It feels like I'm dying
Like I'm being burned alive
From the inside out

I feel hopeless
Helpless

And as I burn,
I scream
And I cry
But no one ever sees

And I feel myself dying
And I try to want to live
But I can't
I can't

Not when I'm burning inside
And then my thoughts take over
Every little thing is huge

The fire burns hotter

I'm starting to melt
I can't breathe
I'm dying

My vision is gone
Sound is fading
Everything is...
Gone

I'm dying inside

I may have held the gun
But I didn't pull the trigger

I may have tied the rope
But I didn't pull it tighter

I may have grasped the knife
But I didn't slice my flesh

I may have wanted to die
But it was you who did the killing

This isn't a poem, just a letter for anyone who cares of the poetess Nicole dawn... Whether you know her or not, she wrote a simple poem yet saddening titled- ( goodbye) all the poem said is " I'm done" ... So for any one who has read this please try messaging her, and support her.. There's another poet, human being. And more importantly a soul's life on the line.. And I see this daily.. Not just with miss dawn but with so many other poet's, who aren't just writing what other poet's consider "depressing poetry". Simply its a suicide note.. Yet others didn't seem to know this. And others may see poems like that daily.. But instead of skipping the poem, remember half of you who were down and out and lonely at one time , and maby suicide even crossed your mind. Wouldn't you want someone there? Some may say no, only due to the fact misery speaks that to one, and demons are good at tempting people to not want to live anymore, though fact is even those that say no I wouldn't want help, NONSENSE!!! we're all soul's, we cry out. We laugh, we love, many cry, some hurt. Some are tortured by very real demons ( not just something in ones head or in stories ) this is reality what's going on.. So instead of passing the next poem you read saying ( goodbye) how about messaging the person saying that, and put aside your issues for the day, and give your self to another.. And your time to them for one second, love is the answer. Not selfishness, not wantonness, not greed. Or all about us. It's about that person's poem you read ( goodbye) the soul you passed by. The poet, a poet like you. That you passed by.... Please give Nicole dawns poem a look. And message her. Because surely, any dying soul would respect and maby still be alive from your message... Thanks for reading, and btw, God wants us to help another, listen to another,love another... Not ****** another with words, or hatred, or envying, or back talking. We can choose to help another, which helps your soul, or we can burden our own souls, and turn away from another soul, that could be you...

God bless,
Brandon Nagley

(Mina)
I looked up at the sky
dear god you listening?
I wonder how you let us sin
as if you just don't see a thing

( Brandon)

( God)
I heareth thee mine child
For tis man hath his free will
Yet man hath forgotten me
Dilutes me by drink and by pills

(Mina)


why did you give man the right to
do all these inhumane acts
forget you as simple as this
and get obsessed with his own tasks.

( Brandon)

(God)
I loveth man
He hath his own will to chooseth,
Simply one choice
Me or the devil their soul giveth!!!
Thou must remember mine daughter
For man the devil doth temp,
Man chooseth to sell his own soul
As to Satan man to him is for rent!!!

( Mina)


you are the creator of man
and you gave him the free will
while you could take it all away
ask him to pray for you still
instead you gave him a second choice
by which he could've gone amiss
devil never seemed to be trustful
could mislead you simple as a kiss...

(Brandon)

(God)
Tis right mine offspring
I'm the creator of all
The devil didst betray me
As his cherubs didst fall
And though this world mayeth be dark
And hellish after all
I am the light
Between hellion Shaw!!!

I have been told that a love left untouched will never disappear; that because the corrosive oils from our fingertips have not dissolved its coloring, it will, theoretically, endure perpetually. This love, left in its shrink-wrap casing, looming over the heads of the meek and the caustic feels like a scarlet letter hidden behind the robe, a feeling so foul none are to know but, Oh, what if it begins to fester, there in the moist dark?

This worry had been sitting in my stomach, churning with the bile and swallowed blood, coming up acid in my throat; I could feel it radiating out. Thought: it must be nuclear, must be radioactive and glowing, eating through me one layer at a time, but love –this uranium longing– has a half-life.

When first the reaction began it boiled and popped like lye on skin, singed off my eyelids so I could not help but see it there. I found myself woozy from the fumes, a high I had never experienced before so I inhaled, let it torch my lungs and leave me gagging. My hair began to fall out. I was soggy from the chemotherapy, tried pumping this bitterness into my bloodstream to remove the evil that already existed there, unaware that they were the same entity. It could not survive on a diet of itself and obsession, and so it began waning.

An exponential decay, the intensity of this passion varying directly with the frequency of contact and inversely with time, yet it will never be gone, entirely. It will decrease incrementally every time I say good bye, every time I see scarred knuckles, every time I want and he does not. I have counted the days since the day I counted on him and he was accountable and the number is growing larger and getting more difficult to remember. I have scribbled it onto scraps of paper and it has only browned the edges, no longer burns all the way through, and this love –this radium affair– has been losing its toxicity.

between the spidery cracks of a broken
mirror I search for pieces of you.

in this dark room of echoes
and paper
            clips, I fear I am lost
despite the timid spindles of light that
     ghost their way
through the gaps. they dance in fractal
cobwebs on the wooden boards, distracting me
from the emptiness I hold--like a dime--between
               my thumb and forefinger.

If only I were lonely
Maybe then you could hold me
Never looking for forever
Let us never lay together

I find the pit in my stomach
and the tears running down my face.
I feel the tearing of my heart
and the pressure on my soul.

If only I could find a way
to paint a happy girl.
Then I could paint that ******* me
and become the thing you desire.

Instead I find the darkest pit
and fall in to it's comforting blanket.
To show myself the darkest corners
and wish for just a match.

To fall is to be alone and jump
without you there to pull me back.
I can't show you my blackened soul
unless you understand the consequence.