We both have felt like charred trees,
Tearing out each other's roots and
Setting each other's roots on fire.
We've fought
Tooth and nail
Clawing out each other's eyes,
So we can't see.
But today you smiled.
And for once I felt bad.
You were alone friend.
And yet I left you.
I meant to be nice.
But what to say?
Reconciliation.
We need to replant our
Scorched roots
And hope that the seedlings
Sprout in the wake of our
Beautiful disasters.

Now is the time,
When I realize that all that walking
All that sobbing,
All that pillow hugging,
Is because I probably have depression.
Or my life is just a pile of shattered glass,
Not easily fixed.
It needs help from the outside world.
Will the world help me?

Today I must end our friendship.
It hurts,
Like acid burning your skin.
And I wish I would have scars to
Remember by,
But instead all I have is the heartache
That will one day go away.
So today I sever us.
I tell you I need space,
I need to be alone.
To fight this depression on my own.
But I so wish you were here with me.
I am afraid.
And if I lose you,
I'll be alone.
But it's for the best that I do this.
It's for your sake,
So you don't get hurt.
I don't want you to end up like me.
So I must sever this.

It's been a while
Since I opened my lips,
And wrote the sweet words
With a voice that drips,
Sincerity.
Clarity.
Charity,
Hardly ever disdain in this voice
Of mine,
But plenty of it,
In the race of mankind.
It's been a spell
Since I wrote poetry well,
And where's my mind?
Neither in heaven nor in hell.
But on poetry,
How sublime

Be the one who loves,
And be someone more than you;
You know there is more—
Life lives off of ones like you,
Ones who give more than they have.

If you think you know me
- think again.
If you say you see me
- look again.
If you think you heard me,
were you even listening?
If you say you did,
can you tell me?

What were the words I never uttered yet was fully expressed with my eyes?
What pain did my voice convey when all you saw were laughter and smiles?

Don't let your eyes deceive you
There's more to me than what you see
I do seem okay, don't I?
SUPERFICIALLY.

|celina|

We twist words,
So they look like beautiful
Cylindrical knots
Than the lines they really are.
Art is never really made out of
Straight lines,
It comes with curves, tangles,
And mystery.
Writers are liars.
We embellish, we polish,
We try to put as much spice in your
Cup of coffee just so you can hear us
Think.
We lie. Hard. Yeah there's no such place as "hobbiton"
And Sherlock Holmes was never a real person.
And there's no district 12 where Romeo met Juliet.
All lies.
But yet, we love them.
We scream feed us more.
Writers are liars, but we also ******
Mirder out characters
When we get bored with them.
You think Moriarty was bad,
See the man penning his words,
His soul is darker than death.
We are liars. And thats why we are good writers. Because we
Don't need the truth to support ourselves.

I'm the one starting all the conversations
Not they.
I'm the one pumping in words
Like I was trying to pump in oxygen
To keep them alive.
Not they.
I'm the one asking questions,
Looking like an absolute idiot,
Or sounding so smart they don't want
To talk to me.
No, not they.
I depended on them.
They said burden us with your rants
Your thoughts
And sorrows.
But yet they never reply.
I am once again alone.
And could someone please tell me why?