As I sit, here alone, in this empty room,
I think of what we were,
I think of what we could have been.
When I walk, all alone, down that night time street,
I think of where you are,
I think of what you are doing.
Here I am, laying alone, sprawled out in my bed,
I think of where you once were,
I think of my emptiness within.
I am alive, alone, living without warmth,
I think of my inner scar,
I think of my undoing.

He looked her in the eye,
as he aimed at her head,
he was surprised when he began to cry,
after he shot her in the head.
Yet his body felt an irreplaceable joy,
as this abysmal feeling filled his mind,
for the recognition of pain is also the recognition of freedom.
He was no longer under siege like troy,
and he was no longer blind,
For the recognition of freedom, is also an act of treason.

Being a poet is a difficult job,
as it turns one into a slob,
with a false sense of security,
due to its obscurity.
For poetry is for the ones who feel,
not those who are afraid,
for every reader has a heart you must steal,
while stabbing your own with a blade.
But with these difficulties comes reward,
as the right words give a strong sense of satisfaction,
with poetry one will never be bored,
while giving one's mind a sense of traction.

Thank god I'm not a poet.

She was too blue,
the other was too red,
I like the color yellow,
you are a nice shade of sunlight,
and for me that is alright.

I used to live on the coast,
with the sun shining every day,
as the gentle breeze would rush under my arms.
I was dragged to a city by a wonderful host,
whilst getting caught in the the disorderly fray,
as I was never able to get the hang of its charms.
You see I'm still not used to the everyday ******,
and the typical poor mans plea,
I think  of the soft subtle waves which hid behind my door,
and the way the light glinted off the calm sea,
I do not think I will get used to this damp city with you,
but at least I always awake with the most beautiful view.

My hands are wrapped around your throat,
gripping tightly as I squeeze the life from you,
with your eyes fixated upon my chest,
where my heart used to be.
Your frequent gasps struggle to keep you afloat,
as you change to the most beautiful shade of blue,
I always found this to be you at your best,
when you are down to your knees.

Don't resist and don't fight,
for only I can remove my hands from your neck,
to peel them away would be a burden,
when it is so much easier to just let you die.

My thoughts when I am with you are impossible to see,
I am unable to decipher thoughts residing in me,
the tension in my mind, tight like a wire,
as  rages on inside me, bright as a wildfire.

What makes you so special is not just your image,
(although that surely helps invoke some thought)
but the mind behind the eyes which light up so bright,
as if within the brain there is no need for privilege,
nothing needed and nothing bought,
with a gentle soul that was purely white.

You free me from the binds within my soul,
as I recognize the potential of what is to come,
without you, within me there is merely coal,
unable to light the fire, as I would merely be numb.