It's hard to be happy sometimes.
I mean everyone can be happy just about most the time.
But it's the whole trying to keep that happiness going that hurts.
I mean a runner can only run for so long.

theres something in your eyes
i didnt see an second before

something to the way you curl your lips
something to the way you grip my waist when we dance
something to the way you flash your devilish grin at me after a wink

is there something on your mind?

is it to do with the way you rake me up and down while i dance?
or the fact i saw something white at the bottom of my glass before i drank it down?

i only met you a few minutes before
and you seemed nice enough when you bought me a drink

only now you dont seem so nice when i blink once more
and im no longer dancing or laughing with my friends

im lying in a cold dark room with my clothes torn
and bruises on my legs as though i had a horrific battle

and the sickening feeling im not quite what i was a few minutes ago

there's something about her
you just cant figure out

she runs with her legs
slightly wobbling
she comes last in her whole year
yet she smiles like shes
won the olympics

she falls over
she runs into trees
and falls over while
scraping her knees
and despite the sting
she grins

she gets back her
maths test and came
last in the year
yet she is laughing
with stitches in her sides

her mother just
yelled at her for something
that happened at school
with some girls kicking her
when she hit back she was
the one who got detention
yet she sits in her room
giggling about a boy in her year
with her best friend on the phone

she laughs
she smirks
she grins
and chuckles
at life around her

did anyone notice
the red stains on her sleeves?

im a mess,
lying on my bathroom floor,
its cold
and its wet
but that fact i feel that at all
makes me stay where i am
the cold reminds me
of an hour before
but even then
i still couldn't get that off my mind
even if i were in my bed wrapped warm and whole
i would never forget
her hands in yours
pulling you down a winding path
in the other direction of the what i
thought was our home
your eyes shone with glee
raking her up and down
in that short red dress
despite the cold whipping wind
snapping at my cheeks
that were freshly streaked
with all the promises you made
all the soft touches you gave
all the long nights we shared
in what i thought was our bed
in what i thought was our home
in what i thought was true love
in our love
but i was wrong
and now
like the time before i met you
im a mess once more

in the life we experience
there is one thing that is certain
which is death.

each thing, everything,
will come to an ultimate demise
and in which they will no longer exist
and everything they achieved
loved and cared for
is eventually forgotten
and no one remembers who sonnet 18 is written about.

because humanity is selfish,
we care for only ourselves and those who are too close
but even then we forget those ones as well.
and we forget who they were
what they were like
what they did
and if the area around their eyes crinkled or not when they smiled


everyone has a choice in this world, to either do great things,
or to forget those who did them.
everyone remembers the president,
but who remembers the name of the school teacher who gave her life for 16 children three years ago?