What if every little thought
That lives inside your head
Instead of hiding away in there
Was spoken out, was said?

Would you be embarrassed?
Would you hate your mouth?
Would you rather be mute
Than let the truth come out?

What if every little thing
That people thought of you
Instead of being tucked away
Was heard, was listened to?

Would you be ashamed?
Would you cover your ears?
Would you rather be deaf
Than let the truth come near?

And what if every image
That passes through your thoughts
Was freed from its prison
To roam until it rots?

Would you be disgusted?
Would you look away?
Would you rather be blind
Than see your thoughts at play?

There used to be a bottle on the wall.
It was very green.
I'm sure it was the loneliest green bottle
that I had ever seen
It used to sit on the wall
all day and all night
And every day, when I looked out of the window,
it was always in my line of sight
Then one day, a cat came along.
Something was going to happen; I could tell
The cat then accidentally nudged it
and off the wall, it fell
When it had fallen off the wall
it had dropped with a very loud sound.
There were all these little pieces of the green bottle
all over the ground
Then the cat yelped
and I knew it had gotten hurt
I could quite obviously see its paws were caked in
blood and dirt
The bottle wasn't harmful in the beginning
it did not look the slightest bit treacherous
but after a nudge in the wrong direction
it became very dangerous
Now I look back at you smiling
next to me on the big armchair
Your fingers running through your soft locks of hair.
You remind me a lot
of that green bottle.
In the beginning, you were harmless
you were all sorts of fun.
Now you hurt me.
Could you tell me why
as I don't quite know what I've done

I have put aside the darkness of hate from my heart,
But it haunts the shadows of my mind.
I have welcomed love and light into my life,
Yet sadness still overwhelms my thoughts.
I dream of better tomorrows to come,
And still, I long for Death's lasting embrace.
Every day a new battle begins,
While the war inside rages on.

remember
when I
used
leave them
behind.
i'd surprise
myself,
smiling quietly
inside.
the rush,
the explosion
tensed but
not tight.
move,
flowing
free bird,
exuberant
flight.
muscles
flaring,
tendons
ripe;
beat
to a rhythm
footfalls
light.
wind
in my
hair
brushing
aside
youthful
vigour
and
carefree
delight.
I'd trip;
get up.
fall;
I'd
arise.
nothing
could stop me,
nothing
denies
a feeling,
urgent,
of now
so alive;
those day's
when I
knew
I could
run
with the best
and
leave them
all behind.

Now, it is time to say goodbye
Between the pristine blur of the trenches
The sanguine green of your kitchen
We must all learn the word
Goodbye

I fell in love with the moon
The night I fell in love with you

The typical 2 a.m. poem is messy
because middle of the night thoughts have no structure

The typical 2 a.m. poem is deep
because darkness is perfect for existentialism

The typical 2 a.m. poem is raw
because it's hard to edit when you're tired

This 2 a.m. poem is just another 2 a.m. poem
desperately trying to be unique

Genuine freedoms is something we all search for,
But it’s not found in a drug or a liquor store.
Take your search to the mountains and trees,
The answer you’re looking for is found within nature’s breeze.

Can I live
through skin and bones
and not have soul within

Or shall I be
a floating mist
with no more touching skin

Will I run
the spinning world
with feet to plant the ground

Or will I rot
with breezing scent
and not have sprung a sound

He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come