It is true,
that your eyes are as blue,
as the sky,
and that is where I get it from.
I believe that you will,
pull through and let me,
look into them.
It is true that you've,
made mistakes,
but none of that matters now,
for you've changed,
and I love you still.
It is true that masterpieces take time,
and you, have been rewritten,
what must seem like a thousand times.
This time, I believe it's been done right.
It is true, that no matter what,
I will never stop fighting for you,
and that no matter what hardships I face,
I'll always come running back.
I believe that the greenest grass grows,
from refurbished land,
and you are the sole definition,
of broken and repaired.
It is true,
that you are a fighter,
and you still remain strong.
I believe you'll pull through,
and live to see your daughter grown.

You convinced me,
I'm not worth it.
I've always been,
very easily broken,
and now I'm choking
on all the reasons,
he's given me,
to stay alive.

I've never before thought,
of pushing up daisies,
as a profession,
but sometimes I think,
I'd be **** good at it.
I'm choking on all the words,
he's ever said to me,
because their sweet content,
is toxic,
and I'm simply his lab rat,
testing theories on the,
lowest depths of insanity.

The roots of these daisies,
are turning against me.
Wrapping themselves around,
my spinal cord,
tapping into my vertebrae,
telling me to,
stand up straight,
and fake it through the day,
with a smile painted,
on a plaster made face.

Oh, don't mind me,
I'm just connecting constellations,
tugging at your heartstrings,
whenever I can loosen the vines you've,
wrapped around them for protection,
they've long since been trimmed,
and now your organs are suffocating,
ever since you opened up to,
finally let someone in,
and my bony fingers can't seem to,
work fast enough to,
save you from yourself.

I learned in English class that dreams are limitless.
If I were to ever touch the stars,
I'm almost sure I'd be burnt by the aftershock.
It would leave lines of wonder on my skin,
and leave me breathless,
beyond what the normal expectation is.

Great expectations are hard to keep,
when you've spent your whole life being held down,
by 'what if'.

It's like your limbs are being sawed off,
cell by cell, nerve by nerve.
its like you've been wronged,
in the most eternal way.
its like your image of the night sky has been tarnished,
by the idea of all the dangers of the darkness.
you're chained to your regrets,
like a dog that's been caged.
it hurts more than the dullest blade.
I want someone to tell me the truth.
I want something to give way.

Speak.
Say what you may.
Just don't lie and
make me lose my perception
of reality.

I want to hear a poem that
sends shivers down my spine
and brings tears to my eyes.
I want to hear a poem that
speaks truthfully.
I want to hear a poem
that slaps me in the face,
and then makes me feel okay again,
I want to hear a poem that fixes depression,
and soothes the soul.
I want to hear a poem that answers my questions,
and solves equations,
and slams oppression right out of the park.
I want to hear a poem that whispers in your ear,
and puts the word righteousness on
the tip of your tongue.
I want to hear a poem about obsession,
something you can't live without,
something that makes your internal clock go tick-tock,
something that makes your mind form words,
and your mouth make them mean something.
I want to hear a poem that,

speaks

I fear death,
like a fish fears drowning.
Our veins are only blue because,
we're slowly suffocating,
from the inside out.
Our bones will one day shatter
under the force of gravity,
and we will one day never open our eyes,
to the hell that fools call paradise.

We all die someday.

Many say not a day too soon.
Fate is what it's meant to be.
Unpredictable, unstoppable.
It's no way linked to the
marionettes of time.
Time is a fable that we have made up,
in order for our minds to stabilize
in an otherwise maddening cycle,
where we face the world,
and wish we didn't have to.

Someday, it will all end.

We'll no longer be trapped
in a game of thrones over everything unnecessary.
Competition lies in everything we've come to know.
But when death is on our doorstep,
the end of time on our minds,
Time will stop.
We will listen to the sweet lullaby that is blackness,

And it will be over.

Death is sitting on my doorstep,
but I'll cast it aside to spend time,
with the demons hiding in the walls,
you're ****** and I'm sulking..

I thought we were supposed to be happy.

Shivering,
so hard that sweat,
pours from every,
cell within my being,
and for once in life,
I believe,
that the weather,
has dipped below,
my subzero soul.

These dark clouds are swallowing me,
your cards have been dealt and played out,
just another loss to,
store in the archive,
you probably saw me as,
a burden anyway.

Depression hits like rain,
the pitter-patter sound a tin-roof would make,
pounding down on worn
heart strings, tearing away at sanity.
We're all mad here, loves,

Welcome to insanity.

We'll all die,
but I'll live before I do.

She once expressed the feeling,
of blood pouring from her skin.
Self infliction. Something held dear,
to those who don't realize,
they have the potential to heal.

She once told me, she didn't know how to feel,
so she coaxed the feeling from her bones,
in the form of blades, until her skin itched,
from all the unneeded attention.
Cracked, and bleeding,
hurt pouring from her overly expressive eyes,
she masked the pain, walked among us,
as just another misunderstood,
stargazing child.

Her name became stitched into constellations,
for her eyes never left the sky,
unless to stare down at her tiring feet,
and hope to be transparent in her depression,
to people standing on street corners,
seemingly inviting her to join them.

She knew she'd someday board a bus, and consciously leap into the unknown.

Her minds limitations would no longer hold her down.

And one day, they'll all be gone.
Like constellations that slowly stray,
and fade into the ever stretching sky.
Nothing lasts forever,
even the bones,that keep you
from falling apart, will someday
just be matter, turning to dust.
One day, it'll all be different,
your old stomping grounds will be wearing thin,
the plumpness of you cheeks will deteriorate,
and your eyes will sink, hollow with age.
Your old high school friends, gone with the wind.
Their names on the tip of your tongue, yet still,
light years away.
The tides will continue on,
just like they did, that night, all those years ago,
when you had a bit too much alcohol,
and the boy you just met kissed you,
and then danced with you,
the only music being a starry night,
and the hum of the ocean.
You swore you'd never forget those eyes.
Swore the taste of his lips would,
never leave your tongue.
But now, the details have faded into a near nothing,
and you'll have a new life.

A new shell to break out of.

For some,
strength comes in the
shape of butterflies.
We grip the blade in
search of redeement, but then,
drop them, and replace scars,
with pen marks.
For scribbles on the skin,
are much less intrusive,
than the lines we make to last,
to try and remind ourselves,
that mistakes aren't permanent,
but the punishments are.
Just like a ****** scene.
The blood stains are gone,
but so are the people,
even though they never really walked away.

Life is a contradiction.
You roam the earth,
just to watch yourself and others,
slowly fade away,
you're left with what you started.
But memories will never fade.
you'll walk through life on tiptoes,
never fully able to let go.
Using your skin as your canvas,
and sharp objects as a paint brush
to create jagged lines in seas of red and white,
where you know you need no other color,
because red speaks the truth.
The truth in which cigarette smoke just couldn't bring,
because the smoke filters in the very same thing
which may very
well be killing him,
as we speak.
As lines are drawn and crossed,
you swear to a god that,
you hope will save him,
promising that you'll never touch the poison again,
if he could just spare the only good thing,
you have left,

And that's him.

Blackness,
like velvet.
The room floats,
as my eyes flutter shut.
Warmth seeps through me,
as I fall into a shallow sleep.
Breathing,
light, like trickling water,
of a babbling brook.
This is where the party ends,
sleep wash away my impurity,
and hit me with a hangover.

Pain pills
are not
your friends.
they will not
take away
regret.

Hollow.
like veins that no longer support blood flow.
my mind is the canvas in which I destroy spirit.
I'm no longer harboring what it feels like to be alone.

The feeling is like bones breaking,
under the weight of the guilt that pins you down.
eyes lifeless like stone statues.
there is no creativity left in this vessel
only wrists that itch and fingers that shake
at the thought of being any where near the state
in which I am anything other than truthful
and that is happy.

Its overrated really.
Fake.
Processed and practiced.
Scripted.
Happiness is the mere idea
that the world is anything more than
what it will never be capable of.
Like me.

I'm just proving to the world
that backs don't break with the weight
of insanity on your shoulders.

I never had anything to give,
and now I no longer have the strength
to take back what was originally mine.
My self worth was stolen by your vicious words
and how I saw through the stare you held.
It said sadness..
but I know it was only masking hatred.

You think you're hiding
behind your own problems.
the fact that you had dreams no longer
stops me from believing that
you led yourself to your own downfall.
It was never my fault
that you couldn't make yourself
into who you wished to be.
Who you still wish you were.
No. My small body had nothing to do
with your inner demise.
You'd just like to believe that
to mask the truth of it.

You'd given up long before I was even thought of

Maybe, its time I tell you,
maybe its time to speak up.
I'm no longer in a stage where,
your voice pops up in my head,
and makes me wonder where you are.
what you're doing.
with whom.
or why.

Your name no longer sends me into
fits of remorse, nor anger.
The harshness of what you now think of me,
no longer stops me in my tracks.
I don't ask myself what you would think,
because I know you don't care,
and also, I don't need you to.
I'm my own person and you wanted to change that.
You wanted to change me.
Recreate me to fit the image,
of what you always dreamed.
No longer do I ponder upon decisions,
based on how your feelings would apply.
No. I'm no longer a slave to your feelings.

Now, I'm simply me.
I do what I want, how I want, and when I want it,
and theres no one to stop me.
I indulge in nicotine, and don't get the third degree for it.
I'm accepted as I am and I like it.
I'm no longer yours to control, and I'm in love with it.

The world turns,'
we breathe, whilst I sit
and wait for you to see right through me.
my wrists are bare.
you're kissing the marks I made
with the blade I held
in the blame I felt,
and the sadness that overtook me like a tidalwave.

Wasted in my own worthlessness,
I didn't think. Simply did.
Shook as my tears fell,
vision blurred,
Lines appeared and I wish they'd go away,
faster.

They're not a simple of beauty.
they do not show how strong I am,
but instead they show my weakness,
and my impending doom.
I feel as if I've failed you,
this is a mixed drink,
of regret and pain.

I hate them.

I hate them.

With every fiber, in my broken down being.

no one ever told me,
that the butterflies in your stomach,
could stab at you like knives.

Plate glass windows,
they mock your transparency.
Your heartstrings weighed down,
by all that you harbor,
you're stuck in your misery.

Your heart beats in a cacophony
of pushed down feelings
and your cold exterior has left the room freezing.
Below zero. You're arctic.
You'll accept no help, too mellow dramatic.

You speak words of malice,
with a tongue like a blade.

You sicken me.

Continue on in your self destructive ways
and continue on hating me for reasons
you cling to like they'll pull you out of deep waters
when all they'll do is help you drown.

What you see as a life boat, is really the weight in your chest.

Your voice. Your words.
Things that preach cacophonies
of glass shattering
waterfalls of broken things
never to be repaired
minds spiral into a fit
of uncontrollable laughter when
they hear you cry for help.
You are not the victim here,
nor were you, ever.
So stop the song and dance,
and don't quit your day job
for while you think you've changed,
and can fly higher now,
you'll go no where
weighed down by the things you've
gotten your heart tangled up in
transfixed on the idea of holding on.
But see that's the thing about
this world in which we're stuck
most of the things we think do us good,
are the things that slowly tear us down

It's 11:17 AM, and my mind is thinking all the wrong things.
My thoughts are doing somersaults,
And I've got no one to blame but myself

Till death, my love.
Till death do us part.
Through thick and thin,
bones and blood,
nicotine and temporary highs,
we'll make it through it all,
because we know that none of it
ever really mattered.

Till death do we part,
because it would bring too much pain before,
and we know that together,
we could scale mountains,
while only struggling up inclines,
when apart.

What, my darling,
is a rose without its thorn?
what source of protection does it have?
how long shall it live,
without its immunity?
without its lifeline?
not long, in reality.

Till death do us part,
for without you,
I'm simply a rose,
lacking thorns.

Sometimes...
Sometimes I just don't understand.
why in a world of colors
My heart is black.
Blacker than storm clouds on a day sent from hell,  
Where rain falls,
And that's the only thing
That can camouflage my tears.  
Blacker than deep waters,
Where the only incentive is to drown.
My soul is a hollowed out hole,
where the demons in me seek comfort
and none of these words could
even begin to describe this hell,
where I am trapped to live in this shell
of a body that I just want to get out,
and live and breathe as someone else.
This heat bears down on an unforgiving earth, yet I'm still cold.
This cold radiates from within me,
Turning my heart to ice,
And my soul to stone.

And he's the only one who can save me from myself.

Being home is like
being back under the bell jar
(To quote the great Sylvia Plath)
Back under the bell jar, where the air
is stale and ***** and before long
you begin to suffocate.
You feel trapped as would a firefly,
on one of those warm summer nights
where you run around in the grass
feeling the moisture on your bare feet
as you catch as many of the twinkling lights
as you can before they hide for the night.
Trapped, slowly suffocating because in your nightly
adventure, you are careless and free, and this
causes you to forget to put holes in the jar
where you imprison these wonders for the night.
But only for the night, for your carelessness has caused their demise
while you sleep beside these living night lights,
they begin to die, their lights not shining so bright
anymore, yes they die.
Their death symbolizes your depression as the bell jar
closes you in and you become claustrophobic
gasping for the air you know waits just outside your prison
but it's not really there for you will never escape
this horrible place they've put you in
Yes I've twisted catching fireflies into a murderous action
but believe me,

It always was

I'm back home today,
and the feeling of this town is just the same.
As I ride back into Jersey,
I'm overcome with the emotion,
And it feels just the same.
My mind swarms with thoughts of the people,
I'd really rather not see.
My mind swarms with the thoughts of insults,
That will slip off their tongues with ease,
Just as soon as they get the chance to.
This old town has too many memories for me.
Too many seconds chances,
That ended in rivalry.
Too many reasons to say goodbye, really.
With the only reason to keep me around, being him.

I'll get to see him in a couple days.
That's the one thing I really need.
To be wrapped in his arms will solve everything,
For a while.
But that still doesn't change my feelings,
I'd rather be anywhere than ***** ******* jersey.

The words of my sorrows can not express the feelings behind them.
The only thing I wanna do is say sorry. But I know shes heard it a thousend times.
Like rain drops hitting an umbrella or the stars at night.
I really am sorry.
Baby, you are my world

Is it too far fetched to believe,
that I'll sometimes take a match to my fingertips,
just to make sure that  this is real.
That this is real and not some horrible nightmare.
Some horrible nightmare where everything is wrong
and I can't seem to make it right.
Some horrible nightmare where everyone is against me,
and I can't do anything about it.
Where I'm just stuck and can't seem to wake up.
Sometimes I take that match to my fingertips,
hoping that's its all some twisted nightmare,
and that it'll all be over soon.
But all the time,
I get burned.

I'm sorry you're being lied to,
and you don't believe it when I tell you the truth.

I love him like the
sea loves the shoreline
and is forever running back
to kiss it once more.

I love him like the
moon loves the night sky,
and leads the way for those
who've become lost.

I love him like
these things and more
and no other love can compare
to a love like ours.

I hope you know
you make me sick.
You're ****.
I hope you ******* die on the street,
Because that's where you put yourself.

I decided to sleep over you and your girls house.
I didn't think anything of sleeping in the same bed.
You know why?
Because you were right ******* next to her.  
But oh no. I wake to find you touching me.
It took me everything I had not to scream.
You're sick.
I was asleep.
There was no consent.
I hope you realize it's ****.
I could put you away.
1st degree ****..
That'll get you a couple years.

That girl gave you everything.
She loved you with everything she had.
Now, she sits on a doorstep crying her eyes out,
because of you.
She gave you everything.
She gave you ******* everything.
A place to live.
Food to eat.
She loved you with everything she had.
And you betray her.
With her sleeping right next to you.

Wasn't it so convenient?
How you decided you were gonna sleep between us?
I know that's not where you normally slept.
If things went as they normally did, she would have been in between us.
But no, you decided to switch things up.
So as soon as I fell asleep, you could get what you wanted.
You're ******* sick, and I'm glad you're gone.

I can't believe,
I had the nerve to let,
the words leave my lips,
or even my finger tips.
this is too big of a slip,
for me to handle.

Arguments are one thing,
but comparing him to my ex?
No matter how much I think he
deserved it. I swore I wouldn't.
I swore I wouldn't so much as
mutter his name. Too late,

Now the tears flow like waterfalls,
and I sit breathless, hoping that sooner
or later, I'll drown in my self hatred,
and no one else will be forced to
face the cold truth, that I am not only
my own, but everyone else's enemy.

I swore.
I swore I wouldn't so.
I swore I wouldn't so much as,
even mutter his name.
Too late.

Spiders dwindle off strings of cobwebs
that incase my now rarely used notebook.
You see, its not that my pen has run dry,
its that my mind has.

Words don't seem to flow off my tongue as easily,
as the ink would flow from a fountain pen.
No, not anymore,
and to be honest its killing me.

Broken,
like the shards of glass
from the mirror that taught me self-hatred.

It showed me that I'm not all I appear to be,
but more than I was ever willing to show
and it terrifies me that there are parts of me not even I know.

Unknown,
like the song that just came out yesterday,
the words are a mystery so we hum to the melody,
but it still doesn't come easy.

And broken I will remain,
until I can learn to love myself,
and put the mirror back together,
yet again.

Let's create something simple,
yet complex.
Like the iambic pentameter
that made Shakespeare famous,
years later.
Let's create beauty,
in a world where it diminishes with every second,
that passes by.
I wish to be simplistically complex, and beautiful, and am then greeted by the realization,
that it won't happen until it is my belief that it is true,
And if that is the case, I am doomed.
For clocks don't stop and wait for realization.
And mirrors are still believed to crack in my presence.
What a pity.