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there’s a glass window between you and me
the kind so clean that sometimes
you think you’re on the same side
it’s just an illusion, a pathetic fantasy
so instead you tap at the glass and mock me
with your laughs, banter, and little secrets
there are quite a few people on the inside
i’ve noticed it’s getting crowded in there
but i’ve never seen the window open
so how do they manage to sneak their way in
you let in flies and snakes and spiders but you won’t let me in
maybe i should break this glass between you and me
and even though the shards will cut my fingers and knees
it’ll be worth all the pain if it finally means i’m in  

- alone
you said that life wasn’t fair
so you fell in love with death
aching to run away with him as if it’s an affair
waiting longingly for your last breath
you even wrote death a love letter
asking him to take you away forever
but you should’ve realized sooner
that death is charming and clever
that you’re dancing with the devil
as you sink into the noise of late night revels
that death fills your head with poison
and he corrupts your thought and reason
that death treats everyone the same
and when he takes you, he has finally won his game

- but aren’t we already in hell?
humanity’s great at ignoring ****** abuse, assault, and ****
but when it happens again, humanity’s mouth is agape
humanity’s great at calling girls ****** and *****
and disregarding people’s burns and cuts
humanity’s great at sneering at lesbians and gays
and watching people starve themselves for days
humanity’s great at letting kids use drugs as an escape
and ignoring all the overdoses that are about to take shape
humanity’s great at ridiculing masculine girls and feminine boys
and playing with people’s minds as if they are mere toys
humanity’s great at starting wars over religion and race
thinking that violence will put people in their place
humanity fights all its battles with no mercy or grace
and when humanity realizes his mistake
don’t expect him to show his face
expect nothing but for him to plead his case
and his excuse is that everyone but him is an utter disgrace
humanity’s great at denying people their rights
humanity’s even better at reading people their last rites
humanity’s the best at acting like nothing’s wrong
humanity’s the best at playing along
when really everything around him is falling apart
but don’t you know, humanity has no heart
no one receives love by demanding it            
and that’s my biggest fear
if i ask for something and i get it
no questions asked    
it’s not love
it’s sympathy

-something i’ve learnt recently
Beneath the Roses,
Down stairs of bone,
the Twilight has fled,
and I am home

At the Nightclub Carnival,
Six-Six-Six Feet Under,
Morphine Martyrs dance with
******* Thunder

Lost among the Nocturnal Nymphs,
the Wildflower Cannibals eat

Violet Vapors
Scholars of Marijuana
Let's **** the Beatnik Babes
into a different genre.

We are New York Fairies and
their ****** Brothers.
Our hearts play on vinyl,
we're the Devil's lovers.

I've become my own Altar,
for the dead pray to None
Under Ginsberg's Grave,
The Party's just begun.

- M.R
For Allen Ginsberg. (the Beat Poets didn't ****)
you look at the clock, only three more hours you think
don’t worry, this entire night will be over in a blink
your body is tired but your mind is wide awake
you don’t know how much more of this you can take
you take a pill or two to help you sleep
but how long will that last if you’re in too deep
you pray for the torture to end, but the universe is bitter
it’ll give an hour of sleep to make you feel better
you rack your brain for new excuses and lies
for when they ask about the dark circles under your eyes
“i was up late studying” or “i slept till eight”
you use either one and hope they take the bait
but the truth is the dark circles under your eyes
are shadows of an intruder who uses you as a disguise
the truth is the dark circles under your eyes
are the bruises from the fights that end at sunrise
the truth is the dark circles under your eyes
are proof that you are now insomnia’s prize
insomnia is your only friend nowadays
while everyone else leaves, she always stays
what you don’t know about writers
is that when we write we put on a cloak of thorns
we set ourselves on fire and give ourselves burns
we let ourselves drown in an ocean of pain
just to be able to let go of our thoughts again
you can’t imagine all the wars we lost
and the number of people it cost

what you don’t know about writers
is that we blame ourselves when people leave
that’s when we write, while others grieve
we put on masks to hide the fact
that our so-called strength is all an act

our pens are double-edged swords
little do you know the heartache caused by our words

the ink from a writer’s pen stains their heart
but they’ll swear that it’s all for art
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