sometimes i wonder what the point of living is. 
we watch our elders perform the same tasks each day. go to work, come home, eat, pay bills, sleep, and repeat. every. day.

for me, i would never be satisfied by that. i want to go and… just go. i don’t care where.
i want to meet people and be known for something big and DO something great. 

but then the pessimist inside my brain laughs at my naïvety and mocks my heart for ever thinking i could be something great. and my guts are too much a coward to end this painful routine.

Poetry is like snow,
Which can be calm and peaceful,

slowly

falling

from

the

sky.

White purity, imagination is endless.
Create a world of angels and men.
Words rhyming, words changing, the paper is cold as ice.
White darkness, so cold it burns.

Quick!




Avalanche!
           An unseen turn of events!
                              Chaotic winds, and piercing hail.

                                                                               Rushing!

                          Down!

                                                                Fast!
No!
Stopping!








Poetry.

Walking on a path of eluded dust,
Withered down to a speck of
unwanted trust.

Licking my lips as I try and tolerate the
inconsistent void, eyes burning a
glaze, hoping to not be destroyed.

I miss the state where we used to be,
Just your hand in mine and not a worry in the world
that we could foresee.

A contorsion of anxiety slithers down my throat,
as I struggle to swallow the acidic memories.
A luscious kiss of endlessness
waiting in the warm, limpid sun.
Only to be lacerated by defiance.

Did you really think I was okay?
  when you saw my nicotine-stained teeth
Did you really think I was okay?
  when the only sound heard from recycling were
    the heavy clank! of bottles
Did you really think I was okay?
  when I only wore long sleeves in the steaming
    summer
Did you really think I was okay?
   when they cut me open and saw my bruised and
   battered corpse?

never
ever
ever
give anybody
a kiss goodbye
because they will cut open your chest
and dismantle your heartstrings
and take them from you

they will play crossword puzzles with your veins.

i am trying my hardest
to throw away my feelings for you
but they are sticking to my feet like mud
caking the sides of my new white shoes