I write down my thoughts so they can breathe.
Don't mistake them for poetry.
I write to prove to myself that even on days I awake with my own blood on my hands.
I still am sane.
Or at least something similar to that.
Because if I was truly sane I would hate myself.
And I grew tired of that many months ago.

I refuse to be alone
Because of the blood on my fingertips
Or the gunpowder
Sunken into my bones

I made my mark in the past
And the plaster beneath my feet
Is a coward’s retreat
For living

What’s past is passed
What’s dead can never be
The blisters I crave
Have long healed

I have always been whole

What I thought was my forever is now my past - crazy how this world works
You share dreams with someone and then they become your nightmare
Your soul wanders at night searching for theirs
Restless nights throughout
The journey never ends - tunnel seems to get darker, yet they say there's light at the end of every tunnel I used to want to look into your eyes until sun comes up, then only thing I'm getting is grey skies and a black moon.
I loved you from my skin to my bones, trying to runaway from the reality of your memories that have been planted in my mind, torture. The hallways of my soul still echo your name. The only sign of hope in me,is the ink I let ruin the paper with the words I'd say to you.

By: @OfentseTsie & @_Dvniel

I'll spread my wings and learn how to fly,
away from this loneliness and the tears that I cry.

I'll fly far away to neverland,
with fairy dust and the world in my hand.

I'll think happy thoughts with stories to tell,
get to know this place so very well.

I'll sleep in the trees way up high,
looking above at the stars in the sky.

I'll be in a place where happiness is real,
wash away my worries the joy that'll I'll feel.

I'll spread my wings and learn how to fly,
living this dream until the day I die.

People are scared of what they dont know


i dont think that is true

because I have friends

who dont know me

What could be more simple
Than to write a poem about a daisy?
Petals,  pristine white
Surrounding  a heart of egg yoke gold
Proudly her head rears to the sky
Attracting bees and butterflies
No pretentious well shapes forms
But one of the oldest flowers known by man
Look, yes look at that simplicity of form
Un biased, un altered by the interference of man

Just a simple daisy