Where I am most insecure,
his fingertips caress my skin.
When I whisper his name,
he responds with a kiss.

Where bruises and scars stain my flesh,
his love washes away the sin.
The memories that still hurt my soul
he brushes away with his lips.

Like beautiful cursive letters,
he draws lines of love on my body that heals
and he writes a scripture of lust
that only he can read, and only I can feel.

The pretty girls who spend hours in their room,
Counting calorie after calorie
As if each one was their last.
Shattering themselves into tiny peices
Until no one could pick up the glass
Of their broken ribcages
And crushed dreams
Wasting themselves away in order perfect

Hey Mr, Could you tell me
Whats the best way to die?
There are so many different reasons
I don't know which one to try

Should I, Slit my wrists in a vertical direction
Watch the blood drip down, As a desperate need for affection
The blood draining from my body to surround me in a crimson red, would I finally then feel happiness spread

Should I, Overdose on drugs? Illegal or Prescription?
Feel the nausea and vomiting decay my body, As nobody ever listened.

Should I, Drown myself in the bathtub? Or the pool to make it public
The crushing pressure of my lungs collapsing, As if i am absolutely nothing. A burning feeling will spread through my chest as if I am to burst
But dont look down into the depth cause surely you'll feel worse

Should I, Step onto the highway? With all the cars at top speed
Allow the pain of my bones breaking, As I only wanted to be needed
The impact could still render me alive, But in a world of agonising pain, then everything I had done will surely be in vain

Should I, Light myself on fire? Or torch me and my home
Let the searing flesh melt off of me, As I was always left alone
They will hear my screams for miles to come, but know that it was me
As my charred corpse will remain, forever left unseen

Should I, Hang myself in the closet? Let my mother find me dead
Feel the tightening rope cut short my breath, As nobody heard what I said. My limp blue body will dangle down with a note left by my bed

Should I, Jump off a high building? A tall place with strong winds
For a moment I can fly away, before I splatter across the ground leaving nothing but my outline and some red

Should I, Shoot myself in the head? Allow myself to pull the trigger
A gunshot will echo, I'll fall to the ground, Then I would finally be dead.
I wouldn't feel a single thing just the hurt of those before me
It would be instant and over in a second, that way their tears wont bore me

So Mr, Could you tell me
The best way that I can die?
You've played this game before
So hurry there is no need to lie

Hey Mr,
Its not like you actually care
Whether I personally live or die
So hurry up and tell me
As he's waiting for me in the afterlife

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