I dream of you at night;
You visit me alone.
I’d join you in the sky
If I weren’t a stone.

My heart is made of rock
Each limb is carved from lead
A single push could knock
The quartz eyes from my head

But you are like a flower
Basking in sun rays
You’re lighter every hour
At twilight, fly away.

I dream of you each night;
Your visits help atone
The sins that weigh me down
You chip away the stone

Angel of the garden,
Please grant me your pardon.

You, you are my healer,
Stitching my tattered limbs back together
So that you can rip them off again.

You, you are my dreamer,
Painting beautiful galaxies
And forcing me back to reality again.

You, you are my seeker,
Finding me, saving me, and fixing me
So you can leave me alone again.

I'm so sad
And I want to say I love you but I can't
Not when I think I am about to shatter
My hands are made of glass
And if you come any closer, they'll crack
My fingers are already brittle,
And I can't stop them from shaking
And it hurts, it hurts so bad
But it's nothing, I promise,
Everything's fine, I'm just a little sad.
My ears, they are tin
And noise echoes through them
And the sound is too loud
Everything is too loud,
Words enter the cavern between my ears
They come and stay for too long
And the black tar of every lie I’ve discovered,
Every betrayal, has stayed since that year.
And it hurts, it hurts so bad, they’re so loud,
But I’m just sad, nothing to worry about.
My head between my ears is about to burst.
But I’d like to smash it into a wall first,
Maybe a chair, a table, a desk,
They call to me, entice me,
Offering rest if  I could just...
Smash my porcelain head.
Crunch, crack, splinter,  
The  bone china pieces of my mind
Mingle about in shards on the ground
Sharp, glossy, polished pieces scattered about
But everything is so peaceful.
Finally…some quiet.
I look around with my singular eye,
The only thing left without a crack
Before I lower my lid and die.
Please sleep well,
This is my last “goodnight.”

I wonder if you think of me
As I do of you,
I wonder if you miss me
I'm such a fool,
I wonder if you'd ever tell me
What I've put you through,

Soon I will be just a memory
Of someone you once knew,
As I fade away know that,
Once upon a time
I loved you ...
Did you ever love me too?

I am sad
And my words have abandoned me
The force that once inspired greatness
has sapped all creativity out of me,
And i am left with fragments.
Worthless, bland, incomplete phrases,
that mean nothing to me or anyone else,
Are all that i can dream up and release.
I am sad, and i am stuck with no way to get rid of it.
No words fit.
They are metallic and clunky in my mouth,
shoving their way between my tongue and teeth,
they are braces on my emotions: painful, sharp, and wide,
Leaving a tinny aftertaste,
Smelling of copper and dirt.
They are not beautiful or sweet like the words that i once had.
They tumble gracelessly from my lips
and clatter onto the keyboard without rhyme.
I am sad,
and my cheeks are bulging,
Nonsense words fill my throat and nostrils.
Soon i will not be able to speak at all.

is crafty little two liners,
and nobody likes them anyway.

Today is a good day for creation. It is a mellow day.
The light filters through my window, soft and grey.
It is eleven thirty in the morning, not quite noon, but still hazy,
like it should be early.
Like nothing has happened yet, but something is coming.
Something good is going to happen.
I want to sit and sing and listen to music and create. Write. Paint.
Play music with my untalented hands.
I have the drive, that imagination, but i can't think of anything that fits in this time, so i am describing what i am feeling.
It is nothing special, but it is everything and anything special all at once.
A moment when i just want to lay down and look at the sky,
Lay on may back and stare at the clouds.
I get that feeling a lot. Mostly during spring.
But now it is autumn.
Perhaps it is a coping mechanism.
I want to be a great writer, but how can i be a great writer when nothing i write is great, or memorable, or organized?
I cant even produce decent prose when in a perfect environment.
And when i can't focus i just get caught up in my thoughts and i can't do anything about it and i am so...
I am so...

so nothing.
And nothing i ever write makes sense.