
when i looked into the mirror

Do you ever dread the day?
The day you write your masterpiece.
Your heart wrenched, blood spilled, gasping for air masterpiece.
The poem you were never meant to write.
The poem of your nightmares.

It is rather difficult,
Spewing words, trying to make sense.
I cannot find the rhythm to suit me,
Yet, they flow out of my mind,
They appear in my paper.
I see happiness all around me,
Yet I cannot find;
I see the gleaming in their eyes,
Yet I cannot compare mine to theirs;
I am dull,
I am one borne from darkness.
An outrageous statement, indeed;
But from the damage I have dealt to myself,
There's no other way to put it.
I find their joys as they see their faces,
None of them see my torture behind these smiles.
My solitude is pitch-black,
My sadness is joy.
I am haunted by the thought of happiness,
I am comforted by my pleas.
I want help,
I don't reach out.
I leave my resolves unfinished,
Enough to hear infinite censures.
They cannot understand,
The chastity I have found within me;
Because of them;
I hate to see the joy in them,
They make me feel left out and envious,
Yet, I cannot do anything,
I know that joy is within me,
It's just hidden in a deep chasm in my heart,
Too deep I cannot even reach it.
No matter how many tears stream down my face,
No matter how much I cheer up,
I can't erase the sadness in my heart and mind.
I am not a victim,
I chose to be this way,
Don't blame me if my spectrum's not your forte,
No one asked you to understand me;
I am a nobody,
Even in my own life;
I am the one borne from darkness.

I come from where the flowers don't grow

As dark a place as that.

I come from where the flowers don't grow

A place streaming with black rats,

Herded together they roar in flow

Of teeth and fleas

So all who sees

Will scatter.

No matter.

I come from where the flowers don't grow

I gain my sight

When the moon doth glow.