late nights
of numb thoughts,
feeling the silence
with dry eyes
and a
sore heart.

long winding roads
will you ever end?
this place
is starting to look
a lot like home;
pine trees
and fields
as far as
the eye can see.
golden rays
warming my skin,
and illuminating
the sky
as we settle
into a new world.

i must plaster on
chemicals and colors,
to be beautiful.
i am required
to be plastic,
prim and proper,
servants in my
own lives,
always being
and thinking,
and doing,
exactly
what i'm told.
i am a doll,
a tool,
only there for
the joy and service
of others,
just because i was
born as i am,
something in which
i have no control.

thinking, thinking, thinking,
but my pipes aren't working.
the taps turn but no water comes out,
the drought in my brain growing ever still, aching for
a thought to grasp onto.

walking through the city streets
alone,
the sky dark
yet the world aglow
with street lights
and stars alike.
the air is cold
yet warm with presence,
for despite being alone,
there are people all around you.

the words float
through the air,
into my ear
and down to my stomach.
they glow
and make a
warm feeling inside;
my lips turning up,
my back sitting strong.

oh rain,
pounding on the roof,
glossing over the world
like icing on a cake.
most people do not
like you,
fear of getting splashed
by your icy breath.
but i
love you.
the purple-grey skies
you bring,
and the sound of thunder
banging at my door.

oh sun.
you're a drug
of happiness,
creating smiles
and playful moods.
you shower me
in warmth,
like a hug
from a friend
embracing me
in your arms.

i fell for the stars
admiring from afar
their sweet gentle light
pulling me in tight
away from the worries of the world

friends.
sunlights
gleaming in my life,
giving me
hope and happiness,
when none can be found.
my life revolves
around these,
like the sun
and it's planets
and moons,
keeping life on earth
living.

lovesick,
but not in love,
the idea of love
a sweet syrup
that i crave
but never have.

a masterpiece,
you were,
perfect in every way,
painstakingly chiseled
from stone,
every curve
made with detail
and precision.

random compulsions i cannot control,
my mind spinning out of control
trying to chase these thoughts away.

worry, worry, worry,
filling my brain,
hammering away,
consuming all my
thoughts.

stereotypes do not apply to me,
messy head, messy room;
my disorganized thoughts
match my disorganized clothes

small things matter too much,
like floor tiles and off centered screens,
pushing their way into my
worrisome brain
and not going away 'till
they're fixed.

some days my name is honey,
sweetly rolling off my tongue.
other days it is poison,
making me sick as it
runs through my veins.

sweet nostalgia,
coursing through my veins,
filling me up with emotions,
happy,
yet sad
that they're gone,
grasping onto all that's left of them.

they do not love us.
they break us down,
bit by bit,
crumbling until we can't take it
anymore.
they turn us against each other,
fighting like there's
no tomorrow,
never getting anything done.
they make it so we can't live
anymore,
hate becoming as popular
as television
and violence a
spreading wildfire.
we try to push through
their concrete barrier,
but it will not budge,
pushing us deeper down,
struggling to breathe
as we
drown.

her shirt was like her armor,
her makeup was her mask,
they protected her just like they could,
and hey, that was that.
outside such a perfect girl,
but inside she was crumbling down,
sadness and numbness crushing her up,
until all she was was a pile of dust.
her perfect mask still stood however,
appearing intact,
but in not so long it would go too,
revealing the messed up girl she was inside.

photographs.
bits of nostalgia you can fit in your pocket,
full of stories and adventures.
rivers where emotions lie,
giving these snapshots meanings.

why are you creeping back?

why now, after we have gotten used to life without you?

how can you let your poison intoxicate me once more?

i was finally free of those toxic memories,

but now it's them i can't escape.

i caught it.
that quick look,
as if i
were off limits
to you.

mini-storms
inside your head,
looking,
admiring,
seeing
what no one else did.

you saw me
catch your stare,
those soft
grey-blue eyes
looking away,
your secret
revealed.

they are not mine.
the emotions
that flow through
the words,
dancing on the page,
running like
a river
in your mind
while in
mine
they are
a dry creek,
faked by
the sound of
the rain.

i want to tell stories,
but i have no stories to tell,
my mind a dry river,
trying to hold onto what
i have left to remember,
yet not succeeding
as the memories
wash away.

smelling the ocean air
sand and rocks beneath my feet
many smiling people

how could memories,
so sweet,
have poison
seeping through them?

all i want to do
is devour
those memories,
but they
devour me,
bit by bit
breaking me down
until i am no more.

i'm lost
on lonely lane