I can feel anxiety crawling into my mind, feeding me with unnecessary thoughts.
Self-doubt reaches out for my soul; fear smiles at me as I quivered my lips.
My trembling hands strike down on the concrete, and my head spins.
I slowly shut my eyes, hoping my demons would leave me.
But they persist, making me feel like I have to plea for peace.

I grasp my reality behind a mirror and watch the clock unwind.
I hear the faded children laugh, it echoes through my mind, and I feel the fear within my heart.
I wish my thoughts were sane, so they didn't fall like rain.

When I look ahead of the storm, I see a generation full of demons.
Darkness may rule the world, but I kept holding on.
With every battle I withstand, I fear the shadows will bind my heart and take my breath away.
But somehow, my spirit will never give in.
-Niko

What do you see?
when you look at me,
is it the same as what you say?
Tell me what you saw,
that made you love me,
or not,
Tell me,
girl of my dreams,
maybe it was true after all

What do they see,
when they look at me,
I wish I could hear what they said,
I just know it's not the same as hers,
I hear no love in their voices,
love,
is the difference,
they are blinded by the evil,
but what is shrouded in mystery,
born from fear,
shall stay hidden,
I wish I knew what they saw,
It may be true after all.

She could say it if
she wanted
to but
the words would
carry no
weight behind them

like a cat shaking
the paw with
you
and not understanding
the real meaning
behind
the gesture

so was her
every
“I love you.”

Enough to make an
old boy cry
but he
preferred suicide

Needless to say
her response
was
“Meh.”

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)