I like being alone
I hate being lonely

I like being quiet
I hate to not be heard

I like being a wallflower
I hate not being seen

I like being alive
But god, oh god
I hate this life

Is this all you can describe us as?
Is that all we were to you?
I thought, perhaps,
I had stayed up until four in the morning
on school nights and on breaks
talking to you as though,
Mutually,
nothing else mattered.

I thought, perhaps,
when you told me to wait,
that you didn't have the time,
that it would be worth my patience
(Or perhaps my lack thereof).

I thought, perhaps,
that when I saw your face,
heard your voice,
listened to you chuckle,
woke up from a half slumber and saw you watching me,
some weird mix of admiration and love and lust and passion in your quirky gaze,
we meant something to one another.

But you've revealed the truth, and that's alright.
I can find another Lily in my pond.

A little promiscuous thought.
Bubbling to the surface of your mind
like molten rock from earths core,
It rises
rises
rises
rises
until it reaches the brim
Then without any warning
It erupts, and destroys everything.
The ashy residue comes raining down
cloaking the once green valley with blackness
the melted rock moving like molasses down the hill
turning everything that once was
into nothingness.
After the disaster seems over,
Things will regrow from the madness
Just waiting for the next eruption.
Just need some way
to control my volcano.

A Blood Moon Night
Written by Adam M. Snow

Tonight I watched in awe,
the moon once pure and white.
Obeying the nighttime law;
lighting the sky so bright.
The stars, the moon in sync,
dancing their worries away.
The end can happen in a blink;
a sudden halt would not sway.
Darker the night grew -
and darker the moon dost shine.
I stood there in awe, in view,
- a bloodish sublime.
The proud moon once danced so free,
now cowering behind a blood red veil.
I stood there in awe to see,
the world halt with a quail.
The moon eclipsed in a taint of dark red;
I stood there in awe in yonder.
"Is not the moon dead?
What of this?" I ponder.
Hours pass feeling like eternity,
watching the blood moon night pass.
Returning the world back to modernity,
knowing this isn't the last.
The moon is pure and white once more.
Don't succumb to joy just yet.
Again it'll happen, I swore -
three more nights, a blood moon to fret.

I am
swelled  
soaking
up
words
that
seep
into
my
heart
from
the
contemplation
of
you.

Before it's too late,


                                                         ­  because nothing's worse than
                                                            ­                                                  too
                                                                ­                                                     late.