She said my celtic sign
was a willow tree
Tough though slight
and in touch spiritually
She was the Nutwood
swinging to and fro
but the combination
of those signs was good
it was a shame I moved away
but she doesn't know
that what's left of willow me
is nothing but a burnt out
husk and a stump to sit on
and weep.

Face                     of MADNESS        , gather your twisted strength
Stench like sadness? (Do)n't                             confuse, its greatness
Sway through the fractures and disjointedness
      Disembodied                      manifestati­on, useless phenomenon
S(cul)p(ture)s hammered into DisFuRme/nt
Castrate salient pieces                     of that body
      Spew inhuman lexicon insinuating         i-n/co\here/nce
Slaughter the (harm)ony                   within cadence
Screech!         H     o      w      l!          Growl!
Rel(easing) murderous miseries within infected entr[ails]
      R A G E, count{less} bullets                              turning fl{ashes} of sanity to CAD(AVE)R(S)
De[generate] ripping throat of conscio(us)ness

How much pain
Can one heart take
Burning battle scars

Every time
I don't hear your voice
I'm lost

How could I fall so far
Always afraid to kiss you
Now there's no you

Aimless and alone
Hell in my heart, an upheaval
Power of my being, without appeal

Granting you freedom
How could you still steal
The whole of me

Shadow of me, walking
Acknowledging the best of me
Stored deep inside of you

Everything else is hopeless
As no distance or time
Has murdered my love for you

Veins chocking, turning blue
As my heart walks about within you
Leaving me here dying, its true

Aimless and alone
Hell in my heart, an upheaval
Power of my being, without appeal

I tried to find
the perfect words,
most poetic line,
or graceful prose
to encompass
the passion that builds me,
but in this moment
every lyric
makes the world
a solitary
cliché.

most of my generation
will probably be dead
within seventy years
which is a sober thought
which some would find depressing
but I've always found it comforting
the time we have here is in the end
not very long and not very meaningful
again,
people tend to think of this
as a dark way to look at the world
and I can never get them to understand
the true beauty of the fact
because what it means is
regardless of what we do in life
we have the freedom
to live it on our own terms
no expectations
no responsibilities
no nothing,
except for what we choose
because nothing feels as good
as a life lived
on your own terms
and not anybody elses

When I was a kid I had just one dream
To be Darth Vader and mess up the space scene
And by 21 I thought I'd be rich or dead
Turns out I just sell jumpers instead
And on occasion I get contemplative
And the only chance I get to be creative
Is when I write poorly thought out rhyme
In my 15 minutes of break time
And I need to laugh more and do less crying
But that's alright because I'm still trying
to be happy and make others feel the same way
So I hope my poem brightens up your day