You see, I know a girl
She's quite beautiful,
She's very funny.
She loves everyone
And has no mistakes to be made.
But my mind,
A desolate, dark plane
Has taken this joyful girl
And twisted her so.
She became a darkness to me,
My mind hated the fact that she made me feel joy.
A brutal pit I threw her into;
Each time I close my eyes
She dies

over...

and over...

and over...

By my hands
An endless bloodspatter,
A Hell with no escape.
I want to **** her so bad
But why?
What leads me to feel this way?
Why has her image been so bent and misshapen?
It's as if I put her in a funhouse,
Amidst all the mirrors,
Twisting and turning her.
She is trapped inside my mind,
A place where she will die,
Brutally,

over...

and over...

*and over...

As we sit down to our dinners,
as we open our romance books,
people die.

We sip our water;
their guts spill open.
We study our notes;
their planes crash.

We live;
they die.
We breathe;
they suffocate.

We are testaments to chance,
to luck, to possibility.

We are not products of God.

We are blind goats trotting on our path
before we perish, suddenly,
and vanish into death.

I am sick

sick of her ****
she makes me want to take a razor and slit

i am sick

sick in the head
Maybe i should be dead

i am sick

sick of being left out
or forgotten about

i am sick

sick of her ****

We all have our fates
Put on my skates
On facebook asking for rates
Im with all my mates
But im the one she hates

{intro}
This is just how im feeling in the moment i'm sorry to all those i have hurt

{Verse 1}
Yeah girl i admit i used you
But ***** all you did was abuse me
And for that you will loose me
Its a shame you had trust for me
And all that lust for me

{Chorus}
Yeah momma i ain't the son you remember
uhh yeah dad i aint the son you wanted
Im sorry sister i ain't the brother you needed

{Verse 2}
I get so high i'm in the apollo
Just want a hollow point in my brain
Leave a stain on the wall behind
Deaths rain calling my name
Yeah PA!N is my name but yours and mine isnt the same


{Chorus}

Yeah momma i am not the son you remember
Im sorry dad i was never the son you wanted
and sister i'm sorry i wasn't the brother you needed

Anything can
look like a poem
and sound philosophical
simply by moving
the words on
different lines.

Am I doing it right?
Is this
really
talent?
Art?
Effort?

I think I am trying.
Really, I am
I go back and change the order
and I break lines
where it sounds right
But it does not take me long.
Not at all.

I try to be
intentional
and call it natural rhythm.
Instinct and style taking over
I alternate between
agonizing every detail
like When to Capitalize
and publishing free form poems without looking over them twice.

How is writing supposed to feel?
Should I labor?
or should it flow?
Or do I get to decide?

I think the things I talk of
mean something
at least.

But am I just
pretentious?

fooling myself into thinking that
using common poetry formats
somehow makes my work worthwhile?

Cigarettes and friends have so much in common
Friends are cigarettes to skin
The longer you hold them temptation grows within
To smoke or watch others choke
Cancer sticks, worse when ignited
So many people smoke and are delighted
To inhale the words of warning
Strangers are sticks and stones their words never hurt
With friends, this expression disappears
As if the pain doesn't accumulate every fiscal year
Running deep into your lungs, skin, and even the heart
Friends can do as much as a cigarette
We smoke our friends as if nothing is wrong and forget
Until our lungs and heart collapse and fill up with regret  
Quit cold turkey, suffer relapses try again later
Anything to soak up this toxic flavor
Friends or cigarettes?
Your choice of flavor to savor