When the sun goes down, darkness falls over the Earth,
and some nights are darker than others.
Children, afraid and crying for there parents
and begging them to get rid of the monsters they see in their closets and under their beds.
As they grow those monsters wither and die
become skeletons and lies.
Through the roads we use to age
and abuse in a desperate attempt to stay in one place.
Why keep walking?
It's not a choice
more like life is a plane rushing to the ground,
we are the pilots and where we land can not matter.
All that's important is how many homes are destroyed and much you pollute the sky.
As you try to write things like "Help"
or "Save Me" and "Please" all you get in return are Faceless souls screaming about the growing holes in there atmosphere,
and the chuckling of trees as they stuff themselves with your pain and past
and are glad for you to suffer more,
because the more you suffer the more polluted your smoke will become with each exhale of bad influences and terminal illness called life.

So what exactly is left at the end?
When the sky becomes darker with polluted clouds of past mistakes.
Sometimes the sky can be seen
and it is blue or the stars glittering,
but it's not i n your reach
you may only just look.
and some nights...
Some nights are darker than others.

Numb
to not feel
to not feel, pain
or anything else.
being numb does not mean unable to notice
it does not mean, unable to pretend.

I know numbness.
long ago in a hospital,
it was pumped into my veins
and I learned.
Numbness,
will ease pain.
but now I am stuck
trapped in this place
where I pump myself full of metaphysical numbness

At the point I reside,
the only thing I feel
is physical.
I know the warmth of your hand when you hold mine tightly
I know the softness of her skin
and I know if I am injured.

One day,
one desperate day when I was alone against everything...
I released some of my rusted life from my arm.
and as the warmth dripped away...
I felt it.

a small spark inside
not happiness...
but a tear in my left eye.
My fears, not gone
but released,
the things I guarded so close,
brought to the light.

I remember a day
a long time ago...
in a hospital room I wondered.
which, is better?
To die filled with pain and fast,
or to be pumped full of artificial numbness, and have it last?

Numbness.
no word makes me sicker
not in disgust, but in a pit.
I am terrified of numbness,
and so I ask of anyone who will listen to my dying heart
please
DON'T let me die numb.

Everyone has a talent.
Whether it be practical or not,
Pleasing or not.
Everyone has a talent.
And sometimes that talent is just
Not good.
A talent for being impeccably rude,
A talent for ******* up relationships,
A talent for making people hate you,
A talent for spitting out gibberish when someone asks, "Why are you sad?"
Everyone has a talent.
But when people look inside themselves,
And see the talents they never wanted,
They fake another.
They learn to carry a note,
Play an instrument,
Draw a picture,
Write a poem.
But inside they know,
We're not good.