When you take everything from a man
And his trust has been betrayed,
That man cannot be trusted
But you can trust his rage.

That man will stop at nothing.
He'll be ready to take the fall.
In his rage, he will seek vengeance,
And he will want it all.

By a kitten's innocence,
A boy was fascinated.
"She hasn't met the world,"
The boy said.

"Have you met the world?"
Asked his brother.
"I know of killers and thieves,"
Was the boy's answer.

Not of sights, adventures,
Of love, life and its secrets.
By the world's cruelty,
A boy was disenchanted.

Tragedy seems unreal,
Like a foreign movie.
I'm only a spectator
Front row for reality.
I see the shooter, the victims.
A hundred hired to act.
Fake blood paints pavements.
The bullets are blanks.
…
*But the bullets pierce
And the blood is warm.
A hundred targets are found.
Few to recover from harm.
There won't be a 'cut!'
No take four or take five.
This is no movie.
A shot takes a life.

In a room full of his art,
He stood as strangers admired.
There was only one subject -
The one woman on his mind.

He'd stopped time to draw her,
Living in that one second for hours or days.
He'd done it so many times
He filled the gallery with paintings of her face.

Iridescent eyes in black and white,
Blonde hair filling the canvas.
He'd seen her from every angle
And what a beautiful sight she was.

Then she was walking through the door,
Moving like air in her red dress.
She exuded the beauty and grace
That his artwork couldn't quite express.

If ever a person came out of a painting,
She was not the one.
No amount of talent and brushwork
Could captivate him like she'd done.

And his eyes did not stray now
As she bridged the space between them.
This meant he had a chance
To try and make things right again.

But he need not have apologized.
She sshed and told him, "It's okay.
This tells me so much more
Than you could ever say."

His paintings of her and only her
Were wherever they landed their eyes,
Save the window where she looked
And said, "It's snowing outside."

"Do you trust me?" he implored.
Curious, she asked, "Why?"
He said, "I need to show you something."
Then he made her close her eyes.

She trusted him - and then froze.
For he'd once again stopped time.
But then he let her into his secret world
And she couldn't believe her eyes.

Everyone they could see was still.
Even the snow floated in midair.
Everything was stopped in that second
And they were the only ones there.

They ran out in the not-falling snow,
Creating outlines with held hands.
He kissed her then, the snow like stars
And they'll decide when that second will end.

I can feel my cranium cracking,
Hear a high G ring in my ears.
I can't stop my stomach churning
But I can still hold back my tears.
I can't keep my head on straight
But dreams won't take me hostage.
Instead of sleep's limitless estate,
I'm in pain's cruel, ****** cage.

hellopoetry.com/collection/20186/years/
A boy looks down and sees his body
Being tossed away in a shallow river
He cannot move and he's in shock.
What happened? He can't remember.
There's a bright flash―unexpected, sudden
―and heavy hands on his shoulders.
Was there pain? There was some,
And there was the taste of anger.
He doesn't know what to think, confused
When his body settles in shallow water.
He gets up with ease. *With ease?
What comes next fills him with terror.
His body is still, bloated and pale
But he's standing. Over his body he towers.

I wonder how others like their music
While I try to listen to every element of a song
Dissecting the cacophony of sounds
Appreciating what I didn't hear before
Do they dance when I lie in the dark?
Do they just listen or sing along?

I wonder what stories others enjoy
While I read a book over and over again
Excitedly the first time, rushing to the end
Slowly the second, savoring every sentence.
Do they like fiction? True stories?
Do they like to tell them or to listen?

I wonder (with amusement) what others do with their ideas
While I put them into the poems I write
Cursing my vocabulary for failing me
Struggling to find words every **** time
Do they post them on social media? Write in journals?
Do they keep them in their own minds?

Are they like me somehow?

My headphones are turned up high
And I'm trapped in a musical trance.
I'm unseeing, under a spell.
My digits do a little tap dance.
They deem me a daydreamer
As the beats bore into my being.
The rhythm refuses to release me
From this great grasp I'm gladly enduring
Because sometimes surrender is sweeter
Than fruitlessly fighting to be free.
And if your captor can cause such comfort,
Then how is it an actual adversary?

hellopoetry.com/collection/20186/years/
A few hours pass with the boy still there,
Drawn to his body like he's tethered.
A few more and he's floating in moonlight
But no sleep will bring him comfort.
A small fish catches his restless eye,
A quick shadow against the current's silver.
Closer, the boy sees sharp teeth bared.
The fish eyes his corpse like its dinner.
A desperate *NO escapes his throat
As he scrambles to stop the scavenger.
He cannot, and he cries out in frustration,
His sobs joining the sounds of nature.
Ethereal tears fall on ethereal hands
As despair morphs into very real *anger.

No memories
No triggers
No other reason for my tears

Just one guitar
Just one voice
Just the music in my ears

As a writer,
does it matter that someone else
already thought my thoughts
before I did?
Or said what I'm about to say?
Or felt these emotions
making the words flow
out of me?
My thoughts aren't unique,
original,
or groundbreaking
but does that matter?
I don't mean them any less.
They are as real to me
as they were real to
the ones who thought them first,
the people who made history,
and even writers long gone.
They are my thoughts
as much as they were theirs.

You tried to hide it at first.
You thought I had no clue.
I'm not a ******* idiot.
Of course I ******* knew.

You're telling me not to worry?
That's reassuring, thanks a lot!
Oh, it's not serious?
Sure. Of course it's not.

Isn't this just grand?
Just so ******* lovely.

Hah.

You lost my respect
When you lost your dignity.

What happened to your promise?
Have you always been this dense?
Is that "man" of yours worth it?
Does this even make sense?

You give and give some more
But he doesn't love you one bit.
You even justify his actions
When he treats you like ****.

Is that what you call love?
Yes? Fine, I'll leave you be.
If that's all then I'm done.
This is the last of me you'll see.

You'd better be in heaven
If hell's what I have to go through.
Here's the last **** I give:
I didn't deserve this. ********.

I'd say I'm sad, disenchanted,
uninspired, unmotivated,
****** up, beaten,
tired, depressed,
already dead,
hopeless,
but hah.

I know I'm just *pathetic.

Rain fell all night.
Now it's in drips.
My skin is ice.
I've always liked it.
Maybe I'll get sick
(Third time this month.)
The roads'll be slick
And pure joy's in my gut.
Weeds will grow
With everything else.
I haven't evolved
But my world is cleansed.

I can't go; don't make me
There's demons coming up the stairs
Shadows, dark and deadly
I shrink at their greedy glares
I can't move; I can't go
They're crawling on the steps
Up the roof, down below
Right underneath my bed
I can't; they'll get me
Unmake me 'til I'm not who I am
Won't relent; they'll break me
I can't go, please understand

I'm doing alright,* I tell myself
It was a lie, now it's true
Yet I can still fall deep down
I can still feel this blue

It really does get better
How time has flown
Yet this inexplicable sadness
I have not outgrown

I am happy when I laugh
I am relieved when I cry
Yet these years have not depleted
This blue river behind my eyes

Remember when I was on fire?
Well, my soul grew cold.
I felt all the passion burn out.
Now I feel dead at my core.

No-one should live like this, right?
Though I'm not sure I even want to.
I have to write now to feel something.
So I could share it with you.

I know I'll lose it one day but for now,
I need my passion back.
So passive I have been,
Seeing in white and black.

I need words and emotions.
I've started looking today.
I need music and colors.
No more of all this grey.