I am stuck in a long hallway
Of mirrors
Each one shows something new
And unfamiliar
I can't even tell
Which one is me
Because I have expectations
But I can't see reality
I wish I could just perform
A vanishing act
Because I can't stand
The image that reflects
I am done with seeing
Elongated arms and chubby legs
And that twisted symphony
Repeating in my head
The number on the scale
Can never get too small    
Cause the mirror looks the same
When I leave the bathroom stall
Always something different
I just wish there was consistency
Because these carnival mirrors
Have got me hating all of me

The clocks came to a halt
As our conversation cracked and fizzled out,
And there was no longer a need
To scream and shout
Because with our arms wrapped the enemy
Of our lover, one another,
We were once again complete.
But you were never willing to accept defeat.
The silence became intoxicating
As it seeped through, caressing the entire room
And fed up with the waiting,
Done with all the slating,
You got up and left
All too soon.
And our only goodbye was the mixture
Of our scents,
Your whiskey breath and my stale cigerettes.
That danced in the air.
The fire inside of me began to smoulder
And the devil on my shoulder
Lay down at rest.
The night grew colder
As day drew through the blinds
And reality burst through, in dark colours, amongst the leaves
And the gentle breeze from the window
Awoke me to its short sharp scratch.
As I came to realise
You were never hear
And really it's been three years
And  I'd spent the night showering myself in my tears
And grieving a loss that
Had been and gone
Many years ago.
The clocks started ticking again
As I accepted the reality
And the formality it came with.
As I dressed for work,
I buried all of the confusion
Anguish, pain and hurt
Under bright red lipstick.
Your favourite colour.
And though I knew what I knew
Before I left
I still turned and waved goodbye to you.
Our memories crammed inbetween frames
On the Mantel piece,
They say coping gets easier
Of those deceased
Tho I have my reasons to question
Such ideation.
It's been three years,
And the house is still the same
Everything is similar
Except now I'm classed as clinically insane.
I guess you could say,
Your death, tore open and apart
My cell membranes,
Leaving room only,
For damaging remains.


And the job I'd got up and dressed for
And the night id stayed up and present in
Wishing, to see you once more
Were both fantasies,
Dreams I'd formed
Tho I wasn't dreaming
And my my mind is screaming
For you to not be gone
And it will never stop
Until we are at peace as one.
So the sun may shine
And the clouds may break
But me, I will spend the day,
Laying under our duvet
Wrapped in yesterday's memories
Of you and I
And I will sit and cry and wait
For fantasy to overtake reality
Because its hard to understand
When the two are so blurred
That I have no clue
If I can do or undo something that's happened
When there's no pattern
Just confusion.
Evolution of a broken mind.
And if I dig deep enough
Consolidation in you I find.
Despite the constant reminders
That you're gone,
Baby I'm still holding on.

Why is it so hard
for us to accept ourselves as we are,
and yet so easy to pick out our
imperfections and scars
and allow them to taint and tar,
combine and define
the picture we paint
The person we are,
and the person we believe we should be.
The staged presentation
we allow others to see.

Weariness screams through my mind.
Sleep barely seems here,yet
Sweet dreams
creep through my subconscious,
Bewitching my inner mind with
images of love.
To keep this love that haunts my
Smitten mind I submit to unconsciousness
Willingly, night after night.
Dream after dream
Ranging from normal and ordinary to overly surreal and bizarre.
Frightening, exciting, magical, melancholic, adventurous, ******.
As the dreamer, the events in my dreams are outside my control
Dreams are a sense of inspiration.
And beauty.

I wish I was the kind of person

That could write as beautifully

As the midnight sky

Or your eyes

Some days
I have so many ideas
I can write
and write

Till my pen runs out

Or my arm gets tired

Or I run out of paper

And start to write in books
I’ve read

Too many times

Then there are days when,

my mind is full

But there are no ideas.

No motivation

Just loud voices,

A mess of thoughts

Most of them aren’t even my own

(Maybe I shouldn’t say that

Someone might think I’m crazy)

Just because someone’s mind is

Thought ridden

Doesn’t mean they will turn it

Into art

I think if they did

Someone might get hurt

Writing

It’s dangerous

Not just to an author

But also to everyone else
around them

Demons echo through the night.
She seems to cave without a fight.
The pain is to great to keep on running.
You may never again see her dancing.

Hell's gates greet his pain.
No one cares to tame life's mane.
His life seems be burning in hell.
All because of the secrets he can't tell.

Look at the girl who sits all alone.
Dying inside because of her mother's cruel tone.
Her life has been taken by man's cruel thief.
Nothing can bring her true piece.

He takes the gun to school one day.
Everyone keeps walking away.
He planed the shooting, and took the lives.
He never again plans to look at the skies.

To all those who feel this, know I do too.
It just isn't fair what life has done to you.
I know what people have taken away.
Just remember,
it is okay to not be okay.
It just isn't okay to stay that way.

Maybe one day I'll see me the way you see me
Beautiful, smart, talented, extraordinary, and weird
"The good kind of weird" you always say, "That's what you are. Nice, smart,talented, sweet, beautiful, shy, and weird. The good kind of weird."