If I could tattoo my poetry to my skin, I would
I would show them my word-riddled wrists
Where the scars used to be
And the prosaic verses sprawled on my neck
Where I planned to loop the rope

If my poems were good, I would tattoo them on my skin
Sadly, all I have are a sophomoric amalgamates of odd words
That make dead poets turn in their graves

Secondary thoughts leak from an opened portal
Demanding to have their own way
An inner war battles round after round
No one around has a clue about the hidden chaos
Of this never-ending brawl
This is no dual, more like a free-for-all
Despite being psychological, the impact is physical
But the worst part is not knowing, if this ongoing cycle
Is ever going to go away

I wanted
To cry out
To you...
But
I can't be
That girl
That cries out
Only for
A morsel
Of your
Attention.
I want to be
So much more
Than that.
I want to be
The girl
That
You hear
In the
S I L E N C E
and already
Know
She's there.

I get lost in my reveries
The biscuits are all ruined
Burned to a blackened crisp
I keep forgetting what I’m doing.
I don’t scold myself that much
I have gotten used to this state.
I’ve been this way ever since
I discover *** was so great.

Too soon ******
Too late wise.
It seems like I can’t
Believe my own eyes.
Living in a fantasy
I avoid using a knife.
It can mean catastrophe
When up against real life.

It shuts up all the voices in me
That tell me what a ****** I am.
It makes a wonderful movie of
What used to be a lifelong scam,
Where I once had not been worthy
Suddenly I was a loquacious stud.
Cannabis took me to the mountain
And out of the ordinary mud.

Too soon ******
Too late wise.
It seems like I can’t
Believe my own eyes.
Living in a fantasy
I avoid using a knife.
It can mean catastrophe
When up against real life.

But somebody should have warned
That soon it takes over your life.
It makes you forget work and bills
The chores and even the wife.
A forty something thirteen year-old
Is mostly what I have now become.
Parts of what I knew as my mind
Have become deaf, blind and dumb.

Too soon ******
Too late wise.
It seems like I can’t
Believe my own eyes.
Living in a fantasy
I avoid using a knife.
It can mean catastrophe
When up against real life.

Have you seen my head?
I think it fell off my shoulders.
And along with it rolled my thoughts.
They stumble and rattle,
Unable to be resolved.
I don't know what to do,
When just your presence makes me feel this way.
Have I stepped into a dream?
Im unable to beleive that this is real.
Where has that head gone off to,
Bringing my thoughts rolling along?