and what is it worth
to fulfill an addiction?
a scratch to an itch
only puts more dirt
under the skin
causing the need
for relief to thicken.
ignore the itch
and responsibility fades
satisfactory made
in a reasonable way.

I've got a question
for you, God
you took so much
when i was young
i was safe at school,
not safe at home
from age four,
i felt all alone
and thought
of death
each day
that went on.
And finally,
seven years passed
and the ones who hurt me
so bad left
and i entered middle school,
so sure
what id been through
was the worst.
Some boys thought i
wasn't "worthy"
of sight, of breath,
so they hurt me
and no one listened
for two years
until i transferred
from my fears.
At 14  i had more pain
in my past
than i could handle,
i couldn't last
i figured it was
my time to go
into my grave,
down deep below.
200 slices
on my wrist
4 were deep enough
to let me kiss
the taste of death
on my fingertips
but not enough
for me to devour it.
I tried again,
just one more time
with pills i swallowed,
and my parents cried
when they walked in,
tears streaming down my face
"I'm sorry," i said.
"My life is a waste."

And still i stand,
leaning on my past
tougher than my youth,
tougher than the rest
And finally,
i get one good gift
of life in mine,
she was my favorite
soul in the world
and i thanked you so
figured all the pain
was worth it now.

I woke up this morning,
and she was dead.
Was fine last night,
And now she rests.
So why, i ask
did you keep me alive
if you're just going to insure
i die inside?

sore soles
pad my feet
weak sobs narrate
my defeat
looking up
but seeing down
breathing in
but feeling drowned;
echoes wander
in my head
of everything
not done yet
so much to do,
so little time
weights on my back,
stress on my mind.

glass spits stupidity in my face
until my identity dissociates
old habits rendezvous with my senses
dancing with my lost soul
casting fainting spells

the bathroom floor is cold
on my cheek
my body and memory
feel weak
black clouds
all i see
until all i know
is not me.

My brain is made
Of blue fumed glass
That glistens with
A sea of thoughts
And ripples in
Their memories.
My hands and skin
Are simply sand,
Rocky structure
For my sea to stand
Upon, and spread
It's ideas abroad;
A human figure, but
None-the-less a fraud.
My hair is waves
To the wind
A whispering tickle
To my skin
It flows when pushed
By the airs kiss;
A lovely version
Of a sin.
My eyes are wide
Bright with pride
Of pure perspective
And many years to live.

My story lies
Hidden in the waves
Of my ocean
And it's lives' graves;
Quite like the lines
Atop a page
Filled with secrets,
Love, and hate.
I'd tell you to come
And take a swim
But you'd be there forever
In my sea within.