Tell me I’m not stupid for allowing myself to feel,
searching out for the next wound before letting the former heal,
I’ve been convincing myself that the invisible path is real,
but it’s not wide enough for two; one can stand and one can kneel.

If there’s anything in this world that tightens my chest,
it’s the moment I am strangled by vulnerability.
I keep it chained away to the very best,
to the very best of all my abilities.
Take all those thrown away phrases
and piece them back together to hit my ears
it’s funny how the long silence still amazes,
amazes me after all these quiet years.

Are you Sonic the hedgehog,
‘cause this is a chaos emerald.
Wipe away the tears to see the fog,
my world shakes when once it trembled.
I’ve got an easy road ahead of me
where the path could be so easy,
but I’m drawn to walk into the sea,
I wish that instinctive pull would leave me.

We humans are such destructive creatures
we turn soil to scorched earth with just one touch.
It’s the curse of emotions and all it features,
makes us decline a cast and accept a crutch.
We fall prey to our monsters like a disease,
do I pick life support or a clean cut cure?
A solid steel spine or weak and shaking knees?
Toxic lungs or a gasp of air too pure?

Should I swallow this gulp of mundane routine
conform and erase all individuality?
The white picket fence in photographs is so pristine
but it’s covered in dust and mold the naked eye can’t see.

My storybook ending is incomplete
as I didn’t much care for the ending.
I traded in tragedy instead of something sweet,
‘cause I’ve never been so good at pretending.
All along there are holes both in the souls and plot,
and I wish to roll but can’t afford the toll as empty hands are all I got

I savour the coffee taste on your tongue and on your lips,
it’s reminiscent of my throat when a word slips, or when each pill drips.
The less and less I sleep,
the more secrets I keep,
whisked away in stolen conversation
but all the thoughts; lost in translation.
Squeeze the trigger, pull the plug,
I now figure you’re just another drug,
I won’t get clean; this time I’ll overdose,
I couldn’t hope to wean when you’re still this close.

So turn up the boiling scalding water,
you know that it’s time to come clean.
Submerge yourself or don’t even bother,
appearance doesn’t matter when you’re never seen.

I was worried I’d be trapped on a different side,
resulting from the bleaching of the darkness that I tried to hide,
covered in a soft pastel portrait of a stranger,
who balanced pleasure and pain with no thoughts of danger.
I admit I’ve written letters before
as a safety net,
at the time it meant more,but you’re still upset.
“I’m cautious while being reckless,
always nauseous but please respect this,
I’ve been done for years,
and now it’s gotten too trite,
my lip quivers from the tears,
where once I just used to bite.”

So get out all of the soaps and the oils,
you know that it’s time to come clean.
Replenish the lukewarm with water that boils,
and continuing scrubbing and lathering inbetween.

They all ask the five W’s and one H,
and expect a definition on abrupt command.
In my bath the purity saturates,
I only find bubbles and water spill from my hand.

It’s hard to describe in written word
the completion that was suddenly felt,
it was my first sight and first sound heard;
a power that could make the galaxies melt.
She threw a blanket statement over me,
but it failed to cover me up whole.
In the corner of her eye all I’ll ever be,
is frozen feet walking out of control.

So let yourself soak until you dissolve,
you know that it’s time to come clean.
It’s within the water we’re bound to evolve,
and if all fails we’ll glisten and gleam.

I never feared much,
I had a recklessness about my own life.
One day I tasted fear, and decided I preferred invincibility.
I couldn’t fight it,
God knows how hard I tried.
and I was slapped with realization:
I gained a gigantic fear;  being without you.

But now,
my biggest fear,
the one that keeps me up at night
and chokes the little air from my lungs,
is that you’ll live your life not ever knowing
how very much I love you,
and how every work of art in this world
pales and insults the perfection
that radiates from you
straight into my heart,
embracing my soul,
and overriding my mind.

I love you so much,
it’s a kin to daggers stabbing
every single inch of my body.

You’ll know now.

Today I realized I’m responsible
for the destructive crash
that brought me to where I am.
There were quite a few red lights,
but I ignored them completely.
After all, it’s the green lights
that always look so beautiful
when you are out at night.

I am unsure what is worse;
seeing you in my dreams,
or not at all.
Each way provides
hurt and sadness,
and the realization that you’re gone and never coming back.

Sometimes I wonder if
I’m the only one who sees my gift
as a curse,
and my curse as a gift.

I remember the “reset” button
on my Sega Genesis
and my N64 as a child.
With a quick **** of my hand,
all my mistakes, and problems
could be solved.
I’d get a fresh start,
a new chance to win what I lost.
Almost every single day
I wish for a “reset” button on life.
Instead, I’ll have to settle
for an incomplete game
with achievements unlocked,
with no extra content,
and the lowest of low scores.

I wonder when you see me,
do you see the darkness that is seeping,
or do you find the spark to fight off your shadows?
And when your hand's in mine,
do you feel we intertwine,
or do you feel your clutching a weapon for battle?

Do your lips feel incomplete,
when mine aren't there to meet,
like we're two perfect puzzle pieces?
Do you miss me when I'm not around,
even though I don't make much sound,
or do you feel the silence is blissful sweetness?

My love, I named a star for you,
and it's the only thing I see in the sky.
It shines through black and blue,
it's so close but just too high.
I'd live on the empty moon forever,
just so we could be closer together.

I wonder when I cross your mind,
do you go deaf and blind,
or do you feel every sense you own?
And when my words hit your ears,
are you brought to tears,
or is that something you've outgrown?

And if I'm being too sappy,
you can say, cause I feel the same,
but it's been so long since I've felt happy,
and I don't know where to place the blame.

When our eyes connect, does time lose retrospect,
or do you stare right through a ghost?
And when you reach out to touch,
do you stop because it's too much,
or because it's what you want most?

My love, I named a star for you,
but you became my galaxy.
Into a supernova you grew,
and you became all I could ever see.
I'd live on the empty moon forever,
just so we could be closer together.

I can’t accept that my heart must turn to stone
just so that I don’t have to fade to dust and bone.
What good is life if you must go it alone?
Everyone should hear a voice versus a dial tone.

I don’t want to put a price on my head or on my soul,
and I don’t want to pay the price when I’ve already paid the toll.
Maybe I should take a lesson or two from a certain mole,
and find myself a nice warm and cozy hole.

Instead I resign and lay down on cold concrete
hoping it might absorb some of the sun’s heat,
like during days in the summer when it burns your feet,
they say you could hear an egg sizzle and it could cook your meat.

You may think I resemble a crumpled up bill,
discarded and thrown away at someone else’s will,
or maybe just another ant upon the hill
that’s awaiting to be squashed, just awaiting the ****.

Still I’m risking it all for just one more day,
even though the colours drain and then they fade to grey.
What you give you should not take away.
the rules keep on changing but not the way we play.

“Do you know what you’re doing, Em?”
I’m shaking my head and cheeks turn red.
Holding back tears but coughing up phlegm,
just consider me one of the walking dead.

And in all of that; myself I will find
and I’ll find myself becoming blind.
With clenched fists and teeth that grind,
living in the constraints of a mortal mind.

I took my nails and buried them deep in my skin,
created paths and trails just to let me back in.
I haven’t known healing, maybe one day I’ll begin,
instead I’ll drown in feeling even though the water left is thin.

So take your worn out excuses
and your words that hold no weight.
I’ll be striking matches and lighting fuses,
‘cause a fire sign only knows one fate;
a blaze burning great.

Don’t mind the crying, and pay no mind to the ties,
I know when you’re lying before you even realize they’re lies.
Now a picture has been painted of a world with only one pair of footprints,
a reference that’s been tainted and shaded by the darkest tints.

So change your act just like your handles,
and there’s no morality to debate.
I’ll be striking matches and lighting candles,
‘cause a fire sign only knows one fate;
but I’ll still have to wait.

This dent in my shell;
another scar from a war
or maybe from Hell,
who can tell, anymore.
This dent in my shell;
another scar from a war
it didn’t bleed or swell,
but you know, that it’s sore.
This dent in my shell;
another scar from a war
this one is my death knell,
it shattered me down to the core.

I’ve had my heart broken so many times,
that I’m depleted of metaphors and running out of rhymes.

I took my nails and buried them deep in my skin,
created paths and trails just to let me back in.
I’m growing too old each day to never gain a win,
but you know they say nothing gold can stay, maybe next time I’ll stick with tin.

‘cause a fire sign only knows one fate;
it’s our defined trait and state.
‘cause a fire sign only knows one fate;
cremate and annihilate.

I’ve been disappearing day by day
anxious and fearing what you’ll say;
a four letter word you think a compliment,
but I never heard the sentiment.

And everybody knows what I’ve been hiding,
the closing doors were sliding,
I deserved a light for just awhile.
No second or first chances,
lost time and dead romances,
crocodile tears and an alligator smile.

I’ve been fading piece by piece
it seems relating to this cease,
a four letter word meant with affection,
but it’s absurd and an insult to our connection.

And everybody knows what I’ve been denying,
the locked windows I’ve been prying,
I deserved a fair and unbiased trial.
No second or first chances,
blame time or circumstances,
crocodile tears and an alligator smile.

Like all things in history
there’s defeat and there’s victory
I don’t think I can label this either one.
I want to stop this toxicity
and erase it into nothing
but I think that’s what you’ve already done.

So close your eyes and take a breath
we’ll say our goodbyes only with death.
And I’ve been muted through every line
but the rain’s included with the sunshine.

And everybody knows what I’ve been fighting
in darkness even with lighting,
I deserved the be your faithful sun dial.
No second or first chances,
no idea of what your stance is,
crocodile tears and an alligator smile.

Seems I like dark deception
and the odd manipulative game,
I question quality of reflection
as each shares the same.
And it seemed like love
until I’ve finally had enough.

I tie up my own two feet
and put my hands straight to shackle,
and while the imprisonment is sweet
there’s too much bitterness to tackle.
And it seemed like love
until the rose tint got scuffed.

She shook the flowers from her hair
and my fingers were cut from the thorns of the tangles.
I thought there were a million clear signs there
I took the time to find each direction, possibilities and angles.
Did I demonize a saint?
or did I give a monster wings?
The image is up for perception, not the paint,
and the same song is different depending on who sings.

Seems I attract words of blades
and metaphorical slaps in the face,
deciphering shadows into different shades
and ranking them last to first place.
And I wanted it to be love,
but it was lower when I thought it above.

I see false inflated importance
or I see nothing at all.
With black and white I took a grey stance,
but my planted feet kept me from standing tall.
An empty home with a closing wall.

Seems I like dark deception
and the odd manipulative game,
I convince myself it’s forms of affection,
so it’s only I to blame.
And it seemed like love,
but I chose the noose instead of my glove.

Stem to bloom pulsing vibrant green,
striving life to groom, Jack’s stock without it’s bean.
Hoping for rain but begging for the sun,
showing signs of strain and the season’s just begun.

The commitment and dependency,
doesn’t cause resentment, nurturing comes naturally.
But no matter the effort I lack a green thumb,
I try to work and assert but I’m just feeling too numb.

Decorate the home and grave,
hint: they’re both the same place.
Dig and plant, my hands; a slave,
decorative dirt smudge on my face.
Seconds to minutes, and minutes to hours,
I play “she loves me, she loves me not” while plucking dead flowers.

Soil embraces the seed but nothing tends to grow,
I cry, sweat and bleed, maybe I dug an inch too low.
Hoping for rain but begging for the sun,
attempt to ignore the pain but the agony has won.

Wiping off stomped and crushed
four leaf clovers off the bottom of my shoe.
Walking through the field I felt I was rushed,
but I just knew I had to get through.
Crisping leaves with light and drowning in strong showers,
I play “she loves me, she loves me not” while plucking dead flowers.

Seasons will come and go,
the sun will rise and will set.
What dies eventually will one day grow,
what we remember we will forget.

Stemming from an old familiar place
I plead insanity but not my case,
with red tinted sunglasses covering my face,
failing at trying to hide my shame.
With an abundance of up but lacking down
I’ve searched every street within this town,
I’ll rediscover peace but forget my own name.
I really need it, I’ve got to treat it
again.

No one could survive this,
I’ve got no touch like Midas,
and those same demons are at my door,
the one’s who let themselves in before.
No one could survive this,
I’ve got no will to fight it.
Why waste the strength holding it at bay,
when I can mimic that strength another day, even for show.

Step into character and out of skin,
showcase on the nose but I can’t seem to win.
I have no interest in their flashy jackpot prize,
It’s lacking clear blue skies and her warm eyes,
but I’ll shake hands and force another empty grin.
I really need it, but it’s not greed
it’s pretend.

No one could survive this,
blatant weakness but I hide it,
I’m a lone black sheep among the cattle,
even Peter Pan despised his shadow.
No one could survive this,
a DNR with a revive list,
and no one wants to leave but they never stay,
there’s no direction but they continue on their way, where do they go?

Do you really need this,
I’m willing to bleed for bliss
and transcend.
Do you really need this,
how often will you read this
till you wend?
Do you really need this,
or do you just want to believe this
will end?

I’ll bring you the moon
and the stars will come down for you tonight.
I hope that you will show up soon,
but I don’t see one trace of light.
I’m at dead end ruin,
I guess I should’ve made a right.
Bound to pop just like a balloon,
no need to apply strength or might.

So don’t try to stray
it will never be through,
you can’t run away,
she’s not done with you.

Climb out from the dark,
but take a break before you tire.
I thought that I did feel a spark
but realized that I’m on fire.
I’m ash; my body is an urn,
I beg to be spread and to be set free.
So blindingly bright you burn
but there’s no complaints from me.

So don’t try to stray,
it’s something you can’t do,
you can’t run away,
she’s not done with you.
Every night and day,
one thing rings true,
sidelined and kept at bay,
it’s just déjà vu.

You know I have nothing left to lose
but I’d still give all of my nothing over to you.
Out of options but there’s only one thing that I’d choose,
the only thing I know, but still a mystery lacking a clue.

Think of how beautiful life could be
and all of the colours that could come from grey.
Just take a single step towards me
and I’ll carry us both the rest of the way.

I won’t try to stray,
you know I’m stuck like glue,
I’ll never run away,
I’ll follow it through.
There’s nothing else to say,
one divided by two,
and come what may,
it’s all déjà vu.

I’ll keep my distance
but dream of you nightly.
But in this instance
you just shine so brightly.

Who gave permission to paint the inside of my eye lids,
closing them was the only door I had to escape each day.
I’ve knocked down monuments and blew up all the power grids,
and yet there’s sounds, thoughts and memories I can’t keep at bay.

Someone needs to cover their tracks,
I’d rather gut wrenching honesty than sugar coated lies.
I’m not obliviously naive I drown myself in facts,
connecting invisible dots and stretching coincidences and ties.
I saw a rainbow, though it’s hard to distinguish if it was just in my mind,
and I tell you her beauty can even turn the heads of those who are blind.

The game of chess I left years before;
the pawn on it’s side that I placed the blame.
The knight, king and queen are strewn on the floor,
did I happen to mention that I lost the game?

Losing my path that I’ve been following,
though indecisive I’ve always been one to lead,
and with these objections I’ve been swallowing
it’s a wonder my throat hasn’t begun to bleed.

Someone needs to cover the cracks,
‘cause the water’s rushing in as time goes by.
All I feel is cold shoulders and turned backs,
not sky or ocean but veins to match each eye.
I’ve got a million confessions on my tongue, but the words I just can’t find,
and I tell you her beauty can even turn the heads of those who are blind.

I swore I opened the thirteenth door
but I found myself upon floor,
and dragged myself until I was tattooed with rug burn.
Experiencing an implosion from my core,
flame’s extinguished but I feed the fire more,
I’ve always played with matches, I guess I’ll never learn.

I lay watching the clouds
change shape into my distractions,
all hitting my brain so loud
I wish to turn it down by fractions.
Feeling isolated within crowds,
and feeling excluded from my own factions,
I hide my heart but it’s well endowed,
and it’s all yours despite my words and actions.

My soul came back, quick like lightning,
and it's arrival was not welcome.
Sporting a fresh crack under whitening,
bound with a fate to always be numb.
Everyone desperately craves originality,
but they don't realize the isolation.
There doesn't seem to be a solid home for me,
amongst this dust and desolation.

Horror of hollow, living on the brink of life.
Tomorrow I'll swallow my words that cut like a knife.
I'll document the destruction and bring it to light,
I hope the eruption satisfies your appetite.

The walls were tainted with love struck scribbles,
written in every colour of the rainbow,
so we painted but there still were dribbles,
I slept in a made bed and always reap what I sow.
What does it matter if it's in the past?
There's no reasons that I've found.
But I see a pattern of what doesn't last
and you know lately I'm always down.

You went to rub salt in my wound
I told you that I've had my fill.
You informed me the world was doomed,
and you were looking forward to the thrill.

Horror of hollow, living on the brink of life.
Borrow and follow the world's sense of strife.
I'll document the destruction and bring it to light,
just because that's how you feel it doesn't make it right.

I never knew much about other souls,
until I watched one fall apart,
crumbling from all the cracks and holes,
stemming out from a broken heart.
I was never fluent in social clues,
the ones that tell you what you want to hear,
instead I'd sit silent ready to lose,
what I loved all due to fear.

Horror of hollow, living on the brink of life.
Explorer of wallow, bestfriend and a wife.
I'll document the destruction and bring it to light,
I'll underline the tragedy and italicize my might.
I'll document the destruction and bring it to light,
but how will anyone know if it never makes it into sight?

My love is more pure than a diamond,
even with a heart of dark, black coal.
Lately I've been expanding my mind and,
getting high on draining my soul.
I skip notes like a broken record,
and thus conversation is never relayed.
I make choices with how it will affect her,
we both know that's how the game is played.

But I know that I have the potential to destroy a life,
and that's why I decorate in caution tape.
Yes I know it reflects shining misery and strife,
but I've been strapped in so long; I can't escape.

I've got high hopes and low odds,
hearing only demons who act as gods.
I've got low morale but skin of steel,
even when I watch it bleed and peel.

My love is more pure than the deepest of seas,
even with affection that's coarse like sand.
Lately I've been biting and silencing my pleas,
and digging my nails straight into my hand.
I sink ships like a waiting ice field,
stopping it dead right in it's path,
and not even the greatest mirror shield,
could ever withstand my full wrath.

'Cause I know that I have the ability to stick around,
so I try to make sure that I am never really there.
My soul fears the day when it is chained and bound,
but the opportunities seem so very rare.

I've got high hopes and low odds,
rambling this nonsense with the nods.
I've got low morale but skin of steel,
it deflects the good and bad that I should feel.

It's the black and white memories,
the one's that we all try to hide,
but the more that's blocked, the more you see,
and you can't erase what's inside.

She tells her story, and it's heartbreaking,
while you say sorry you're both shaking,
you tell yourself this is real, but you're really feeling numb,
that's how you always feel when you're at Don's Plum.

She tells her fears to quiet mirrors,
and expresses her sadness and stress.
Through all the tears she prays someone hears her,
because it's gotten to madness and she's become a mess.

In the booth you're all laughing, sharing the old jokes,
but the cigarette smoke is masking your instinct to choke.
You think you're made of steel, but you know you're just ****,
that's how you always feel when you're at Don's Plum.

Every song you hear is nostalgic,
and it brings a smile to your face,
within the whispers is a hint of magic,
but the topics are lacking charm and grace.
And every soul that wanders in, is worse when they're outside,
for everyone is born of sin, but we sure all seem satisfied.

She tells you her story, and it's heartbreaking,
it all came before me and the choices I'm making.
You've lost track of how to deal, you say the issues are dumb,
and that's how you always feel when you're at Don's Plum.

How many people have to die for your "personal growth?"
For your "well being," or your "revelation?"
You accepted the burdens when you swore your oath;
the pledge, the vow, of your own creation.
A beautiful tornado that wipes the ground clean,
destroys all stable structures in it's path.
A breathtaking painting depicting a deadly scene,
this is unrequited dedication's true wrath.

Back and forth, side to side,
this is a gorgeous question mark.
South and North, turning tide,
this is the light that leads to the dark.

How many people have to die for your "personal growth?"
For your "Eureka!" For your "I got it!"
A question and an answer; you are missing both,
the obvious is present, but you've always fought it.
A gentle hurricane that cracks the Earth,
that shakes wildly and tears the skin.
A stock that's crashing with impeccable worth,
this is unrequited dedication's identical twin.

Back and forth, up and down,
this is a gorgeous question mark.
South and North, sky and ground,
this is the light that leads to the dark.

So this is what it's all about,
"ego," and "control?"
Constant rain, but daily drought,
falling while on a roll.
Pockets are closely holding your hands,
but the strangling does succeed.
Lungs of water, body buried in sand,
it absorbs all my heart does bleed.
I'm one more body to the pile that's left,
no one shakes their head or ever looks behind.
Thoughtlessly giving and innocent theft,
this is unrequited dedication's version of kind.

Here we all fly separate, under a sky of blue,
I would say goodbye but I'll cave to "toodle-*******-oo."

Dreams of dawn keep waking me,
I'm going on another spree,
of taking a path that's not worn down,
I've been faking the math and turning it around.

I don't want to go, but I know, that life is so.
I don't want to go, with the flow, they move too slow.

Dreams of dawn keep waking me,
with a yawn and shaking constantly.
Feeling ill and dreading the sun,
so I'll take a pill but it's not the only one.

I don't want to go, but I know, life is so.
I don't want to go, the wind's can blow, I'll hide from the snow.
I don't want to go, but I know, life is so.
I don't want go, I'm feeling low, I'm no swan but a crow.

Dreams of dawn are waking me,
I'll be a pawn along with society.
Too much work for too little of pay,
my knees will **** but my feet will stay.

I don't want to go, but I know, life is so.
I don't want to go, I'll never grow, if this world's a foe.
I don't want to go, but I know, life is so.
I don't want to go, march in a row, and feel the tow.
I don't want to go, but I know, life is so.
I don't want to go, don't make me, no, there won't be a show.

The salt water washes away the sin
crashing on the rocks so violently,
trickling down tracing my skin
the most beautiful symphony.
There’s nothing that I detest more
than the sand encasing my toes,
but still my home sits on the shore
I love the depth and adore the lows.

Drag me down into the sea
where I’ve always been destined to be,
The waves strongly embracing
my heart stopping yet racing.

I’ll be a drowned god,
for what is dead may never die,
but rises again stronger and harder.
Among the bass and the cod
I’ll never again see the sky
sacrifice my heart to be a martyr.

You know sand is a kin to soil
for underwater the seaweed will grow,
and with passion the bubbles boil
we do not reap; we do not sow.
Hoarding a seashell collection
though I can not craft jewelry,
I’d still offer quite a selection
a salt crown was never meant for me.

Drag me down into the sea
where I’ve always been destined to be.
The tide will lock on and carry me
until I’m listing and sinking.

I’ll be a drowned god,
for what is dead may never die,
but rises again stronger and harder.
And I may be very flawed,
to that I could never deny
I can’t negotiate nor can I barter.

Drag me down to the sea
where I’ve always been destined to be.
An escape where no one can flee,
forever cursed to be drowning.

I’ll be a drowned god,
I’ll rise again but painfully slow.
No one will wait to applaud,
but we do not reap and we do not sow.

For what is dead may never die,
but rises instead stronger than I.
For what is dead may never die,
I never lead and following; I could never try.

They say the pen is mightier than the sword,
but I chose both.

They say to keep your eyes open, but your mind closed,
leave your thoughts unspoken
and your body exposed.
We hold such value to anyone who holds a heart,
and when all is said and done we rip ourselves apart.

I've never been one to wake up in the morning,
I love living my life to look at the stars.
You experience complete peace without any kind of warning,
and if you look hard enough you can sometimes see Mars.

If you go back to the year 1944,
sixteen year olds were coming back from war,
and now in today in 2017,
an adolescent is a child and an adult a teen.

We're so far from our natural state,
our entire species is cursed with cancer.
When we were hunter-gatherers we were doing great,
But we thought preserved food was the better answer.

Most live their lives now in a camera,
forever looking for one more person's approval.
Trying to reach a standard of Marilyn or Pamela,
but a step forward would be technological removal.

Let's look back to around 1970,
when people were still struggling with equality,
And most likely by the year 2020,
we'll be oppressed and depressed by the plenty.

Invisible water is filling up a lung,
constantly drowning in an everyday world.
No words to every song that has ever been sung,
we are born and we die the same; body curled.
Trees grow but leafs fall, a barren way left to display,
Seas and breeze call, it's said that night is the one true love to day.

We try to be our best, but our best is rarely enough.
With the beat that's in our chest, we're fooled to think that we are tough.
Language was made to communicate, but we quarrel in pettiness.
Still we can all relate to an elegy of emptiness.

There's a dark room in every home,
and each closet holds atleast a single skeleton.
Our feet recognize the path we roam,
and you're not surprised that you fell again.
Puddles gather for us to splash, separating each drop from kin,
I know I'd rather just ask for the water to let me come in.

We try to be our best, but our best is rarely enough.
We all need to take a rest, our strength is now merely a bluff.
Distance is here for us to jump, but not many know readiness,
everyone has some sort of slump with an elegy of emptiness.

Lives travel on, and many paths become split,
and we all prattle on, only our feelings do we acquit.
Life doesn't stop for any one person, no matter the benefit.
But you listen to a different version, that much you have to admit.

We try to be our best, but our best is rarely enough.
Each day now is just a test, truth mixed in with the fluff.
Souls were made to connect, but most care only for prettiness,
not realizing the effect and then the elegy of emptiness.

Keep walking on, until your legs are strong,
I'm waiting for the sunrise, but it won't be too long.

The ghosts that are draped in paper,
float along; room to room, heart to dreams.
Taking a longer route, because it's safer,
but more hazardous, than it seems.

Keep walking on, until your legs are strong,
As long as you are living, you're not doing wrong.

The lights that flash in our eyes,
keeping time; second to minute, minute to hour.
Living as a cloud in the skies,
blocking sunshine, taking life from the flower.

Keep walking on, until your legs are strong,
go a little further, you're almost furlong.

The pillows that trap our visions,
soften blows, keeps our secrets, absorbs the tears.
Wrapped up in the sheets, and all decisions,
of the next coming years.

Keep walking on, until your legs are strong,
live for everyday and love the world's song.
Keep walking on, until you belong.

Existence stretched through a detour,
two spots; unknown in direction.
Turning left when it was right before,
keep all guessing, slide past detection.

I’m not a one stop shop,
once I housed hand crafted originality.
With the increase in demand I let my guard drop,
and now both my shelves and insides are empty.
I believed in a watcher behind me,
I held onto tight to an invisible thread.
Everyone is just silently constantly reminding me,
I’m isolated and alone even in my head.

I hear the loud pop of plastic against plastic,
feeling both relief and shame simultaneously.
Side slipping and back breaking; I thought myself a gymnastic,
though incredulous was the thought of even competing.

But I was sleeping in a Chinese finger trap,
so assured that I would choose to make it a womb.
You couldn’t hear a pin drop but with the concept of a single tap,
ears would shake and ring as if it were a sonic boom.
I’ve got nothing but dirt and dust on my shoulders
I pass it off as glitter and simple magic.
I show no signs of tiring from passing back all the boulders
if I didn’t let them slide it would almost be tragic.

Pardon my complacent self involuntary involvement,
and excuse me while I perform dramatic ironies.
Preparing the conscious for the next inevitable instalment
of prepared monologues of justifications and fallacies.

And I can’t but think in this instance,
I remember the episode of The Simpsons
where Homer is outcasted for screaming “aliens”
and he drinks himself out of existence.
“Red M&M, blue M&M,
they’re all the same colour in the end.”

Whenever I'm beside you, whenever I'm alone,
I want to just hide through, every emotion that I've shown.
The rain is pouring down now, and I'm losing my vision.
There's absolutely no sound, but I've heard it devours from within.

But this life, this is sinning.
It's never the end, always the beginning.

The darkness is so empty, and it swallows me whole,
I hope you don't forget me, I wish I fit your soul.
Please stop ripping at concrete, stop tearing at the thread,
I'm memorizing with my feet, a path already lead.

But this is life, this is sinning.
I've withstood this so long and my patience is thinning.

You walk along my dreams now, when I close my eyes you're there,
I've stopped asking the how, and I've accepted the where.
The what is desperation, and the when is all the time,
the who is my inspiration, but it stopped being mine.

But this is life, this is sinning.
You can't stop the world, it'll always be spinning.

We built a strong, solid foundation
but our words were an abbreviation,
it held us up but it was bound to fall.
We went through the blueprints twice,
our materials were dirt and ice,
but for years warmth radiated from the wall.

The hole that we made our home,
reflected back to us gold and chrome,
but with rain everything can turn to rust.
It withstood every test and trial,
it didn't tire with every mile,
the strongest support beam that stood was trust.

You know Rome wasn't built in a day,
but Troy did fall in a single night.
And when we kneel to finally pray,
I hope we have our priorities right.

We invested hope into this dwelling,
even though better ones were selling,
we wished just to have a comfortable fit.
We brightened it up with a coat of paint,
even though the shade of it was faint,
I didn't even mind it one single bit.

You know Rome wasn't built in a day,
but Troy did fall in a single night.
I could've fought but I'd rather lay
beside you asleep, holding you tight.

We built a strong, solid foundation
we were the envy of every person and nation,
because we turned Hell into a nest.
We went through the blueprints twice,
and didn't even bother asking the price,
as money holds no weight compared to the rest.

You know Rome wasn't built in a day,
but Troy did fall in a single night.
And when we fear the darkness will stay,
is the moment when the sun will shine most bright.
Everything will be alright.

Tell me Eve, how did that apple taste
was it the sweetest thing, or just a rotten waste?
You were banished and told paradise would be yours never,
but God didn't realize that with Adam you were in Heaven forever.

Did the tree shine bright under glorious rays of sun,
and did you happen to pick the shiniest one?
They claimed it was perfection, but you knew nothing could compare
to that feeling of blissful completion with your Adam there.

This world is only Hell if you don't find your person,
except when missing them, then the situation can worsen,
and you'll feel completeness with just one warm kiss,
luckily it's just enough to know that that person does exist.

Tell me Adam, how did it feel
to see your sweet Eve's lips brush on that apple peel?
Were your brutally stabbed by the cold sting of jealousy,
or were you proud she grabbed that forbidden delicacy?

This world is only Hell if you don't find your person,
only when you're kept from them, do you feel like you're cursed and,
when they return, you'll finally know real true bliss,
luckily it's just enough to know that that person does exist.

Tell me Eve, how did that apple taste
did you savor it or devour it in haste?
You were banished and told you'd face only stormy weather
but God didn't realize that with Adam you were in Heaven forever.

I’ve had a rough night.
I’ve had a rough decade.
To clear my head I decided to go for a drive,
the cold autumn air, the dark sky, the vacant streets and the glow of the traffic lights can sometimes heal.
Not tonight.
The cold air chilled me to the bone,
the dark sky is without a single star,
the vacant streets create an atmosphere of being on another world; completely desolate, utterly isolated.
The traffic lights are all red, like the anger that burns inside me.
I shouldn’t have gotten in my car tonight.
I have a single headlight, my passenger side burnt out sometime last week.
These things bother me more than they should.

I drove to my old home, where I spent twenty three years of my life.
It’s gone and I knew it would be, they started the demolition in spring shortly after I left it, during one of our coldest winters yet.
But now, a house is being constructed on the lot.
Where once stood a small, modest, cottage looking home has been turned into only a gigantic skeleton of what will be a modern house that holds no unique characteristics.
It will blend in with every other house on the street.
Notice how I say house, not home.
They built right to the hedge, Jesus, they didn’t even leave room for a yard or driveway.
Besides all that, I can only think
“my mother’s soul left her body on this land.”
The same land they’ve covered.
Her temporary bedroom when she turned palliative will probably be their living room, or maybe bathroom.
Whoever lives in this house won’t know that the most wonderful mother in this world died where their house is standing.
They won’t know it was a Christmas morning, and the last thing I ever heard from her mouth was “your arms are getting strong” after helping her to her OMS supplied hospital bed.
These things bother me more than they should.

I usually drive fast and play my music loud,
tonight I’m driving fast to get anywhere but where I am,
tonight I’m playing my music loud to drown out my sobs.
The kind of sobs that hit your body like aggressive shocks.
I hate crying, I despise sobbing.
I don’t get embarrassed, but I’m mortified by my own vulnerability even though I’m alone.
I even fake a laugh and shake my head.
Pretend it’s nothing, and that I’m an idiot, that “that’s just life” and so forth.
These things bother me more than they should.

When you lose the only home you’ve ever known,
are you destined to be transient eternally?
Is it possible to find someone who will love every part of you,
and love you enough to actually show it?
But most importantly,
does it ever stop hurting,
even for a ******* second?

Some people listen to hear,
and some listen to respond.

Some people talk to be heard,
and some talk because they can’t stand the silence.

The colours to illustrate you don’t exist,
and even if they did I still would miss,
a single shade or hue
that fully captures you.
Better than a Mona Lisa smile,
and Starry Starry Night eyes,
I tried for a mosaic but there was no perfect tile,
nothing could do justice, blasphemy to anyone that tries.

You’re a living, breathing masterpiece;
every gallery should be honoured to have you on their walls.
Too complex for graffiti on the streets,
too heavenly for concert halls.
I can write you; rainbow and tornado,
orbs of faint blue, and a grin of sweet day glow.
Oceanic waves and erupting volcano,
the sun’s ray that came on through,
and the embrace within the wind’s blow.

There isn’t a single brush head I could find,
that could stroke each corner of your mind,
it’s too complex and deep,
it’d be so stunning, it would make all weep.
Putting shame to an Impression, Sunrise
and casting shadows on Lady with an Ermine,
as just a simple picture of your eyes
would last eternally through time.

You’re a living, breathing masterpiece;
not meant for a mere mortal to possess.
Completely perfect personality, traits and feats,
every other human design was just a test.
I can write you, style and rhyme,
blindly bright, natural sunshine.
Digging only at surface to fit into each line,
but there’s no describing what connects it all or the bind.

I know the answer but if you said,
that your favourite colour was red,
I’d let myself bleed out to provide you some paint.
Non acrylic and totally free of lead,
I’d wish for you to illustrate the picture  within my head,
even if the proportions are wrong,
and the lines are blurred and faint.

You’re a living, breathing masterpiece;
completely impossible to duplicate.
Though unfinished you’re still complete,
amazingly flawless in this state.
I can write you; every day till I die,
until the pages and filled and my pens run dry.
Deep like the ocean, but bright like the sky,
and you’ll steal the hearts and breath of all passing by.

People walk on by and only glance in my direction
unaware that I am suffering from a deep rooted infection.
For don't you see that I'm painfully dying
and in the future you'll know that I could've been saved,
all it took was a simple moment of trying
and to hear the things that I always craved.

They tell you a drowning man will drag you down
but I've always been a strong swimmer,
we can easily take on another pound
just focus on the waves surfing glimmer.
Keep going, keep rowing,
don't inhale that salty sea.
The wind's blowing, exhaustion is showing,
I'll hold you up even when you can't hold me.

People walk on by and only glance in my direction
they aren't the slightest bit shocked at my self inflicted dissection.
For I desperately need to remove my organs of rot,
these days feeling just takes too much of a toll on me,
and they're so badly damaged that no customer has bought,
even when I offered them up for free.

They tell you a drowning man will drag you under
but I've always been gifted with a swift stroke,
how I made it out this far truly is a wonder,
or maybe just another sad tasteless joke.
Keep going, keep towing,
don't you give up so easily.
The wind's blowing, pace is slowing,
I'll hold you up even when you can't hold me.

So call me Ismael 'cause I'm lost at sea,
was caught up in a current very swiftly,
and my white whale has lost all interest in me,
I guess there's some other place it would rather be,
than stuck in my sad excuse for company.
Do I glimpse land's salvation or am I just succumbing to insanity?

The puzzle piece was right but the picture’s wrong,
gifted with a short window but I needed long.
You know there’s no outcome I can see obtaining a win,
and your outsides are mingled with those that are in.

You can’t tell me that I’m clearly right,
I thought I was the only one putting up a fight.
You know we can’t go around in this circle anymore,
and my insides are bruised, swollen and sore.

But I’m not fit to rule, no,
I’m broken in half instead of small pieces.
I beg for each molecule to grow,
but I’m out of contracts and short on leases.
It’s plain to see the impact on me
that naturally you shape the best version I can be,
but I’m not fit to rule, no.

I’ve got strength in supply except where I need it most,
under the impression that I’m hanging on to a ghost.
For once I concur that the best things in life are free,
but my outsides keep my in from escaping.

But I’m not fit to rule, so,
I accept the disappointment with the empty hands.
Another deal that’s a cruel blow,
the hour glass; broken, but there’s no stopping the sands.
It’s plain the see the impact on me,
but I’ll continually suffer in solitary.
But I’m not fit to rule, no.

Keep on running, keep on gunning,
close your eyes and plug your ears.
Keep on running, I’m sure they’re coming,
share the skies but not your fears.

My head in my bed doesn’t work quite right
I’m awake until I break, day and night.
With the voices and the choices that I wish to expel
and the deepest of the secrets I could never tell.

My brain; a stain inside my prisoned skull,
I sharpen it, spear from stick, but it’s too dull.
With the facts free, how they trap me, but I never tried to run away,
my feet sore, a path I’ve taken before, but could never stay.

The ivory teeth chomping away at my sleep,
in vain I try to get high, but I’m just too deep.
With the last of my past that I try to forget,
so I reprise a sunrise but it becomes a sunset.

My head in my bed doesn’t work quite right
what will it take for me to break and appreciate the light?
I rejoice in the choices that I can’t repel,
and the cheapest of the secrets of how I fell.

If you knew this was your last day on earth,
would you spend it wisely with complete worth?
Honestly I’m scared of what my answer would be,
If I’d wallow in regret or just check out early.

Once you’ve breathed fresh air,
how do you go back to drowning?
In my youth I could never care
but lately I’m always frowning.
I tried to **** every single brain cell,
I no longer wished for feelings of thought,
no one asked so I never got to tell,
all these lingering regrets that I’ve got.
Dawn of the final day.
the sun arrives but will never stay.
Twenty four hours remain,
my death rattle will be in vain.

Long ago I lost hope in salvation,
and my dreams were trampled for belief,
so I dressed it up in mindless intoxication,
oh, how well it decorated my eternal grief.
How do I explain that the reason I’m leaving,
was the same reason that I stayed?
I’m tired of starving and done with dry heaving,
it feels like my internal organs have been flayed,
and put out on display.

Once you feel the sun rise,
how do you return back to the night?
When defeat’s visible in your eyes,
‘cause mind and body are both done with the fight.
I tried to **** every single brain cell,
yet there’s still more than enough left to haunt me,
will they survive the fall out, only time will tell,
I have a feeling one will remain only to keep taunting.
Dawn of the final day,
knees were made for grovelling not to pray.
Twenty four hours remain,
maybe time can fit in some rain.

I’m never happy with what life gives me
though I admit I haven’t been given much.
I feel only coldness in my surroundings,
but have felt warmth from a strangers touch.
Everyday I think “this is the end
I can’t possibly keep on going”
My spine broken before it could bend,
and I was plucked before I started growing.
So drag my corpse to the ocean
‘cause it was always my dream for there to rest,
I’ll die drowning in every emotion,
but only sadness will fill my chest.

There's always two directions and no one knows the best course,
for my simple and small affections never smudge out my remorse,
And with all four seasons, I only ever see my love grow,
as the heart has it's reasons, reason itself does not know.

I was living in a sunset, counting seconds until the next rise,
but I always fail to forget how the glare stings my eyes.
Coated now with a harsh wind's blow, just one of the four seasons to flaunt,
it's true that only the heart can know what it is that the heart wants.

I see the trees; changing colour with slow seconds in between,
I'll be what's needed of me; yellow, brown, red or green.

They tell me the days will only get longer;
I'm unsure as to if that's good or bad.
"The sun's rays will just hit you stronger,
and your farmer's tan will show up plaid."
And with all four seasons, time moves both fast and slow,
as the heart has it's reasons, reason itself does not know.

Years ago I closed that door,
my mind absent and I forgot to check the lock.
What came knocking, the same as before,
with the repeated conversations where I could never talk.

How did I come to this,
it’s like a loop repeated in time,
but it’s the only one I want to end.
Watch tragedy stem from bliss,
no lemons so life tossed me a lime,
I’ll keep stirring but it won’t blend.

Today I singed myself with a cigarette
in question if I could still detect heat.
No pain, no burn, no reflexes or regret,
no warmth for I to ever greet.

How did this take over,
I saw the path in front of my eyes,
with weeds and fences blocking the way.
It’s all crimson and clover,
painted and blended in the skies,
and I hope the landscape will stay.

I made a list last night
of the things I want in life,
and you’re at the top i’of the chart.
The other numbers have grown trite,
and they’re blank with strife
because everything else has come apart.

Darling, what do you think of me?
and how often, how frequently?
I’ve been comparing and relating,
Lovely, do you still have your key?
To my breath and heart beating,
I’ve been longing and debating.

The cold winds are now rising,
the night has only grown more dark,
avoiding destruction appears tantalizing,
but my eyes remain fixated on that one spark.
It has the potential to set the world ablaze
though I only wish to warm up my bones,
and after all these years you still completely amaze
you’re unlike anyone else, no match to any snowflakes or stones.

Dear Mrs. Frouin,
(atleast I think that was your name.)

For as long as I can remember I’ve always wanted to be a writer. Actually, I don’t believe I wanted to be anything, especially when I was younger,
but writing chose me.

For you see,
I conditioned myself unable to verbally express my emotions, or my thoughts, since I was old enough to have them.
I know the words I want to say when I want to say them,
but I never felt anyone wanted to hear them.
I believed my constant analyzing and emotional dissection to be a burden.
I knew most people wouldn’t understand, if they even bothered to listen at all.
And so I taught myself to alter the disease of emotions, and the curse of memories into dressed up words.
I turned my pain into similes, allegories and metaphors,
whether hidden and veiled or transparently exposed.
My pen became my bestfriend
and paper evolved into a therapist.

It didn’t always do the trick, I admit.
Especially when I was fifteen, the year you taught me,
the year I tried my first pill
and found an alternate reality I could escape to where everything felt good, all the ******* time.
And that’s where you caught me.

It seems petty, immature and egotistical to still remember this fourteen years later,
but when someone attempts to crush the only aspiration you have,
the only thing you really have felt good at,
it tends to stick with you.
Especially considering I remember everything.

As per usual, I had shown up to your class ******,
there wasn’t many classes I showed up to sober.
There wasn’t many classes I showed up to in general.
I had zoned out during your lesson, probably doodling, talking,
sleeping, listening to music, writing or staring at some pretty girl.
Everyone had left and you asked me to stay behind, and as much as I was a professional **** up back then, that wasn’t common.
You sat across from me and asked me what I wanted to do with my life,
immediately I answered “I want to be a writer.”
We talked about fiction, journalism, poetry, song writing,
the things I “excelled” in according to you,
but with softness in your voice you stated,
“I believe you have the talent, but to be brutally honest, I think you lack the motivation to do it.”
I hear that sentence every two weeks or so.
It haunts me.

I can understand your reasoning,
as I said above, I was a professional **** up.
But you didn’t bother to talk to my media and film teacher,
who personally tracked me down one day when I was cutting class in the woods getting high with friends,
pulling me aside to beg me to start showing up to any class more often,
that I had missed 84 classes in one year, and that he personally,
intercepted to principal to discuss me and stuck his neck out for me,
“You are far too unique to not make your mark here.” he said.
You didn’t bother to check that even then, when I wasn’t attending 90% of my classes,
I was still on the honour roll for English, History and Math.
And that even after your words,
and even after more partying
and attempting to **** my brain cells
I came back that next year and stayed on the honour roll,
adding 16th Century History to the list as well.

But I do see your original point,
maybe I do lack the motivation to “do it.”
Whatever that might mean,
because like all things in life,
it’s all about perception
and personal expectation
and interpretation.

You see, I can confidently say that
my writing has evolved,
and dare I say, at the risk of sounding pretentious and cocky,
it has gotten better.
And while I may not be getting paid a dime for any of it,
I have people reading my work,
for some reason,
and most importantly, I have people relating to my work,
experiencing it, and above all,
feeling it.
That’s all I’ve ever wanted to accomplish from writing;
it may have started as free, comfortable, liberating therapy, expression and self reflection,
but all I have ever wanted is to know I made someone, anyone,
feel something.
That’s all everyone should aspire to accomplish,
an act that touches a person,
makes them feel less alone.
There’s nothing more noble in this world than helping another person,
no matter how you do it.

Whenever someone has tried to show positivity or support for my writing,
they make comparisons of being the next (insert famous female writer here)
and all I ever think is that I would rather be the first me.
Almost every artist wants to “famous,”
but I have always thought that I would rather be respected than famous.
Maybe one day I will be,
but maybe I won’t,
that really isn’t the point.

You believed that I lacked the motivation to become a writer,
but I always have been one.
My motivation is used everyday to get out of my warm bed,
where dreams are the only plane of existence where I feel peace and bliss.
My motivation is used to create something from everything negative,
instead of letting it beat me down
and turn me into the kind of person who would look at a
troubled teen with a glimpse of aspiration,
and tell them they couldn’t do it.
My motivation is used to support others and if I’m lucky enough,
guide them even half a step closer to the path they want to take.

Mrs. Frouin, if you read this,
and I doubt you will
because you probably don’t remember someone who you thought you read so well to make assumptions on their potential,
please laugh at the irony at the
fact that you failed me in your “creative writing” class
and I’m still a writer.
And maybe, if you’ve read this all the way through,
the student “lacking motivation”
just became your teacher.

When you cannot stand or face
the person looking back at you,
it might be best to change yourself
instead of changing mirrors.

I was never one for holidays from the start,
naturally I'm almost always depressed,
but tis was the season when life broke my heart,
and gifted me three years of feeling stressed.
Life became dark even with every coloured light,
every tree withered until they became dry,
the old Yuletide songs became cliche and trite,
I replaced each note with a tired sigh.

We couldn't deck all of the halls,
infact neither of us could even stand,
while the normal people were crowding the malls,
I was watching the clock's moving hand.
Santa never received a list from me,
I was too busy writing a final farewell,
I wasn't judged nice or naughty,
no destination towards heaven or hell.

Seven years of bad luck,
It's been seven years of dread.
Seven years since my comfort was struck,
it's been seven years since they pronounced you dead.
The winters have gotten longer,
the summers are never even there,
I'm weaker instead of stronger,
I'm fading and refusing care.

Our carol's weren't sung they were quietly spoken,
you know our festivities were just kind of a drag,
'cause that Christmas not a single present was opened,
Instead we closed up a body bag.
I watched them wheel you out the front door,
no reindeer were trotting on our roof,
I lay sobbing on our cold hard floor,
no Santa, no God, and I now had proof.

Seven years of bad luck,
It's been seven years of dread.
Seven years that image has been stuck,
reliving it inside my head.
The winters have gotten colder,
and summer has lost it's length.
I may be seven years older,
but it seems I've lost all my strength.

I still can't decorate a tree,
and saying "Merry Christmas" cuts me like a knife.
Atleast I'll always have my memory,
and you're with me with every kindness I show in my life.

I can no longer paint pictures
my hands are trembling and broken,
even though I arranged directions in the fixtures,
you know there’s much I’ve never truly spoken.
I created a simple scavenger hunt
and drew out a map to my only treasure,
my clues are obvious but clearly not blunt,
but what I have cannot be weighed nor can it be measured.

You should know me well enough
to know there’s nothing you can’t say,
go on and call my bluff,
I’ll remain feeling this way.
Kiss me gently or slap my face
give me breath or finish me,
stay connected or disappear without a trace,
I’ll still love you unconditionally.

I’ve never been one to give a speech;
words have weight and I hate my voice,
but with time and support it’s not impossible to teach
where there’s a will, there’s a way and a choice.
It feels like I’ve made it easy to see
I can’t help it, it’s plain as day,
‘cause even as I’m locked; you’ve got the key,
and your lips can read mine for what I don’t say.

I’ll never forget the smile on your face
when our lips slowly first met,
the skin that my fingers ache to trace,
a face that even death could not make me forget.
Burn my skin and scrub me raw,
or lovingly bathe me in the sea,
you can part the rules and break each law,
but I’ll still love you unconditionally.

I believe you can pull the stars
straight down from the skies,
cause I see past all your scars
and see them twinkle in your eyes.
I know everyone has their role
and everything is a two way street,
but Darling if I’m going to bare my soul,
it’s only fair that you show your feet.