The best thing about hangman
Is that it teaches you that saying the wrong thing
Can end soneone's life.

The silence and darkness are like twins joined at the hip,
like lovers holding hands,
like tress rooted to the soil.

Why do you let fear fill up these crevices
that form because
anything dim yearns for the quiet,
and silence curls her fingers around the dark,

The bond remains, however twisted,
till the end of time,
a bond of love.

I am a prisoner of my own mind
The light at the end of the tunnel is difficult to find
I battle with my own demons
Numb to my sensations
I battle with the use of creating
Instead of destroying
I am a warrior
A warrior who uses
words and colors as my armor.

Ninotchka, I beg you
Stay
You shouldn’t leave
It's cold and nasty outside
Soldiers are marching
In black overcoats
One, two, three

Ninotchka, I’m sorry
I understood everything
I know now how
And you
Do not go away
I ask you
I'm a miserable man
But

Ninotchka, in the eyes
Look in my eyes
I beg
Another minute
I entrust myself to you
For all the sins
That

Ninotchka, tell
Tell them not to wait
There
I'm here
Stay here
I beg
You

Ninotchka, ...

It was one of those nights that instead of feeling as bright
as all the other stars that had been pin-pricked into the sky,

I felt more like the blackened blue stretch behind them
because tonight,
I just flickered out of existence.

Lines,


red ink flow down his arms.
Depress the pain,
for the death of his brother,
had not simply cursed Cain.
Smiled when they call him deranged
An affidavit of sadness to rage.

Lines,


cut so deep, structured so fine.
It's a pain of a pure sort of nature,
A pure kind.
It's this way, or he goes away.
For good this time.

Lines,


pastel skin so sharp,
the colour red colours and warps.
Church bells toll for a funeral.
For one must accept the pain
to return and become sane.

Or they deny the lines.
Let it be for just one more moment.
Just own it.
The anger, the rage, the pain, the sorrow.
Soon, there won't be any feelings left to borrow.