sitting in his invented prison
where misgivings are never forgiven
restricted to only visits from visions
in his dimension of endless renditions

condemned to exist within mental schism
with his stiffest self sentence given
never forgetting misdeeds and decisions
only existing to revisit volitions

The smell of your skin embedded deep into my brain, i often find myself alone wondering if you are thinking of the life we always wanted. The taste of your lips is the one thing I crave more than any other poison. Unlike any other you have a chain wrapped around my heart and you wont stop pulling on it. Keep pulling, i love the way that you hurt me. Pull so hard that my heart rips out of my chest and into my hands so i can hand it over to you, that is where my heart belongs. That is where my heart has always been, with you.

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am the thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in a mornings rush,
I am the swift up lifting rush.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there, I did not die.

(i did not write this. i'm not sure who did, but all credit goes to the author.)

We don't write the way adults do.
Not in limericks,
perfect lines,
perfect rhymes.
We don't sign our names
but let our initials be our recognition.
We don't write about all the lovely things.
We write with raw emotion.
Translating our sorrows into syllables,
putting our pain on paper,
hardships and hopes of death.
The limits of our society
we see through fresh eyes
that have endured tribulations
far too young.
perfection isn't our aim so
we don't let the rules confine us
because our poetry is free.
//P.T.