Where is the silence?
I have music coming into one ear,
Buzzing like an insignificant fly
And the chatter, like harsh dischords of symphony, fill my head like a balloon.
Someday it will pop.
And I must find the silence, to fill
It again.

Who is more creative than our creator ?

Mysterious
All knowing
Merciful
Forgiver
Redeemer
Father
Friend
Giver
Soul healer
Maker
Love and Joy
Peace and patience
Pen and paintbrush
Oh Mr. Cole,
I do not mean to rush,
These words spring forth from a dam,
But the creator of creation
He says "I Am".

Hang on me on a telephone pole
And let my skin crackle and
Crinkle in the sun.
Let the ravens make nests in my hair
Until they cloak me with a cape
As feathery and black as death
Who comes to say hello.
He embraces me.
Tells me my soul is desirable.
He wraps his arms around me.
And kisses my mouth.
The kiss is soft and cold
And permenant

Anyone can be a slave to their own passions, only the brilliant ones release themselves

I was bullied once
Seventh grade. I hid myself in books.
But to me being bullied is better than being depressed.
Being bullied you are at least
Significant enough for someone
To pick on you,
Call you names, and hurt you.
Being depressed, you're as insignificant as a quintessence of dust.
You're nothing.
Even to yourself.

I am a disease,
Avoided by everyone around me.
My own sister on the phone
So she doesn't have to speak to me alone.
I am a lost cause
No one gives me a pause.
I am alone.
My disease undone

Once I start writing I can never stop.
It's like birth, once you start breathing,
You can never stop.
It's like drugs, once you start using,
You can never stop.
It's like love, once you start loving,
You can never stop.
It's like dying, once you start dying, you can never stop.
Writing is like birth, a new beginning, a blank page a fresh start.
Writing is like a drug, addticting, making me see alternate universes and strange creatures,
Writing is like love, there once was a Romeo and a Juliet. And they lived happily ever after.
Writing is like dying, with each  page that's bleeding ink, you seal a little but more of your soul onto the page. A different kind of horcrux,
One that cannot be broken.
It's written in blood, in ink, in thoughts and dreams.
In life and death