Search. Search. Seek. Seek.
Cold. Cold. Clear. Clear.
Sorrow. Sorrow. Pain. Pain.
Hot flashes. Sudden chills.
Stabbing pains. Slow agonies.
I can find no peace.
I drink two cups, then three bowls,
Of clear wine until I can’t
Stand up against a gust of wind.
Wild geese fly over head.
They wrench my heart.
They were our friends in the old days.
Gold chrysanthemums litter
The ground, pile up, faded, dead.
This season I could not bear
To pick them. All alone,
Motionless at my window,
I watch the gathering shadows.
Fine rain sifts through the wu-t’ung trees,
And drips, drop by drop, through the dusk.
What can I ever do now?
How can I drive off this word —
Hopelessness?

Teach me, if thou can-forgetfulness!
Teach me how to forget thee, for I ain't
worthy of these feelings. I am undeserving of
thy love-for I can only dwell in and cherish it-
I cannot give thee yon pleasure, my love. Pleasure-
and its affectionate satisfaction-t'ose two-o but
amusements, the ones whom thou so dearly adore-
are but a sin to me, a sin so brief and beautiful
but even more ungrateful then the unblinking
foliage-into which I am unwilling to sink. Aye,
forgetfulness shall be a mercy to me. For in
such idiocy have I dreamed-dreamed of being
in thy lovely arms, absorbed in the mist of thy
charms. But I can never be so! Even dreaming
shall I be refrained from-I can never hug
thee-even in my deepest tempestuous fears.
Thou are t'at bizarre light that roam the stones
of my pernicious dreams. But Thou despiseth me-
how thou hate me, thou who shall never glance back
in my last breath, thou who but condemn me-I,
should t'is world be altered, shall still remain
thy sudden wound; I am but a flawed work of
insulting wretchedness. Then teach me-
teach me, my love, invade my heart-and grasp
my veins, rob my of my dearly, dearly affection-
for thee, yes, which was born only for thee-
and leave me loveless, just as no-one flatters me
and endorse my feelings, in t'is very loneliness.

i pour my heart on the ground
bare my soul to you
give you my all
none left for anyone
you wanted my everything
i gave willingly
i seep through the cracks
downwards to nothing
you spit as i fall
then pick up my soul
put me in your pocket
and keep me for a rainy day
and still i stand
yours forever
because i cant let you go

What are these scars worth?
These dark purple lines.

Can I show you them,
And be an inspiration?

Can I cover them,
And be a coward?

What if I darken them?
Will that make me insane?

Oh and if I cross bridges,
Instead of going up stream,
That makes me a fake.
A liar.
An attention *****.
An emo.
A weakling.

Well look at you.
You must be very strong.
Very impossibly strong.
Or maybe you just weren't caught in a battle,
Because your blown up head couldn't make it out of the castle.

The great thing
is not having
a mind. Feelings:
oh, I have those; they
govern me. I have
a lord in heaven
called the sun, and open
for him, showing him
the fire of my own heart, fire
like his presence.
What could such glory be
if not a heart? Oh my brothers and sisters,
were you like me once, long ago,
before you were human? Did you
permit yourselves
to open once, who would never
open again? Because in truth
I am speaking now
the way you do. I speak
because I am shattered.

the pain is great
the sorrow is deep
i know not of anything
forgiveness is difficult
strength weakens in dark hours
bottom of the depths of my mind
my heart is far
soul is bound
my light-isnt here
lost without
i wander the night
evil seeps through
shadows take over
body becomes tomb
hopes rays fade
doubts begin creeping
where am i
where is my light?

Across the room you stand,
Tall, long and thin,
Light gleaming off
your flawless, smooth skin.
I call you a friend,
Yet sometimes, you aren’t.
Frequent jibes,
Every day, taunting
Refusing the gift,
I have always wanted.

You are not cruel,
Only truthful,
Very tactful,
But sometimes,
Brutal,
It’s not only I
who trembles at
your opinions on
imperfection.

You are still always there,
You watch me as I fade into slumber,
You are the first one, who helps me,
When I awaken,
Sorting through jeans and
Hand knitted jumpers,
You determine my style,
And I can hardly loathe you
for that.
Yet you still act all noble,
You have seen me smile and cry,
Sometimes you help,
Sometimes you hide.

I fear the day you notice
the creases in my skin,
The marks on my hands,
The silver in my hair,
I know you won’t change,
You’ll act all wise,
Glance at my decay,
And my upcoming demise.