He sings love songs
     without the love
     for the song.

He amuses the crowd,
     the critical throng.

What they don't know
     is that after the show,
     he goes home
     with a wrinkled brow.

It's a different kind of sadness--
     something quite close to madness.

A tub of ice cream cannot still
     a putrid heart, a mind that's ill.

I'm a little lonely
Just a little bit sad
A slit on my wrist
      won't be that bad.

Or maybe two--
       'Cause I am brave
Or three--
       Who's there to save?

Now, the fourth--
A bit too deep
Then the fifth--
Eternal sleep

Once, it rained. I didn't understand why my mom hates it so much. As for me, I like the wet feet and drenched clothes, the raindrops kissing my head. Until one night, it rained so hard; the night was colder than any other. Then I started to understand why my mom dislikes it so. It didn't listen when I begged for it to stop...

for my pillow is soaked.

The way I fell for you
'Twas fascinatingly hard
You let me in a free fall
Without nobody to guard.

The way I fell for you
'Twas fascinatingly sweet,
Not until you tore me--
When the ground and I meet.

I am not a poet,
But I can rhyme
My thoughts are read,
    not heard
        and I write.

I wish that like a poet,
    I may drown my emotions
        in words like an ocean.

I'll throw my ship's anchor
    to the bottom
        along with my heart.

But I am not a poet,
Rather a mere sad lad
And the only thing I see
    to be finally free
        from self-abasement ensnaring me
            is to drown it, not in words,
                but in an ocean of blood.

"Why can't you love yourself?"

*"What's not to hate?"

She wept
And wept
Then slept--
   She just wanted to rest.

She cut
And drank
Then jumped--
   Can't say 'twasn't the best.