then,
what makes you a poet..?

i'll cut my hair
and mark my lips with blood
am I beautiful yet?

i'll grow my hair
i'll bleed I swear
am I beautiful yet?

my nails are long
enough to cut
scars deep enough
for these diamonds

and I don't get diamonds
i'm not beautiful
and god I hate my hair..

can't i just have nice hair....?

you're hurt
but it makes me so happy..
i hate this side of me.

Why does it always feel like
no one's listening
when I talk?

We all have our battles to fight.
Please respect all the battles
I've fought.

Always playing the victim
but you've been making a victim
of everyone.

Jump....
Off this cliff.

Silent voices whisper

Just reach,
Farther,
Below.

Touch the river...

Jump.

Water is blue.
And hate is as black
As love.

Angels don’t exist...
Anymore,

You clipped all their wings.

And if I jump
Now,

I won’t fly..
I’ll fall.

I can never cut.
But sometimes I swear,
It feels like wounds are being carved into my heart,
And I wonder if carving these wounds unto my skin
Can relieve it.
This kind of pain you can’t reach;
No matter how far into yourself you stretch,
If I could grab my heart and squeeze it till it is numb;
Like I would if the knife slips;
Till all the red in my finger fades away;
Till all the pain in my heart fades away.

I can never cut.
Except with the words I stick myself with everyday.
You taught me how to self-harm, I took the blade from you,
And convinced myself that it hurts less if I’m the first one to say it;
That if I kept cutting at my heart,
If I kept giving myself scars,
Then the ones you gave me didn’t matter.
And I never let them heal;
The wounds,
They never heal.

I can never cut.
Because for the life of me I cannot get accustomed to pain.
I cannot get accustomed to you hurting me over and over again.
I cannot get accustomed to bleeding inside.
My wounds are too afraid to be seen.
My wounds refuse to etch themselves unto my skin;
To be so bold.
I cannot wear myself inside out;
My pain inside out.
But I swear,
When these wounds are being carved into my heart,
I consider if carving them unto my skin,
Will ever relieve the pain.

you're scared.
because you've always lived
in a fantasy you made up
inside your head;

too scared to step out
and walk in your glass slipper;
too scared to go bare feet
on broken glass.

you were Cinderella
in your daydreams.
you thought and you hoped
that real life worked like fairy tales.

you stayed inside your carriage
and you dreamt.
but could you fly on the backs
of those wingless dreams?

no, not when midnight came
and they began to vanish;
not when your carriage disappeared;
your world.

then, struck by darkness,
you trip and fall into life's abyss,
and your glass slipper shatters;
your heart.

It stains like blood,
Your touch.
Like wine,
It stays,
Intoxicates,
Alleviates,
Exonerates.

It frees.

Envelope me.
Paint me with your colours,
Your fingers, tinted brushes.
Draw over my scars.
Embellish me.

The artist, a lover.

Demons are only real because we create them;
Because we plant them there and water them;
Because we inherit them;
We breed the insanity; feed the flames.

We embrace them,
Like they're the only friends we've got;
The only ones who stuck.
We hate them, but we love them to stay,

And keep us company,
Because if not, there'd only be emptiness;
Emptiness that begins to rot inside you,
And drives you straight to the devil himself.

You people don't appreciate me enough.
I mean my very presence should be a welcomed blessing
in the midst of your pathetic lives,
and my unmistakable genius.
Whilst I am forced into such close proximity to your kind,
who couldn't ever measure up to these high standards of mine.

You mock me and speak harshly of me.
But now it is a fact that indeed you are all just jealous and hateful,
strongly wishing you were the meticulous being that I am.
All my charitable deeds go to waste and so what more can I say?
I am perfection and therefore, man must dislike what they can not have.

Yet, as it is, I can still walk with an air of grace and dignity,
my head quite high
A true sign of an individual worthy of much acknowledgement.

These people, I do not know.
I only see them in my dreams.
I only see them when I close my eyes.
Only when it seems
like I am dying again.

I can never make out their ghastly faces;
they have no eyes or nose or mouth.
All I hear are silent voices
that seem to come from nowhere
but inside my head.

She's the girl with the cherry red lipstick,
the full ******* and rounded hips.
They call her sweet ******;
pretty little ******.

You'll know when you see her.
She'll answer you with, yes sir.
But don't look into those lovely eyes;
they will hypnotize; entice.

And her tongue is sugar coated
with sly and tempting lies.
They draw you near and nearer
every time she licks her lips.

She captures the young men's hearts,
with her seductive youth.
She feeds on their lustful stares;
their male hormones, testosterones.

Their jealous girlfriends
give her the strength
to make it through the days;
to ignore the painful shame.

But every lonely night she cries
herself to sleep,
and prays to the heavens
to retrieve her innocence.

They call her sweet ******,
pretty little ******.
But I know her well as Sorrowful,
and pretty with a grieving heart.

I
Suddenly, I'm nostalgic,
for the times when life was simpler,
and we were blind to the evil that dwelt amongst its thrushes
where we played.
We coloured its black and white pages
with crayons,
and placed them somewhat carelessly
into the folders of our memories.
Now we constantly search for them,
and the joy that was once ours.

II
The dark was my sworn enemy,
but now I embrace it with open arms.
Curiosity was once my dear friend,
now I've all the answers I never wanted.
Questions continue to bloom
in my garden of knowledge
and I let them die.
Afraid to know the truths,
I would rather nourish the lies
I have planted.

III
Suddenly I am nostalgic,
for the times when life was simpler;
when I could admire the roses,
without glancing at their threatening thorns;
when I could freely laugh,
and not feel the tears behind my eyes;
when I could dream my whole world up,
and not fear it will come crashing down.
Ignorance was really bliss,
and freedom, never my wish.

Take to me the edge,
That god-forsaken edge;
So I can see where darkness thrives,
And light begins to end.

Take me to that place,
Of frightening solitude;
Where people give their lives away,
And end their pain for good.

Let me have a glance at death,
While clinging on to life.
And I'll dance on that fateful edge,
With all my ache and strife.

And this is a tragedy;
To lose oneself in the throng of life;
for one's light to die and become the darkness;
To forget one's dreams and become the hopeless;
To live a life where you're dead already.

Oh, should I have a dress made of sunlight,
Embellished with dewdrops from heaven;
And a crown on my head full of stardust,
From stars that will dance on my head top.

The morning shall curtsy to me,
I, the maiden of light.
The sky will acknowledge my presence.
The earth will rejoice with the heavens.

Oh, should I have a dress made of sunlight
and the stars atop my head,
I could gnash my teeth at darkness,
and darkness will run and hide.

I simply admire the way
Sunlight streams into my bedroom window
And filters through translucent curtains,
Merging with the dying darkness,
Till all is engulfed in light.

I am dead and my spirit is dead.
My body is as an empty shell.
Resurrect me, oh resurrect me!
And bring me back to life.

I am dead, for they have killed me.
They caged my dull and fragile spirit.
Resurrect me, oh resurrect me!
Allow my soul to rest.

I am dead in this life I live.
But I was once a child and so alive.
Resurrect me, oh resurrect me!
Bring me back again.

Lay me down beside my love to sleep.
Close my eyelids gently, let me weep.
Mend my broken heart that I can grieve,
For her kisses may I no longer receive.

And prepared is that eternal bed,
Where my dear shall lay her lovely head.
Now lay me down beside my love to sleep.
Close my eyelids gently, let me weep.

My love, my love, mon petit amour,
Never again shall I meet one so true.
So lay me down beside my love to sleep.
Leave me with precious memories to keep.

Crisp, golden-brown leaves,
Float gently down to the ground.
An Autumn breeze blows.

Dreaming, dreaming
Under the moonlight
The stars seem so close by
My heart is satisfied

I begin to feel drowsy
The serenity lulls me
It hard to keep explaining
The peace that I feel

Whenever I feel lonely
And sad and blue
I think of the sky
Its beauty so true

How lucky the stars are to live way up there
And I'm kind of lucky that I can see them
Whenever I feel lonely and sad and blue
I think of the sky, its beauty so true.

Hello,
How are you?
I hope you are well.
I have tried so hard
To reach you.

Hello,
I just thought
That I'd call
To make sure you're
Doing Alright.

Are we really not gonna talk
Again?
It's been too long,
That's why I called.

And I heard that
You're getting married,
I hope he's really nice
To you.

But are we really not gonna talk
Again?
It's been too long.
And we were happy.
Do you remember?

Please, let's not do this.
Please.
Hello. Goodbye.
Please reply.