She hurts inside but still she smiles,

The pain she feels goes on for miles,

Behind her smile is , a world of pain

A world with no life

No one knows that though

She seems so happy

Like nothing could break her

People think she has a perfect life

She always has that smile on her face

Her friends know everything about her except, for one thing

That smile that they fell in love with, isn't real

The scars on her arms,

Are alarms, to warn you what she's become

She goes deeper and deeper with ever cut

Until her wrists become numb,

She got the rope , hung it high

She thought it through but it was time to die,

She stood up tall,

Getting ready to fall

When she pushed and jumped,

Feeling the last lump, of blood run through her body

As she took her last breath, she died an instant death.

I sit at the table
two seats away from her
I watch her slender arms reach
with tactile beauty of innocence

God I would write my all for her
she is everything to me
and as I look at her
she my love looks back at me

Her secret name, her wonderment
is one that I have with trust attained
we both sing the same song, in heart and mind
the gentle dance in the window storm, did we bind

We both know we are ambiance of glory past
the young and old, the grace of the name of the last
just like me she prays every blood filled day
till atoms fold do we my love, do ever fade

When I first talked to her
she asked, why did they put us here
I gave her a protective hug
and I said who knows and who cares

She smiled after the embrace
and with tears in her eyes she said
you know what is going to happen
so tactile I stopped time, for I had no answer

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
© 2012 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)

Dare I confess the black stain on my soul?
No, rather, lets tuck it in conscience
No need to feel sickly an numb.*

Tuck it away my soulless one*

What if I could pull the hands back of time?

You can't sweety, it's done.

Can I make it fade?

I don't see how? It's a dark, dark stain,
And you've been trying so long now.

Even with all my good deeds?

There aren't enough good deeds
To wipe it clean, the lead in your soul
Forever drags your feet.

I don't deserve anything. Why do I go free?

Because you are destined.

Destined for what? A life of misery?

No dear, no, a life of greatness.
None of clear conscience strive
To erase me from their minds
As I would not exist,
and neither would the gift,
the necessity, the change.

But I don't understand?

Your stain is a gift,
The journey of the holy grail.
Where others strive and fail,
You have already failed now strive.

But I failed?

You have failed, but now is hope;
The ever charging fuel of your journey.

My soul is ****** isn't it?

You have nothing to lose,
this is the secret of life's journey

But what of hell? Surely it waits?
I hear it screaming my penance?

Hell? You're already here,
Perhaps one day, you'll make it out?

You think so?

It's possible but
I'm your conscience...
What do I know?
I only know why I exist
And I in turn, wish I loved my existence

So there's no hope?

There's always hope,
I'm still with you aren't I?

Yes, but I don't understand?

You don't need to.
Just keep hope, and in us,
Never forget where we've come from;
You are destined

But I am stained?

*No, you are marked for greatness.

Flies in the haze morning sputter and splay.
Water drops from leaves rolling with the blown
Blades. The windy whoo of the owls fade,
Blue buried eyes cradled in the hollow
Trees, the swamps seeker is quietly rustled,
Wings of panoply, spangle-speckle the wind,
Over the flames of autumn, talons thistle,
Crown the dominion of the fall, fade in
Sporting meadows colour, till the dive,
Balm of field, marsh, all ignites. Lever pale
Winds finger through the leaves gravely
And rake as you raid, shoulders that burning vale,
Casualties of insect, the lemming song sings
Mouse and vole flash, dark, sparkles the clearing.

You were my favorite Sylvia Plath poem
Your words were contemporary,
oh, you were classic in your own way, dear
How I loved the way you tasted
as your poetic melody rolled off of my lips,
as your sighs and laughter filled my head like smoke
gathering together in a room where those stoner kids
from the other street would inhale the wafts of their
sweet, sweet chocolate
You were a poem sweeter than chocolate
and I don't think anyone ever really told you
Well, I'm telling you now
even though I can't quite recall how well
you mixed with me
I don't think I ever really paid attention to that--
I suppose I was too busy reading between your
short, firm words--lyrics, perhaps
though I don't quite remember any music
I don't quite remember much aside from all
these things that I have written
I don't want to ever forget you and that's why
I'm having all of these written
You may not be as clear to me as you were before
(back when I read you far too often for my sanity)
You were my habit, my addiction--but never my vice,
for you were my favorite Sylvia Plath poem
and though my vision and my mind are both failing me,
my memory still holds you dear and your words,
oh, they still ring true to my ears.

We went to a reading
You sat leaned back
With your arms crossed
sighing at every read line
aren't they just so pathetic
The person reading begins to cry
reading his own words
I press forward
and rest my elbows on my knees
and my chin on my hands
I can still hear you
in my peripheral audition
trashing
nodding
rubbing your eyes
with your thumb and index
with that smile
making a show
of your disappointment
You were once in his shoes
reading your own work
self-conscious and vulnerable
full of doubt
and hate
Then someone called you "good"
then another
and another
and now you're this
The breathing image of what it
means to be a Poet
and aren't you just so **** *poetic