The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

I’m scared as f*ck
to want you.

But here
I am,

Still wanting you
anyway.

i want you

inside me
on top of me

******* me
furiously

choking me
as i struggle

for breath
on the edge

of life
and death

The sun sinks
and I do my best not to sink with it
at least it’s done it’s job
lit the world for another day
I have just sat here
and complained all day

she soaks herself in his hurt
and it d
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of him
ever so slowly,
infecting her.
all she wanted was for him to be
drained
so he could live without pain
but now, she thinks
living is pain.