Why?
Why does this life feel so hollow
Empty on the inside
I see the people
I hear other voices
But not mine
It doesn't matter
Because I don't

Alone
Is what I fear
Is what I am
What I shall be?
So it seems
Quietly darkened by insignificance
No solace in this solitude
Nor escape from this unbarred cell

I reach out
And stop
No one is there
To take the hand
So the heart withers
Day by day it dies
As a rose kept from the light
A forget-me-not, forgotten

something ever tender,
lies in your open palm,
& all that is only delicate
hums a distant love psalm,

i had hoped you would
have eyes that smile
& skin that gives back
(only just once in a while)

& what joy, they do !
So I exhale in quiet laughter
& understand what Spring is
in this lovely rapture

reoccurring fascism
boiling over in my head
led by not only the bureaucracy
to which we sacrifice our
god given rights to
but by the
oppressing society
that force feeds us
elated lies
funneling us into
specific life paths
but I did not ask
to be born into
a fascist society
ruled by
a democracy, which is
more of a
soft spoken dictatorship.

So excuse me if
I would rather
practice my own
beliefs, instead of
shoving money up
my *** crack
while i sit behind
a desk for the majority
of my life.

Not to mention
the 18+ years of
a mandatory education
that only taught
me how to pass
a state standarized test
put together by the same
******* idiots
who are too
brainwashed by the generations
before them to realize
that the state
is their new God-
but refuse to believe
that America,
the land of the free,
is a theocracy.

Instead of involving
myself in that obvious
grueling cycle
I think
I would rather
separate myself
from the state,
society,
and the false belief
of legal freedom
that was drilled
into all of our
heads
(I do not need a government
to tell me I am free,
just by them saying that
expresses that I am only free
merely because
they let me be.)
I am free
because I am human

I reached for the moon and took it in my hand,
Wrapping my fingers around its luminous sphere.
I gave you the moon along with its craters and imperfections,
But you didn't want the moon.
You wanted the stars.
And darling,
That was something I could never give you.


3 am
he laid in the shower
quietly allowing every droplet of water
to pour into his open flesh
firmly gripping his weapon of choice,
beginning to carve fairytales into a broken canvas
as if he were a father
telling his son a bed time story

surrounded by a pool of ruby red ink
the artist gradually began to work deeper
almost nearing completion of his project
taking a breath between every stroke
the artist proudly admired his work

once when he was five
he made up a song
while riding on his favorite swing
and when he fell off and scraped
his shin, his brother told him
not to cry because
girls liked scars.

and that night as his father
tucked him into bed he hummed
the song he made up
while riding on his favorite swing
and fell asleep in two minutes

once when he was fourteen, he stared
out the window of a parked car for hours
gazing at the stars
and wondered if they thought he was beautiful.
that was the year he first kissed a boy

once on a blank piece of paper
he tried to write a song
but forgot how it went
and that was the year that his brother
went to college and he was
put into foster care because his mother left
and his father was too drunk
to tuck him in at night

and that was the year the boy he kissed
introduced him to the bottom of a bottle
and the taste of cigarettes
and thats how most nights went

once he began to make art
on a blank wrist and he thought
the only way to end the pain
was to break the veins that
bound him to this broken world
and when his brother came back
for christmas and saw his scars,
he didn't say anything
at all

that was the year the boy he first kissed
beat him in english class
and called him a ******
and spit in his face

once when he was seventeen
he stole the keys to a stranger's car
humming a song he had
forgotten the tune to
and drove out into the middle of
nowhere and as he gazed
into the sky he finally understood
that the stars didn't think he was beautiful
because they were all empty inside

and so was he

every cut you’ve ever carved
into your perfect coat of skin
will leave nothing more than scars
just forgiven sins.

i am growing ill
with a bad case
of 'missing you'
and
a high temperature
of 'all the time'.