sometimes when i get sad, i think of how nice it would be to sit down with some tea. so i boil some water and i make some. when it is done , i take my tea and sit in my room. the tea is on my DESK, but it is too hot. so i sit and eventually forget about it until i found it next week and the tea bag is moldy and then i am sad from that and i think about how nice it would be to have some tea

My sweet old friend,
How I miss you more each day.
You were always there,
When no one knew my pain.
You promised me pleasure,
With just one price to pay.
You didn't want to be forgotten,
For you were my hero each night and day.
So now I bare these scars, for the whole world to see.

poetry lost its grandeur when I realized that this body of words could not make you love me.
poetry lost itself to me|when I realized everything ever wrote has an ending.
when i realized, everything that could have been|you stomped on|after. . . You killed me.

What else generates laughs
It's what comes of sadness,
It would be funny
If it were not sad.

What is most impressive
It's what everyone already knows,
It would be funny
If it were not sad.

What most distresses people
Are the consequences of love,
It would be funny
If it were not sad.

What generates more income for poets
Are the tragedies reports
Plucking joy of sad people,
It would be funny
If it were not a Poem.

The fridge is breathing like a dying man.
A rattling death.
Blue light flashing overhead.
Just a smoke detector.
It's own job to do.
Makes me aware.
I'm safe when I am there.
Not alien invaders, as first believed.
Deceived,
Dreamy.
Pretty awake.
However tired.
Half asleep, not far from dead.
Sleep is evasive.
Lack of choice.
One hour donated.
Not loving the night.
So overrated.

Lost a day today.
Somehow mislaid it on the way.
Slept from nine until half past three-ish
How I wish I never had to.
Work in night nurse zoo.
Night shift.
Such joy.
Joy to be me.
The sorrow's flowing over from eyes so itchy full of grit.
Another one all too shortly.
Love my job.
Night's however;
Part of life as a nurse,
The nurse's curse.
(c)LIVVI

"How can I disappoint you tonight?," masked as,
"Come over."
Scene: a small bed in a quaint room with a jaded girl and her delusions of grandeur.
She wears a mask of rose colored glasses,
and with this mask she pursues finer intentions
with the purest of intentions.
She views request for company as the chance to entice someone to join her tea party,
where she serves optimism with a heavy dose of patience.
"Patience. In Due Time."
The mask causes her to no longer recognize the masks that graze the faces of those in front of her.
What happens when you favor the mask over the suitor?
She's fed lies, she'll go back for seconds,
because their taste on her tongue makes her forget about their stain on her heart.

We all have our masks.

Some of us will wear them day in and day out,
unaware that others might be allergic to their particular brand of insincerity.
Others, like her, will struggle with removing theirs for fear of what lies beneath being exposed.
But if beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
how are we supposed to perceive true beauty if we're looking through a mask, rose colored glasses or not?
She will view things better than they are.
Others will view things worse than they are.
If we can remove the mask,
if we can focus on something other than ourselves,
or if we can stop allowing the world to let us believe we constantly need to give more,
if we can finally see life the true way it's meant to be seen,
we might just allow ourselves
to find what we're looking for.