I loved you
But you threw me away
As always

my art is dead
and so am i

10pm.
The time when i used to always text you,
The time i told you about everything
And anything.

10pm.
Every single evening.
The hour we got together,
When i confessed months of surpressed feelings.

10pm.
Now it's all gone.
But the hour remains special.
Instead of joy, it is filled with pain.
All because one text.

I wasted time, love and energy
On a boy.
Now the boy is gone
But the feelings persist.

Adults.
Some are smart,
Yet some are not.
Fighting over their tiny problems,
Killing people,
Just to make a point.
Nuclear weapons used as
Tiny threats,
Childrens use when you steal their toy.
Censoring people's lives,
Because you have the power.

I got everything i wanted
But not in the way i hoped

Shut your eyes,
Cover your ears,
And focus on your breathing.
You can't hear them now.

A poet's last poem.
Death's lullaby.
Words forever forgotten,
To be discovered,
And never understood.

The perspective of it changes as you age,
At first, art is just a picture,
Of a tree or a house.
Then it changes,
It morphs into words or images,
Hiding a slight meaning.
Before you even realize it,
People begin to be concerned about your art,
While some find comfort in it.
Art cannot be explained,
As the meaning lies in every artist's heart,
Whether they know it or not.

ATTENTION.
Oh sweet attention
How i crave you..
Letting the lines show
Trading them for a tiny bit of compassion

Ban everything,
Media,
Differences,
And the will to live.

Ban everything, except yourself.

A shirt hanging on the door handle,
Preventing your eyes from
Looking at me.
I was 11.

Paper lines
Paper lies.
The truth lies engraved in your arm,
The sweet pain that accomppanied your blood
As it dripped down
And stained your sleeve.

There is a child discovering your path
Running away from the world's anger and wrath
There might be a future awaiting ahead,
But what if one day they end up dead?

Child of clay,
Born in the shadow of death and decay.
Shaped and formed into what they're expected to be,
To be manipulated easily.

By the very hands that made them,
The hands that were supposed to care.
But what if they hate them, what then?
The creation crushed with just one stare.

And yet again, they're shaped and molded,
To always look as they please.
If they're not perfect, they will get scolded,
The cycle always repeats.

And when the creator is satisfied,
The flames **** the life out of the creation
They don't ever care about the child,
Just want to fulfill their temptations.

So the child stays alone,
Like none of this ever mattered.
And if it falls from the shelf, down below,
Its soul will immediately get shattered.

If good is white
And bad is black
Then i am colorblind

And i went through too much,
Months and years i've waited.
Eventually got way too lost
In something i created.

I love you,
So continue to live your life
Without me.

The same
Yet so different
Same person
But they changed.
Who thought that one sentence
Can change so much

A notebook in my hand
A Monster in the other
What would think of me,
My precious absent mother?

Would she be proud?
Or rather dissapointed?
The answer is neither.
She wouldn't care.

In a million different people
Disappears a dot.
One second im alive,
The other i'm not.

I quietly erased myself
From your life
Dot by dot
Until the day came
When i disappeared
With nothing but a "sorry" and "i love you".

Some things
Are simply
Unexplainable

You can paint your face with makeup
Hide the insecurities
But you always stay the same underneath