When depression strikes,
A door for poetry opens.

The door that lets out the misery
The pain that keep hurting me
In turn invites public sympathy
By posting some of these poetry

Poetry that grew, from the feelings I have taken out.
Poetry that nourished, from the tears that I have shed
Poetry that would die down as times passes by.

And what I hope for,
Is when the leaves of my peotry starts to fall to the ground
My heart would be healed from the pain that once surround.

(haiku)

He's fire, red flames on
Incinerating bridges
To my distant past

Slaves to pain,
We're all addicts to
That which compels us to
Destroy ourselves

I can't lay the blame on
Anyone but myself since
It's me who gave in

Inaction is a form of action
And holding back has more
Power than I ever imagined

we have lonely hearts,
and hungry hands,
and we want to love,
but we don't know how.
we have tired eyes,
and achy lips,
and we want to love,
but we don't know how.
we have too many thoughts
and no one to listen,
and we just want to love,
but we don't know how.
we have so much to give
and no one to take
and we will probably always be alone.
we have shaky hands
that only hold pens
and trembling lips
that only kiss cigarettes
and watery eyes
that never know how to look okay.
we are the ones you forget you raised this way,
teaching us fear
instead of how to love
or maybe just maybe we might know how.
we're the ones who make up things to believe in
to keep us going
and maybe we made up the concept of love
because we have no proof that it's real.

Instants of weakness
Instants of despair
Come unexpected
To your hopes scare.
Life is unfair
So be aware
In those vulnerable moments
Holding on nothing but air
You might trust the wrong person
To your soul poison
Beyond repair.

One of us will be tall
One of us will throw a ball
One of us will fall
One of us will climb a wall
One of us will feel small
Some of us are nothing at all