Dare I confess the black stain on my soul?
No, rather, lets tuck it in conscience
No need to feel sickly an numb.

Tuck it away my soulless one

What if I could pull the hands back of time?

You can't sweety, it's done.

Can I make it fade?

I don't see how? It's a dark, dark stain,
And you've been trying so long now.

Even with all my good deeds?

There aren't enough good deeds
To wipe it clean, the lead in your soul
Forever drags your feet.

I don't deserve anything. Why do I go free?

Because you are destined.

Destined for what? A life of misery?

No dear, no, a life of greatness.
None of clear conscience strive
To erase me from their minds
As I would not exist,
and neither would the gift,
the necessity, the change.

But I don't understand?

Your stain is a gift,
The journey of the holy grail.
Where others strive and fail,
You have already failed now strive.

But I failed?

You have failed, but now is hope;
The ever charging fuel of your journey.

My soul is ****** isn't it?

You have nothing to lose,
this is the secret of life's journey

But what of hell? Surely it waits?
I hear it screaming my penance?

Hell? You're already here,
Perhaps one day, you'll make it out?

You think so?

It's possible but
I'm your conscience...
What do I know?
I only know why I exist
And I in turn, wish I loved my existence

So there's no hope?

There's always hope,
I'm still with you aren't I?

Yes, but I don't understand?

You don't need to.
Just keep hope, and in us,
Never forget where we've come from;
You are destined

But I am stained?

No, you are marked for greatness.

I'm a bright blue box with a bitter black inside.

I screamed 'open me! open me!' to those who had tried.

As they peek in it takes their breath away,

how broken and sad before them i lay.

Shuttering and sobbing, i scream out: close the box!

because i know no one can undo my sad twisted knots.

shame on me for trying, who could ever care?

I wanted to be happy, but i doubt I'll make it there.

My inside grows darker, my dreams more disturbed,

but the outside still gleams blue, fake, unperturbed.

My dark insides take over, I can't turn it off

I'm trying, I'm trying, but the voices just scoff.

Happy? Loved? You? You've got to be kidding.

These things are reserved for light, your darkness is forbidding.

Close your eyes babe, and try to make it through

while your dark dark insides utterly consume you.

So come on, sit down. Make yourself at home.

Let the voices talk, let your mind roam.

Because you're trapped here darling, inside this blue box

no keys have the power to undo your locks.

Your blue box is shut. Seal it off, seal it tight.

It's simple, you just have no hope to ever see light.

The people, they leave. They don't understand.

Each time they go, unable to withstand.

You're a being of sadness, disguised as a girl

come on, fake a smile, let your lips curl.

Yes, cut yourself off, you little blue box.

Make yourself tough, a foundation of rocks.

Because not feeling anything, nothing at all,

is the sure-fire way to make certain you don't fall.

Fear and panic sweep over me.
I need to move
but I'm paralyzed by my need for normalcy.
One pop of a pill and it will drift away,
and I will sleep.

But sleep is for the weak,
or is sleep for the week?
That's what my body
bounces back and forth between.
There is no middle.
No start.
Eventually an End.

The inner meaning of desire
bounces from my heart to my head,
as if it is the ball in a pin ball machine.
I try to fight off this anxious feeling,
though it is a chemical imbalance in my brain.
Why do I fight with the chemicals in my body?

I fight to feel normal.
I fight to not rely on a simple pop of a pill that my doctor gives me.
She tells me to take it when I need it, she trusts me.
Sometimes I feel that trust is too much.
Because this anxiety is a metaphor for life,
and I know that problems cannot be solved, by one simple solution.
I fight to be strong.

Bittersweet,
lick the rim,
feel the chill,
on your skin.
Piercing liquid,
climbs down your throat
Yet lifting up,
in the room you float.
Your vision struggles,
to keep up.
As you tip the glass,
and begin to ****.
And a grin streaks your face
But it lacks it’s natural grace.
Artificial happiness,
Results in bitter loneliness.
Regret always follows,
When the day strays to tomorrow.
Addiction keeps you faded
Far into the moonshine
You have waded.
The bad taste
Turns times to waste.
Your twisted into a wicked trick.
Whisky dreams come and go too quick.
But life keeps going
The pain,
still growing.
Without you even knowing.

I don’t write to which conveys into a story;
I write to what captures an emotion,
a feeling.

I'm not exactly a poet or writer,
yet somewhere in between the two.

I feel unique and fiery,
under the cool, blue moon,
and salted and peppered under the dry, hot sun.

Fueled with anger, all my writing needs.
A new exploration through the journey unknown,
using awkward wording, unlike graceful butterflies.

I'm okay with myself when shielded from the rest.