The end of a sentence
is a period.
The end of a life
is a death.
The end of a road
is a dead end.
The end of a book
is a last page.
The end of the light
is the dark.
The end of a fire
is water.
The end of time
is nothing.
The end of the truth
is a lie.
The end of a person
is a gunshot.
The end of me
is you.
The end of lunch
is an empty bowl.
The end of a poem
is a message.
The end of a hello
is a goodbye.
The end of this poem
is this.

What's that they're calling me?

Monster?

Freak?

Yes, I am
I accept it
More than ever now.
More than ever before.

Monster?

Freak?

My anger is not a poison.
It is my fuel
To go and kick back at life,
When life pushes me down.

My anger is not poison,
It is fuel.

To claw and kick and rage forward
Because I know
If I stop
I die

My anger is not poison,
It is my fuel

Whoever says that anger makes you evil
Or Anger makes you dark.
Then I guess
I'm the villain in this story

My anger isn't poison,
It is my fuel.

Like a great steam train,
A fire lies inside me.
Burning like Hell itself
To keep me going.

Because if I stop
Even once
I die

He gave me his
jacket
and it smelled like
him and smoke
and I knew why
but I wore it anyway.

The day he
disappeared
it was cold outside so
I wore his jacket
and
wiped my nose on the sleeves.

We got the call from the
psych ward
three days later and I couldn't
see him
or
hold him
so I buried my face in his jacket
even though it smelled like smoke
and I knew why.

I kept it
stuffed in the corner between
the wall and my bed
so on the nights when I
missed him too much to sleep
I could wrap myself in it
even though
it didn't smell like him anymore.

When he came back
a month later
and I saw him in
a crowded hallway
he looked at me and
smiled
when he noticed I was wearing
his jacket
and he
hugged me
so it smelled like him again.

I still
wear his jacket
when I can't sleep at night.

If you make me beg for it
I will make sure
You will be begging me to stop.