Some sort of monster from the deep,
or the haunted darkness,
has taken its needle to me,
tying me to this surgeons table,
burnig in cold, cold metal,
stitching my filthy lips together,
digging its claws in to my lungs,
shattering my ribs and stealing oxygen,
Hands tensed, skin tearing on my knuckles,
I can't scream with my head in a vice,
constricting and getting smaller,
brain fluid will drip on your feet monster,
Thrashing about on the table,
like a fish out of water,
the cable ties around my hands and feet
finally pop and I'm free,
my tongue it taunts me though,
it wants to, but it can't speak,
Bones now burn to dust,
I crumble and it takes me,
stolen by the darkness
but i'm still scratching at the walls of insanity.

Right now, though nothing is wrong,
I feel as though everything is broken
and continues to break.

There is a constant war,
Between my heart, mind and soul,
Three usual allies,
That have now turned their backs.

At the current point in time,
Words, poetry and I,
No longer have that connection, or love,
We used to share.

It tears me apart,
To even think what I am about to write,
But I truely feel as though,
I am no longer able to write,
Or create art.

I will never abandon this site,
Nor will I ever discard poetry,
It will always have my heart.

Poetry is not a game,
It's an art, a love of words,
But I can no longer compete.

There aren't enough hours in the day,
For every bird to sing it's sad, sad song,
And there isn't enough human ears,
Willing to listen to such *******,
The little wren's chirp,
Is only a siren song,
To warn you of the little things in life,
That people are yet to notice,
It's so wrong how feather's litter the sky,
But we don't fall down to devastation,
We simply catch feather's, adding them to our hair,
Birds are like the invisble beauty of the earth,
No one actually gives a **** about their existence.

"Pink-haired parasite."
I think that sums me up quite nicely,
Thank you,
But you must understand, sir,
That I do not wish to be clingy,
Though, I cannot help it,
But I am broken and destroyed,
From my past and beyond it,
Too many people have walked out of my life,
For me to fully understand that everyone leaves,
My head too rotten by hate,
To ever fully accept myself,
And this heart too shattered and young,
To ever know not to fall in love,
Well, atleast not so quickly,
I am this horrible mess,
And I will not blame anyone but me,
So I apologize, sir,
That you couldn't handle this "pink-haired parasite",
Usually known as me.

Dellusional and scared,
I'm running from shadows that aren't there,
I can't scream in this haunted house anymore,
Walls are collapsing in on my lungs,
Ghosts have sewn my mouth shut,
Cobwebs have come alive and they're taking my arms,
Pulling, pulling, Tearing me apart,
Insomnia begins to sing as it tries to claim victory,
It has not won yet, I have not lost,
My limbs begin to bleed out as the clock tears at my skin,
I'm sinking into the floorboards, I'm sinking in,
Chuckling ghouls emerge from antique cupboards,
They dance, and the webs make me spin,
I think I'm gonna be sick.

.                                                      I don't wish
                                          
                                                                ­          to read "Meaning of Life",
                      
                                                                ­     though,
                                                                ­                      tempting.

A vile taste, they spat words at you,
They thought nothing but a joke of you,
But I saw it, I saw you for you,
I loved you for they way you'd smile,
The way your hair tangled, and your past,
If only everyone had the eyes of mine,
So they'd see beauty in people's flaws,
If only everyone had the eyes of mine,
They wouldn't have spat at you so violently.

And I swear, I shouldn't have been
The first to see you swing,
I shouldn't have rushed to bring you the chair,
Your spirit wasn't there anymore,
And when I cut you down,
I couldn't inflate your ******* lungs,
Why did I have to be the one?
It's all their fault, they needed to see you like this,
They needed to see the red beauty dripping from your lips.

From that day, May the 5th,
Not once, did your family ever speak ill of you,
Always cried and said they missed your heart,
On that day, May the 5th,
So many lies erupted, that they didn't need dirt to bury you,
In the first place, you shouldn't have been the one to die,
And they should have never told you to take your own life,
Too many times, you'd run away to me,
And I'd see the damage of the words they'd speak.