i feel things intensely
and that's why i run away
that's why i tend to disappear

i'm afraid of how much i can feel
it's a little overwhelming
and a lot scary

especially when you're unsure
of how the other person even feels
while you are already drowning

i guess this is my story
because it has been happening
over and over again to me

i fall in love and trip over myself
only to realize no one is on the other side
to even catch me

all illusions
all dreams

but maybe one day someone will be there
maybe one day it will all be real
and i won't be tripping over nothing
and i won't have a reason to fear.

What does one do when they have no inspiration?
How does an artist stay an artist without a muse?
How does one lonely poet write her most beautiful piece yet without the heartbreak driving her nails?

How can a beauty stand alone,
No lover or wondering eye,
How can she love herself when no one is around to hold her up,
When she tears herself down?

When does inspiration strike?
Is it holding your lovers hand or avenging your fallen warrior?
Is it lying alone in a large unforgiving bed,
With the sounds of your sobs as your dying lullaby?

What is inspiration?
When does it strike?
Maybe at the end of this poem,
I'll find mine.

I haven't picked up the pen
in quite some time

It seems as if I'm forgetting
that poetry is everything I used to be

Writing was my escape
And now I feel more than I can take

Now, I'm picking up the pen
Telling my emotions

Explaining the writers block that controlled me

I will finally start again

I stopped writing the day I left you
Because with 1300 miles to seperate us
I am slowly forgetting what it feels like
To feel gravity pushing on me through your body
Or to hear you whisper me to sleep

I quit singing in the shower
The moment I got on that plane
Because no bathroom echoes the way yours does
And no water can rinse you into me

I've been turning into something since that day
Something not made of my particles
And I think it has to do with
Them still sticking to your skin

deadwood haiku is
exactly what the **** it
sounds like, *******

Her laugh was golden, yet hollow.
The colour dulling over time, without the sun to help it shine.
Her eyes were silver, when they gleamed. Oh God, how pretty her eyes could have been.

Her heart was black; the most beautiful, nourishing shade of black I had ever had the blessing of seeing.
Her heart was painted black, layer upon layer of cruel intentions that only I could see through.
It wasn't her fault, don't blame her for it. Don't hate her for it.
Don't ever tell me that I couldn't love her for it.

Her wings were built on rainbows and stretched further than I ever would have thought they could.
She could only have hoped to fly one day, because rainbow wings couldn't carry the weight of the world;
but she let go of that weight, and can you honestly tell me that you wouldn't have done the same?

The days are pink now.
The layers of black that once enveloped her poor, weathered heart are fading.
Fading so quickly, and still you try and tell me that it wasn't worth it.

I'm glad she learned to fly, and I've never been more proud of a person.
I know it's not fair of me to say this,
not about the strongest person I have ever met,
and don't get me wrong, I really am glad that she learned to fly,
but sometimes I wish that I could have learned to fly too.

I know...
I am not one of the pages of your book
or the words in your poem
But...
I will tirelessly watch over you from every nook.

I know I am your never
but you will forever be my always...

I know...
I am not the potrait you are painting
or the inspiration behind your masterpieces
But...
in my heart , it is your name I am engraving.

I know I am your never
but you will forever be my always...

I know...
I am not the reason for your smiles
or the tickles of your laughter
But...
for you, I would walk a thousand miles.

I know I am your never
but you will forever be my always...

I know...
I am not your shining star
or the light in your life
But...
till forever is through, I'll admire you from afar.

I know I am your never
but you will forever be my always...

I know...
I am not the one your heart beats for
or the one you desire
But...
my hearts says as long as it brings you happiness,
it wants nothing more.

I know I am your never
**but you will forever be my always...

Am I drowning? The void of my soul fills
with water as I dive deeper in order
to escape this calm catastrophe
called "living".

Where do I go next? The city lights I
see through the murky haze, hallucinating
in my final breaths. Seeing the stars of
Atlantis, the long lost beauty.
Seeing the scars of myself, the long lost
calamity.

Was I ever beautiful, or did I
become so skilled in the art of pretending,
my art of hiding, that even the best
critics couldn't find me behind these canvas
walls?

Mermaids bearing blades pierce my canvas heart,
its surface painted by countless sorrows.
Blood swirling around me, closing my eyes
as I die in a painting - the girl who
sank her own city.

You are nothing now,
but if I had the chance to wish one thing of you,
it is this:
(may your past rest in parenthesis)
only an aside in the monologue of life
a soliloquy to the fourth wall of dramatic irony
a bracketed prologue to your story  
interjecting an understanding of now and everything from now
in a seemingly never-ending pattern
as present becomes past and enters the parentheses

when your death came and your last words and thoughts slipped behind you
death was the only thing left unsheltered
as your brackets came to a close
but may you rest in every moment and memory you contained in interjection thus far,
(may you rest in parenthesis)