if people were love notes
none of us would be lonely anymore
if people bled passion
we would laugh at heartache

Break into the hallway.
See you on the stairs.
The stillness of the air.
No beauty could compare.
To the miserable girl.
Sitting there.
Her heart is down and she's already unable to repair.
What she's done to herself.
Its piece of work.

Like the harsh, harsh day and the daily grind.
It's not hard to say, lets not talk of that tonight.
I'm not here to say that you're a **** inclined.
To tell me where you were, but you're smoking here tonight.

Hard to say.
Where we went so wrong.
Hard to say.
There's nowhere to run.
But its easy to bring.
An empty plate.
And too easy to find.
An empty ******* buffet.

And we're so abscond. We're so, **** unkind.
There's no harbor here, because we're sailing blind.
If you, want to say that you're hurt inside.
I'll bring you the drinks and we'll drink to that, goodbye.

So see me here in my heavy plight.
It's gone bleak real fast, its gotten a mighty trite.
I'm not here today.
I'm here tonight.
you're still sitting here, on the stairs.
I see you there.
Heart in your hand.
Blood in your hair.
Cabinets closed.
Head on a rope.
I'm not to blame.
I had no hope.

So say, now goodbye there's no need to cry.
We were doomed from when we had tried to start.
And if you, come back home I will bring you my heart and,
We will drink to our safe and sound, night time and goodbye.

Our house is gone.
We cannot stand.
We will not beg.
We will not brag.
Love is a rough.
Life is a bare.
I'll join you soon.
Here on the stair.

People tend to like the pretty people. Those with big eyes, cute nose, long hair and rosy cheeks. People with skinny stature, flat stomach or long legs. People who perfectly coincide with the society's standards of beauty. And she's not a pretty person. She can't make people turn their heads when she walks in the room and she can't make boys swoon with just one smile. She's the kind of person you would label as a friend but never as a lover if you're one of those who never truly sees people's worth and heck, she's a treasure, a precious gem. People are so ******* blind not to see how she's a blessing into this world. She's loving and kind and her heart is made of gold and yet she goes around offering it to strangers she meet at cheap coffee shops downtown. When she smiles, her eyes form crescent moon shapes that the night sky envies her. When she speaks, the mountains roar and the ground shakes in fear for her thoughts echo louder than any silence has. And she may not be pretty to other people, but God, she's ethereal to me.

ㅡ *him when he was asked to describe the person he loves

I have a lot of love for the broken, the tattered and torn; those who carry the burdens of a human heart.

Hearing words of kindness
From a stranger, a new friend,
(Or anyone for that matter)
Is a rarity these days.
I only bring pain
And disappointment,
Or at least, it seems that way.
But to hear sweet, beautiful words
From a newfound friend
It makes my heart flutter
And fills my somber mind
With joyful, blissful thoughts.

an angel has white wings because they have not been tainted by the world's colors yet.
they keep their chins held high, hand in hand in a long, unbreakable chain.

red for lust

orange for gossip

yellow for arrogance

green for jealousy

blue for depression

purple for rage

black for hatred

brown for gluttony

pink for self-consciousness

grey for hopelessness

and angels one by one become doused
and splattered
with all colors that aren't white
all different combinations
some with just one
others a rainbow
until the chain collapses
proving to be breakable
and the ones still white
grip tight to their friends and family
shaken and mortified

"protect the angels with white wings" i say proudly as my wings drip with green and blue and pink and grey.
the colors i struggle against the most.
"we couldn't make it
                         but maybe they can."