Stars are twinkling
Along with shinning moon
It looks like a dream
I can see some birds with golden wings
Flying high in the sky
In a "V" shape
It's symbol for their unity
They share love and happiness
As an intelligent being
What are we doing?
Where are our ethics?
We lost friendliness
We lost liveliness and
Finally we lost happiness

I remember when I was in the hospital and I didn't sleep for two days straight because I swore to god that if I did the demons would step out from under the bed and seep into my head.

I remember when it was three am, and I was shaken awake from the girl three doors down shrieking from the night terrors that her mother embedded into her skull with her fist and a belt when she was eight. But, they were then stored away until she was thirteen years old and a man swore that he'd beat her if she didn't cooperate. So, now they hide during the day, and creep back up when the sun falls.

I remember when I witnessed a boy unintentionally scratch at his skin until he bleed for an hour because the voices inside of his mind told him that if he didn't hurt anyone else, he would just have to hurt himself. and he swears he'd never hurt anyone besides himself.

I remember when I met a girl who had cuts up and down her arms and legs from when her mother told her she'd never survive the world because she isn't good enough. But, I swear to god that she was the strongest person I've ever met.

I remember when my roommate stayed up all night rocking with bloodshot eyes and deep purple circles underneath of them because she swore that if she slept the monsters inside of her head would crawl out and bleed into her soul.

I remember when the boy five doors down hit the wall so hard that it shook the entire unit because he hallucinated a man and a little girl trying to strangle him, and he swore he could feel the noose around his neck.  

even through all of this, for some odd reason teenagers think it's lovely to have deep scars and to hear voices telling them to **** themselves and everyone around them. I swear, nothing is lovely about demons eating at your brain and thoughts.

I remember when it was four am, and I was up weeping from the fact that people think my suffering is lovely.

I can swear to you, it's not.

All hail the paper
cradle of a dreamy thought
we all crumple, we taper
for each poetic ambition fought

All hail the pen
the literary sword of might
fed by ink, hopes of men
the metal downpour of the mind

All hail the silent poet
he screams his words to you
squeezing out a tiny sonnet
from a vessel of binding glue

All hail Hello Poetry
our loyal parchment friend
a fortress of antiquity
a castle to defend..

How do I reply
When asked the question
Of what is true beauty?

I can't seem to answer
It's not because I don't know
Nor that I'm unsure.

How can you put words to real beauty?
Real beauty is a feeling.
An emotion that dwells in the heart.

Like the music notes to musicians.
Like paint to an artist.
Or words to a poet.

As well as that smile of a partner.
The laugh of a small child.
Or the joyous tears of a precious moment.

True beauty is based on one's desires.
Like my desire to make my world,
Built out of words and poems.

Coloring the world
With the black and white hues
Of letters typed out on a screen.

So when asked what is true beauty,
There's only one true answer...

Just look into your heart.

High school high,
from over there.
Mechanical hips,
wire hair.

Low count sheets,
cigarette burns.
All alone,
I have learned.

Initiate
what you will,
we chase love
until it's killed

****** winds
across my room
as I sleep,
my body blooms

On repeat,
my hurt is blue
don't feel bad
you can hurt me, too.

Hello mother I wanted to take a moment to say,
That I'm not quite as bothered on this eleventh of may,
Although your body is gone I know you are around,
I can feel you in the sun , I can hear you in all sounds,
Your time seemed short and my pain seemed endless,
I wrote your name on the top of my wish list,
I can finally speak your name and think of good times,
If theres any light in me you're the reason I shine,
So proud to be your son, so proud to share your blood,
Your love sweeps away my worry like a cleansing kindness flood,
I can think back and learn from the things you've said,
I choose to only remember the laughter instead,
You fill my heart with joy,
I'm still your little boy,
Although I was only apart of your time,
You were my whole life and apart of all of mine,
I miss you just as much as if it happened a second ago,
But I'm finally ok with what I've come to know,
Hello mother I just wanted to take a moment to say,
I think of you every moment and happy mother's day.

When kids pop more pills than balloons
at a fair, take more rips from bongs
than Beyblades, shake hands with *****
dollars and plastic bags, steal more money
than hearts, are in more mugshots than family
photos, **** more than war, sell more ****
than lemonade, read more billboards than books,
go through more girlfriends than socks in a week,
text more than they write, inject more ******
than flu vaccinations, drink more beer than fruit punch,
put their lips around more pipes than Popsicles,
and die more than live;
then we'll know we've failed them.

I

We visited that abandoned house.
We shouted our names for nothing.
We ran through streets before nightfall.
We hoped not to become that being.

Yes, ephemeral was our childhood
therefore I tell it with such elegance.
No, it wasn't a wastage
neitheir became an addiction.

Many envied our joviality
as well as our age.
Many planned our future;
always good and bad, never pure.

II*

They disappeared with his yearnings.
They kidnapped her dreams.
They burned my memories with a candle.
They marked out our soft skin.

In all those years,
I never imagined which getting old
was a problem to solve.
And, looking back, I see us as insane.

Well, we are grown up now
and childhood must become forgettable.
However, it will never be possible...
Remembering all won't be a delay.

Because there are no sides and
It doesn't matter what you believe
Or who you are
There is no left or right
We are all feel the same
Maybe a little broken
Or flawed or angry
It is a respite and relief from pain
It is spoken from the soul and to the soul
And it is the only time
That I can be fully human

A writer asked me long ago,
For advice on getting better.
He runs through his works with a fine-tooth comb,
Sculpting each and every letter.

I said,firstly sheath your fine-tooth comb,
For blood-lust it will only bring,
And undress your cliche armour sir,
For it only numbs the sting.

And then I said, with cigarette lit,
Be not ashamed of all your vices,
You're allowed to care; and it's fine to swear --
It's allowed, if you can write it.

Don't do this **** for fortune,
For fame or to be credited,
And if you want advice on writing well --
Keep that **** unedited.

Always, I have been here before.
I tried living backwards with her,
Asking the questions after her answers,
Falling in love once she was long gone.
But that was another, not the same, in a chain of serial Dulcineas.
But then you came along and climbed down from that pedestal,
you slapped me,
Hard,
But laughed,
And I realized,
how you had been right,
All along.