Does a poet write only when he is sad?
Doesn't think so
But have heard so

Does a poet write only when he is upset?
Is writing a way to escape
From the world that hurt you a little too much?

Does a poet write only when he is depressed?
Why is his happiness not penned down?
Why is his prosperity not shared?

A poet doesn't write only when he is sad
All feelings, all happiness, all emotions
All of this is written

He writes when he is happy
He writes about the nature
He writes about everything and everyone

Poems are not always meant to be sad
They contain hope, love, peace
And so much more

The best drug in the world
Are not the ones you inhale,smoke or stick a needle in your arm
It is a drug more addictive then coco

Kills you faster then a overdoes
You can never overdoes it
But it gets you high immediately
When it gets in your system

You can't go to rehab for it
Cause you will keep going back to it
Everyone I know is addicted to it Including  me

Somepeople want it so badly
But others are tired of it
Since its been killing them
You wonder what drug this is

Some of you call it
Infatuation,caring,
Being there for someone everyday
But we simply call it love

I must be the problem
I can sense the annoyance
Their lack of words leave me shaking

I am sorry
For being me
Existing, perhaps

They're tired of it
Needing reassurance
My anxiety

I think
as artists
we owe a lot to pain.

Put on
a robe of thorns
and write

about the nice weather outside
and that delicious burger
you had today.

Write about happiness
when you're in pain-
beauty.

I thought I was fine.
I thought it would be easy to just shut out the feelings, turmoil, and anguish that one feels when we realize we are not as wanted as we believe we are--
Yes, I took my feelings too far.
But you have to understand that you are not at fault, never were, for the things that happened to me long before we knew we existed in the same space between life and death--
Sorry, I need to catch my breath.
And even when I thought I was okay with knowing you do not want me, I made the mistake of thinking the casual playfulness with which you lured me was just a little bit of fun--
Fun? **** it. Can't be done.
You're not responsible for the way the others used and abused me, treated me like a toy to turn on and off at their leisure; however, you don't know how closely you remind me of that pain--
Can I feel empty again?
You made me feel too comfortable with my own discomfort, and I was not ready--but it felt so good to think I was desired that I crossed the path divine--
You make me happy, but I'm not fine.

The screaming never stops,
The piercing pain never ends,
One more day of this and surely i wont make it till tomorrow.
Why can no one hear it?
Is it all in my head?
Am i going insane?
I plead and shout for god to take my pain away,
But god never came.
Finger on the trigger i replay my life,
Now im sure this is now it ends.
The curtain closes and i take my bow,
The shows over,
You can all go home.