A king will be a king,
His queen must be a shill.
Dare she were to disobey,
Stick her head in a guillotine.
The modern world seems so classical,
An era of error on repeat,
As if a broken record,
So to speak.

Her hair a factory of honey,
Glistening eyes of a little girl,
A figure of motherhood in need of a mother.
Why, she was just a baby,
Right from wrong?
She could not tell,
He wanted her,
He got her,
And they all danced to his tune.

She worshipped her king,
Loving him tenderly as —
The king worshipped himself,
Taking care of business.
An entire world heard him speak,
Yet never saw her.

Enslaved in a kingdom of grace,
While she was up,
He was down.
His majesty ruled rocking,
Molded his maiden,
And left her but to wonder,
Simply of his whereabouts.
The throne,
Lonely without her king.

A flawless woman feared flawed,
Merely a mirror of his honor.
A man of many mistresses,
Ravaged for *******.
Who was she?
She could not say,
A lover or a friend?
A mother or a gem?
In time past due,
She could not stay.

The goddess vacated his palace,
Long left to showcase his gold,
But even those walls reek of plastic,
Hindered by a painting left unseen.
They did not know him,
Neither did he,
Only did she,
And she is forced to eat,
At the dime of his memory.

She’s gonna sing?
I’ll dance.
**** — what a lovely little voice,
Caressing my spirit and shattering my ego.
Her ambiance brings forth the notion,
That one person can be deemed flawless.

Perfectly imperfect,
What a melodic little spirit.
She sings, I dance.
I listen to her words tenderizing my ear drums.
A fool blabbing love that remains unspoken,
When she rips apart all that is entwines me.

I’m a mere note in her tune,
Her concerto of loneliness and dread.
She rehearses too much,
Calculating each vibrato to the tee,
Anticipating a sore throat,
When I’m the only one in the crowd,
And I don’t mind.
I have lozenges.

All I want is to hear her sing,
And for her to watch me dance,
And cheer me on with her lovely voice,
As I sit in my skivvies, front row, center stage,
Like a buffoon with a lack of rhythm in me.

She better keep on singing.
The key may change,
But notes stay the same,
And I’ll be there to back her vocals,
With my frugal, five-dollar guitar.

I’ll always dance to her tune,
I hope she’ll always sing for me.
When she sings,
I ******* dance,
And I pray that she’ll give me an encore.

Sooner or later,
I need to learn how to dance,
A voice like hers can’t go to waste.
A genius composer,
I can never oppose her,
The sound of her music livens me.

She sings,
I dance,
She belts,
I prance,
She laments,
I advance,
To savor,
Our incestuous romance.

Filmmaking should be an art form, not merely a business.

The creative process should be personal, not impersonal.

Filmmaking should be sentimental, not political.

Performances should be natural, not robotic. They should be authentic, not artificial.

Writing should be truthful, not bogus.

Cinematography should be ambitious, not pretentious.

Premieres should be on a big screen, not a flat screen.

The audience should open up their preferences, not solidify them. They should respect traditions, not belittle them.

Profit should be a reward for hard work, not a motive for it.

Filmmaking should be intoxicating, not grueling.

Credit should be a right, not a luxury.

Ownership should be divided, not bombarded.

Final cuts should be final, not temporary.

The industry should be welcoming, not selective. It should be open, not gated.

Investors should require trust, not demand control.

We should treasure movies, not forget them over time.

Artists should be publicized, not exploited. They should be grateful, not prissy.

Celluloid should be valued, not endangered.

Equipment should last, not outdate within a year.

In a country full of opportunities, why is it so difficult to achieve what you want? Better yet, if you work hard enough, why could you still fail?

Roses are red.

Violets are blue.

No, I’m pretty sure Violets are violet.

That poem is a lie.

Just like my love for you.

I fear that I’ll lose you,
Even though I want you gone.

I want you to stay,
Yet I often contemplate running away.

Does that make me... inhumane?

Have you driven me insane?
Or is that my head talking?
You’re the one who got me walking,
Now, here I am doing all of this balking.

We’re facing a scare, scarier than painless death.
We’re facing your suffering, promoting your very last breath.

I want you to leave me be,
But not to die prematurely.
Please don’t leave me,
I’m too young to bury,
The one thing that created me.

What do people see,
What do people see,
When they see me,
What do they see?

Am I absolutely,
Positively,
Worthy,
Of glory?
Am I smart,
Bright,
Sweet,
And funny?

Am I big,
Round,
Short,
Or tall?
Do I push them away,
Or attract them all?

Do I make them smile,
Or appear to be small?
Do they even notice me,
Just a small amount at all?

Week days come,
Weekends go,
I’ll never be as perfect as I hoped so,
‘Cuz I assume they see greed,
When looking at me,
When all they see,
Is what’s outside of me.

Nice Guys,
they finish Last.
They make it by,
the skin of their ***.
The woman don’t,
appreciate class.
They expect ‘em all,
to have ***** of brass.

Lights in the Sky,
Lights in the Sky,
How many have died,
For these lights in the Sky?

A web of familiar photos,
Flashing before my eye,
A bundle of lights are flashing,
Flashing throughout the sky.

Noisy lights bashing,
Crashing through my eye,
These lights aren’t dashing,
Their sadness is masking,
while mashing up the sky.

Today, like many others,
We seek lights flashing in our eye,
To remind us of our strength,
Yet strength is hard to come by.

Unity and tranquility,
Yankee Doodle, do or die,
So keep igniting these lights,
As they dance throughout the sky,
As my eye sheds another tear,
on this wonderful night in July.

Look! I can spell my name:

FRAID
REMORSEFUL
ATYPICAL
NEUROTIC
CAREFUL
IRREGULAR
SMALL

Look! I can spell SISTER:

SASSY
IRRATIONAL
SICK
TOXIC
EGOMANIAC
REALLY ******

Look! I can spell BROTHER:

*******
ROYAL ******
OH, you are also-
TOXIC
HELL’S RULER
EXTREMELY-
*******

Look! I can spell FATHER:

FAILURE
ABUSIVE
****
HARDHEADED
EDGEY
ROUND

Look! I can spell MOTHER:

MANIPULATIVE
OPPRESSING
TOXIC
HATEFUL
EGOTISTICAL
RESENT

A clinch of ten fingers onto a lonely bed sheet,
Circulation begins to ****** drastically,
A hooded figure suspended over me,
I'm exhausted,
Foam at my mouth begins to secrete.

Should've known or at least taken a thought,
Making no attempts to cleanse my poisoned mind,
This abused heart can't stand much more,
A state like this I've never been before.

Judging by my loss of gratitude,
The chickens have come home to roost,
What some may call karma,
I call a blessing,
A lifetime of dreading the one form of peace,
I'll ever encounter in my time.

All I'm seeing now is black,
And they won't turn back the clocks,
No matter how much I beg and plead,
They're just letting me die alone in my socks.

Emotional Cancer

Depression is like cancer,
Once you've got it,
It will most likely **** you,
And leave your loved ones wondering "why".

The amazing similarities,
They are both rapid,
They tear up lives,
And there is no true cure.

Treatment, yes,
But both ending in mortality,
There is no true cure,
There is no true cure.

How can you see the light at the end of the tunnel,
When you're constantly driving at night,
How can a cloud have a silver lining,
When the entire cloud is black?

Working to get a required education,
To pay for an optional education,
In order to apply for a job,
That requires both sets of education.

Working our whole lives to receive one piece of paper,
To get accepted by an academy that requires said paper,
Just to earn another piece of paper,
In order to get a job and earn more paper...

Yet they care so much about saving trees.

The bright side,
A side blocked by a wall constructed of human consciousness,
A self awareness far too complex and cruel,
Cruelty eating our species alive as we breathe.

Grass greener on one side,
But my side is dried up like jerky,
I roll it up and smoke it to gain a moment of clarity,
Nicotine rushes to my head,
Slowly killing me in sync with the daily tasks life requires.

God shows favoritism over those who show no effort,
And punishes those who abide by his laws,
Laws in which disbelievers defecate on,
And still he gives them gold stars.

A lack of significance happiness has with me,
It fails to correlate with responsibilities driven by such a fantasy,
When all there is the end of this bumpy road,
Is a cliff.

Consistently inquisitive,
Of phenomena greater than man,
Searching for the solutions unknown,
Intuitive is forever my brand.

What happens when man,
Reaches beyond infinite measures,
When we meet below the abyss,
When society succeeds in endeavors?

The very curiosity of being,
Makes being all the more wild,
Dreaming of the unlimited,
Exceeding our endless multiverse.

Evolution or creation,
Big bangs and natural selection,
Why blue and red turn purple,
Or hot becomes cold on an axis?

A whipper asking why,
To questions that wallow in sunder,
We contain desires to seek the truth,
But will always be left to wonder

You roar while we weep,
We pray while you command,
A fickle bond,
A finicky repair,
To relations linked with blood.

A poison aiming to please,
When pleasing is what it does not,
It masks the weakness within,
Shying away from required antidote,
An antigen of pain and suffering.

I'll dance with this devil,
For I am the fruit of this darkness' *****,
I pray that you tragically vanish,
Yet still seek your guidance and nurturing.

A sheep in wolf's clothing,
With a demonic entity piloting your soul,
I tests the waters that are diluted with magma,
Ultimately annihilating any inkling of innocence I may still possess.

Bruising internally,
While external wounds begin to heal,
I suffer anxiety residing in this domicile,
A domesticated demon we've no longer entertained to tame.

Just a few more moons to go,
If few represented light years,
I hope and wait for the day to come,
Where you're a vision in my rearview mirror,
Only praying you won't distract me from the road ahead.

Change

A dwarf sucker of psychological algae,
Paces that demolish a certainty,
Finishing when beginnings have begun,
Comfort ceases to remain a distance.

Peeling an onion that causes me to weep,
A fumigation of sudden nostalgia,
An anorexic of confidence,
Enormity of grief and doubt.

Breakneck motion of existence,
Reasonably unreasonable from fantasy,
Irrelevance drives stability to destruction,
Relevance articulates turmoil.

And then the barkeep said...

"One more drop and he'll change from blue to black..."

She'll kiss a word, covered in blood,
She'll dignify mediocrities aloud,
She gives me motive to blossom,
Into an entity I've long despised.

She isn't much of a salesman,
Though salesmanship is her passion,
Nearly driving herself to oblivion,
I sedate her with words that are preprogrammed.

Like a *** of water and salt,
A patch of Leather and with a yarned lace,
A cup of oil and a splash of vinegar,
We go together as if it's a curse.

To make sense of it would be senseless,
Since senselessness is it's meaning,
A shadow covering a timid silhouette,
It's passion for construction that seems most logical.

Body language speaking in Shakespearian sonnet,
As I evolve from boy to man,
Hungers I battle to remain silent,
This mutual silence screams we are both in need.

Bogarting my path to seduction,
Fueling my fantasies with possibility,
I pray to god my morals vanish,
In the end it remains a dream.

A spitfire,
sophisticated and dazzling,
Motivating me to enjoy such tediousness,
I fall in love with the idea of fornication.

We question why is it that life,
Has a beginning, middle and end,
Yet space seems continuous,
Could you please help me comprehend?

A small spec of dust we are,
On a sea of psychedelic abstract,
Our universe is quite mediocre,
Comparing it to its extract.

Everlasting... what,
What is it that we seem to admire,
A lack of carbon energy,
Requiring us to wear glass hoods?

Why oh why is it existent,
Why does it ever be,
I still am boggled by this infinite setting,
Can it possibly be part of me?

Give me a sign you understand,
Pleasure my psyche with   confirmation,
Twist and turn my moral brain,
Until it is worn to a bucket of mash.

This awkward bio examination you speak of,
Has it always been so complex?
My finicky brain seeks the resolution,
A solution to this core that is common.

How is it that man can be man,
If man evolves to entities beyond,
We are our own experiments of modern science,
Constantly analyzing data we have yet to comprehend.

A technician fails foolishly,
As another earns their Nobel Prize,
We are chosen to fit such devious survival tactics,
Though in our hearts we look at the consequence.

A quizzical I carelessly push aside,
Finding it easier to risk the perks,
A self made genius consistently preaching,
Superiority over those who are victims of doubt.

To have a mind like he,
Is devilish as much as it is holy,
We find vices that motivate illusions,
Created by those who are lost in time.

Figuring the start of a new,
As a new so boisterously grows old,
An aging sweet wine with sour grapes,
Contained in a waterlogged barrel that never ceases to replace.

Never have I ever,
Felt so free from loss and grief,
I dignify this endeavor,
I'm so far beyond relief.

A wind that carries me away,
From emotional *******,
I can't quite find words to say,
How I've grown from exaggeration.

Growing old is a form of art,
A marvel crafted from that we evolve,
I grasp onto this change as I depart,
A new problem I have yet to solve.

Extraterrestrial feelings spark wisdom,
An epiphany driving an Eldorado,
Leaving me vulnerable to aphorism,
In a mirror I sport a healthy bravado.

Waking up from nightmares,
Crafted by the hands of me and I,
Myself is who is left behind,
A new man who lacks the ability to care.

Shall we dance together under this enchanting starlit sky?
Let us press up closely and sway to and fro,
Let my eyes glisten so deliberately,
As I daze at the sensation you give me by simply existing.

A dazzling penguin I appear,
While my peers sport identical attire,
Your glow is as bold as the smile on my face,
Every second I spend dancing with you.

How charming my humor may be,
Awkwardly shunning those who are near,
Your shoulders look like golden biscuits,
I crave the taste of them,
As they sit so shiningly in sight.

May I take out your hair clip,
Once we arrive at home from this soiree?
Would it be possible to admire your almond locks flowing,
So rivetingly down to your *******?

Would you let me unbutton your corset,
Kissing every inch of your spine from head to toe?
Can I wrap my arms around your belly,
Conjoining our bodies together like two molds of clay,
To form one marvel of modern art?

Life with you is as elegant as this moment,
Our laughs are like a melody of Mozart,
Our *** is like a jazz suite band,
Smooth and soulful,
When intimacy inspires the art of lust.

A soiree it is,
Having every moment spent with you,
I'm intoxicated on tranquility,
Knowing every second is where I'll find you.

Dreaming of what was,
Instead of what will be.
A night with my ol' Scottish friend,
Bluer than green as my heart mimics my liver,
Screaming to be cleansed of the poisons I give 'em,
To feel something other than remorse.
Pain is weakness leaving my tear ducts,
Mumbling some sort of ironic phrase,
Playing it Bogart as I sit in my own stink,
Separate from this mediocre world,
If my own world were isolated from thought,
Or If thought were a composition of Chopin.
Sweating the aged rye as it coats my ability to *******,
I'll light another cigarette for kicks,
Since death by smoke seems more charming,
Than dying of a broken heart.
I'll kiss the lemon twist,
Relevant to the aches I've felt.
Submerging the sourness in a pool of cheap,
Since I can't afford the good stuff.

Grasping onto my bed sheets like the moon's gravitational pull met its demise through the force of our love for each other. Your eyes are shut but mine are open, admiring your luscious body as it conjoins to mine. Hearing the songs you sing as I put-forth the utmost efforts to please you while playing my instrument in harmony with your voice, I'm reminded of a blessing that this moment symbolizes. As we reach the ****** of our enchanting nightly journey, I open my arms to you as you sink into me like warm butter sinks into toasted bread. We gaze into each other's eyes while the universe unfolds around us, without a care in the world I utter the three words every woman wants to hear, but most importantly, every woman deserves to hear after providing such a joy for a man that she has provided for me this evening... I love you.

Psychedelic dreams,
Images that flash rapidly,
           Tap
           Tap
           Tap
Like a 16 millimeter camera.

I have the sound of ringing in my ears,
Her eyes are endearing,
Her Lips are motioning,
But no sound can be detected.

I'm somewhere not near my current location,
A place of my own,
Created by preferences pertaining to me,
I laugh instead of cry,
I feel instead of hurt,
I dream instead of sleep.

A place of my own,
No man should require skill,
As it is my own mind that does the accepting,
the judging,
    the dreaming,
          the creating,
A harsh reality creates the ideal fantasy,
The question being if the fantasy can become a reality,
Not by the grace of god but by the grace of my own,
To have and to hold,
A place of my own.

As the shackles tighten,
My heart begins to contract,
Solitarily confined in such dreadful darkness,
I anticipate mortality as it slowly maneuvers itself to me,
Battling such evil created within,
I hold myself prisoner to my own uncontrolled psyche.

This misery has no escape route,
The light dances around me,
Forever I'll be strained by worn out emotions,
Chained to despondency until my heart stops the beat,
As these shackles reach maximum strength,
Leaving my hands held captive to my own misgivings.

I search my soul, it's so dark and bold,
Carelessly shunning, those who seek entrance,
I listen but never learn,
I see but not think,
Forever I shall be branded,
One who quits when a situation sours,
And spoils like expired milk.

I search this ocean of emotional wrath,
Rage building up from below the core,
I study the textbook acts of feeling hopeless,
In a world of halfwitted fools,
Whom I claim superiority over.

Behold! This artifact of false pride,
I discovered it as I meandered the ocean on my love boat,
Fighting constant rouge waves of selfishness,
It calmly floated through the white foams.

I defected on the **** deck,
Holding no desire for consideration of my mates,
Mates who could care less for me,
And my prejudice towards sailing on this body of water,
They then made me walk the plank.

My heart rate reaches a point of vulnerability,
As I struggle to hold my breath below the surf,
I lasted unusually longer than a month's worth of travel,
Floating on nothing but my buoyancy,
I reached shore,
Suffocating with no use of my hands and feet.

Ironically,
A lady fisherman retrieved me from the waves,
Reciting a prayer, then proceeding CPR,
I regain consciousness, gasping for air,
Forgetting what was to become of me,
I grab her by the torso of her slicker,
And kiss her passionately,
With no ***** given.

She did of course kiss me back,
Confused but delighted,
Once she realized what was occurring,
She pulled away smiling,
I gave her a glance projecting my ruthlessness,
Because I am in fact,
Superior to the king himself.

The sun looked innocent,
As the clouds rolled in viciously,
This storm seemed like an old friend,
I recall it's grubby warfare,
Kicking me around as I swayed to and fro,
On the mahogany of my dear rig,
A rig that has been stolen from me,
On the lost sea of emotional wrath.

First I start off with one jab to my own jaw,
Then I kick myself in the nuts however that is possible,
I'll rip and tear my hair out,
Rubbing soap in my eyes to add to the fun.

I twist my ******* until they are good and purple,
Getting a running start so I can jump through a door head first.
I dropkick a wooden slab with nails pointing out of it.

I'll take an razor and rapidly shave my face with no cream,
Then pouring vinegar onto the cuts,
I'll dunk my head into the toilet and pull the handle,
In order to conduct a self swirly.

I open my tackle box for fishing,
And find countless giant hooks for bass,
Sticking one through my cheek,
Then I'll flop around on the ground covered in thumb tacks.

Hydrofluoric acid baths are so heavenly,
Kissing a piranha on the mouth,
He naws on my lips as I slam my body into a mirror,
What happens next, is what I love the most.

I'll lay three boxes of legos on the ground,
Nice and flat they hold with anticipation,
I'll jump on them so gracefully,
River dancing while I stick a stun gun up my ***.

Mixing *****,
Bleach,
And Frank's hot sauce in a bucket,
I dip my feet in them after my lego dance.
The pain is so wonderfully jolting through my body,
As I jump into a pool with toasters and microwaves plugged into a power strip.

I wanna tickle the *** of a horse with a feather,
So it kicks me straight in the throat,
Then have the New York Giants run across my body In their cleats to the field,
After the game, they wipe the dirt off their cleats on my face.

I'd like to look down the barrel of a Red Ryder,
Then pull the trigger as the BB bounces off of my pupil,
I'll wash my eye out with nail polish remover,
Following that,
I'll drive a car down a hill with no breaks.

I want Freddy Kruger to play with my hair,
While Edward Scissorhands massages my back,
I'll kiss medusa with ******,
And have her snakes nibble on my ears.

I'll take a double headed cobra and floss my **** cheeks with it,
I'll tongue punch the **** box of Honey Booboo's mom,
I'll stick my head in a bee hive,
And run on a treadmill shaking it,
Until each bee stings my entire face.

I'll pull my own teeth out with pliers,
And have the same act done for my finger nails,
Rubbing my hands together covered in mineral ice,

Spray painting a target on the ground,
I'll set a ten foot ladder up next to it,
Climbing to the top of said ladder,
I jump off head first,
Landing straight on the bulls eye.

I'll swim right into a hurricane,
After I ate an entire steak dinner,
An earthquake causing the hurricane to become a tsunami,
I ride the tsunami straight into a building, where the building collapses onto my back.

I'll line up salt like *******,
And roll a dollar up snorting it continuously,
I'll take a razor blade and cut the lines off of my fingerprints and hands,
Then play the guitar like Eric Clapton.

I'd tie a rope to my genitals, then set up a stool to a ceiling fan,
Where the other end of the rope would be,
And kick the stool,
Leaving me hanging by my ******* and ***** from the ceiling.

I would do any of these sadistic,
horrific,
agonizing,
painful,
evil,
Atrocious things to myself,
Before I'd ever take you back again.

Have you ever felt,
The things that I have felt,
Repetition at its finest,
Cycles viciously spinning,
And fires that refuse to go out?

The annoyance of consistency,
Always needing more
                            more,
                           And more,
Until my brain just resists,
The resistance of greed,
But greed is just a substitute for emptiness,
Holes that have been formed inside me,
Craving the very sweetness of joy.

I'm caught on a hook,
A hook of fishermen named desires,
I ache for variety and change,
But the only change is my ability,
To sustain in complexity.

Is it ungrateful to be this way,
Kissing the realism goodbye,
As it drives me to madness,
Leaving me in a state of blue,
And uncertainty?

Independence is what I propose,
But adolescence limits the opportunities,
That have been given to me as a test,
A test of which I continue to fail,
Since I am afraid of responsibility.

Genius talents,
Gifted from god,
I hold him liable of my fate,
Yet since I need this vicious cycle to end,
I must try to take it into my own hands,

Even if I am,
Afraid of the change,
As much as I wish for it.

Fragile Minded,
Gullibility that leaves me in embarrassment,
Causing an obvious departure from my notability.
I weaken as my former friends migrate to someone new,
Forgetting that it is time to move on.

I have struggles to let go from my past,
Nostalgia makes it impossible to achieve,
Those days have been long gone,
But my memory will always cherish them,
Even if they carelessly forget my name.

I'm wondering if my sadness is because I'm moving on from this place,
Or that I'm having trouble giving up the idea of it,
Whichever one my path leads to,
The lost art of smiling behooves me to feel blue.

It's meaningless and useless in regard to my successful future as a man,
But the emotional scarring will always be with me,
Part of me mourns my mistakes and lost notoriety,
But another part of me loathes the other part of me,
As it is someone I never truly wanted to be,
But had to be, in order to survive.

There were as many good times as there were bad,
But the bad times sinfully destroy my chances of retaining bitterness,
I've lost many girls before,
And friends who then became rivals.

Life in these years are like being guided by a safety net,
But the following year the world gets dropped in my hands,
Like a melted piece of clay,
And yet I have to be the one to mold it.

I'm not afraid of being a grown up,
I'm afraid to let go of my youth,
Not matter how petty and senseless these experiences may have turned out to be,
I'll always be me,
The teenager who refused to grow up.

Complaining is talent given to me from God,
I've concluded that it's my one true gift.
Is it possible that I'm just a poet?
Or will this talent soon drift?

I complain and I complain,
No wonder why I'm so misleading.
As I emulate the mind of a man of strength,
But I speak the words of my dysfunctional brain.

I'm complaining about complaining,
How Ironic this seems to be.
Short words with longer meaning,
I complain so much,
That I forget that I am free.

I was born a medical debacle.
Bowel movements consistently irritable,
Inflammation causing an abundance of distress,
Have my fears of leaving the house to ******.

Help me as my insides are bursting in pain.
I’d rather have my head repeatedly slammed in car door.
Scenarios created within my own psyche,
I am left with great despair for my future as a man.

Failing  to do so little as sitting in a classroom,
With unfamiliar eyes that could easily be drawn to me,
I hear a gurgling sound coming from my intestines,
And I am stranded on an island of panic.

Unable to leave the room,
As the instructor ceases trips to the bathroom,
I’m crying on the inside in agony,
And my colon is screaming traumatically.

The mental tormenting has gone seventeen years too long,
With this ailment I have yet to rid myself of.
I am a slave to this known syndrome,
As many people are of this day,
And I have genetics to be thankful for of this disease,
That is literally and figuratively,
eating me up inside.

How beautiful the moon is tonight.
So gracious and so pure.
I'm fortunate to have the privilege of accompanying you this evening,
Since I am in fact,
An insomniac.

Life has a funny way of making unconventional things turn gorgeous,
In the split second of a blink.
My heart holds gratefulness to you, Ms. Moon,
For adding charm to my hellish night.

You change a lot like a person,
Your appearances can very well vary,
But the object of your being is simply to shine light on the darkness,
Now my darkness has been lit up like a Christmas tree.
All because of your elegancy.

You're great company for me, Ms. Moon,
As you hold no judgment to my livelihood.
I do not choose to be woken by such an illness created from genetics,
Thankfully I have you as a companion,
A companion to share my struggles with,
On a night you so beautifully made shine.

Wasted energy beyond the perception of gloom,
I carry a large burden upon my shoulders, like a boulder waiting for my spine to collapse,
Though now I seem as if I am without a spine.
I am weakened by the very inkling of depression inside of me,
Yet I cannot seem to cry.

Crying is your mind's way of telling you that you're human.
But I cannot decipher the idea of me grasping any humanized traits,
Since I let my emotions eat away at my own self-empathy.
I lay down in silence,
My insides screaming in pain.

I suppress these urges I get just aching to drive me to madness,
When it is my own person that has to deal with the stress.
I find myself dreaming of dreams that cannot be reached.
I am nearly an adult,
And all I feel like is a naive child,
twiddling his thumbs in his own little world.

I pray that I discover a way that I can feel joyous,
With people that share interests in similarity.
I am a young man with rare characteristics,
Finding such a person would be strenuous.

Uncanny it is for me to speak words like so,
It boggles my mind to uncertainty.
I've cried a lot through my hand,
Not my eyes,
And my poor pencil has grown exhausted from my depression.

The Wicked Witch from Woodhaven,
It's quite an obstacle being your offspring.
Never have I been so self hating more when I listen to your heart-knifing words and unsympathetic demeanor.

Undermining my warm and graciousness as if I am some ant just waiting to be burned by sunlight through your magnifying glass,
I pray that some day you will change.
But a person so mentally unstable cannot change,
As you have passed those genes down unto me.

You have me riding some emotional rollercoaster at a carnival that Goblins should attend,
And not the normal, lively human soul.  
Thankfully, I've decided to go elsewhere.
But the clowns that you call ailments won't allow me to leave.

I vow to change my ways, aiming to stand up to such an evil and love-deviating woman,
Yet your words freeze me up like your mouth is Antartica,
And your brain is scolding due to your visit to your throne in Hell.

I've suffered many tragedies inside my own mind,
Sad songs that are on repeat.
Carelessness and forgetfulness has brought me to decrease my envy of you.
You've devoured the confidence of your once favorite child for more times than he can count on both hands,
And both feet,
Twice.

I can appreciate the fact that you've raised me,
As it is nearly impossible to raise such a troublesome child.
Though wishing you had never even birthed me in the first,
I hold you responsible to why I am subdued.

Nurture has been long forgotten,
Since I had last treasured it so.
A mother's love is all that is good and holy,
But what is it worth to Satan?
You would know,
Since he is in fact, your creator.

Wicked Witch,
Stubborn *****.
How awful these words sound to me.
They come out in frustration as you lead me to temptation,
And insecure I shall always be.

Crotchety old ghoul,
You've treated me like a fool,
For far too long I've counted.
Everlasting therapy is in order,
And forever you and I will be separated,
Separated by a border, That I have built,
In order to salvage some sort of a stable mind.

Kindly accept my creed to await,
The finalizing version of myself.
I've longed for such mortality,
Due to your immorality,
As guardian of my unnatural life.

Continuous peeps from a bird landed on my windowsill,
Music fluently sounding through the beak of this winged creature.
Oh how noisy true beauty can be,
Leaving the world to withhold more elegance than Mother Nature intended.
An amendment I possess to bare arms as I wish,
I cocked my twelve gauge and blew it the **** away because I want to sleep in on Saturday and the bird kept waking me up.

Blood dripping from my bathroom faucet,
Shaking from ominous waves of insanity,
Petrified by horrific sounds of screams,
Only to realize that they are my own.

Puddles of red at my bare feet,
Leading a trail of it to my bathtub.
Expecting a corpse unknown to my eye,
But all I see is myself lying still.
My eyes and mouth are as wide as the wounds to my throat,
My heart is clearly visible,
Coincidentally on my sleeve.

A manifestation of evil appearing as a human,
A demonic entity it turns out to be.
Teeth as sharp as impaling spikes,
With serrated flesh dripping blood from it's gums.
The sense of determination can be shown through it's shaded eyes,
An act aimed for evil is in motion.

Wind zooming through the atmosphere outside,
As rain falls down from above.
Lightening strikes the tree adjacent to my bathroom window,
The demonic entity has disappeared.

My strength to hold this bravery I cannot seem to discover has weakened,
Rain drops ****** as the sliced flesh of my wrists,
Standing in confusion, my fear begins to escalate.
I am dying,
But I have the most life I could ever encounter flowing inside of me,
Projected as fear.

Fear is the distant cousin of shame,
But facing evil there is no shame.
For I am lost in a world of death,
All I can see is fog before my eyes.
The devil has risen,
Risen from inside of me.

Canines lacking the emotion of being timid,
They can feast on the rodents at my toes.
This bathroom is what I consider as hell,
But purgatory it seems to be,
Foreshadowing my everlasting throne in an area surrounded by flames.

Death seems inferior to what I'm about to experience,
As ****** could be exhilarating once more before I become a prisoner of my own psyche,
The devil himself has claimed.

Waking up in cold sweats of heat,
I struggle to catch myself, failing to catch my breath.
I've lost the ability to wonder,
As this nightmare slowly fades away

Marching up the hill with his fellow troops,
His insides are ready to burst with anticipation.
Growling and bubbling, his stomach seems to sound off as his hands quiver holding his rifle.
The soldier cannot turn back, as he must fight for his freedom against evil,
Though the art of having a choice has been long forgotten.

This soldier knows not of his fate.
He's petrified of what is to come,
Whether he survives or not.
If he dies,
He dies with honor,
yet he's not afraid of dying.
He's afraid of being forgotten.
If he survives,
He survives with honor,
Not expecting of a soul to recognize the sacrifice he has made for his own,
And failing to discover it as he lives on.

His beliefs are meaningless,
His pride is no longer relevant.
What requires quality is the strength to fight,
To fear no man aiming to take away his freedom,
And his life.

Facing what can be assumed as evil,
Yet never needing to know what true evil is really like.
The soldier has seen evil,
Evil awaits again willingly.
But he is not afraid.

Snarly and ferocious, this dreadful child has been gifted to me.
At age 3, I was cursed with a responsibility to protect and mentor this devilish girl.
Fourteen years of pure evil and malignancy drives my mind to a state in which no man should ever have to feel.

My heart shrieks with vengeance as she so deliberately tries to inflict pain on it.
My conscience refrains me from doing the harm she does to me,
Reminding me that I am the bigger person.

Little girl, you devious and vicious soul,
I've dreaded the very day I first glanced upon your face.
As your ruthlessness and your carelessness towards other people causes heartache,
When words fly out of your mouth.

You sadistic young twit,
I must correct you for your behavior.
But I hold no authority to do so,
Yet I have been branded your guardian ever since the devil himself has spawned you.

I listen and feel for your struggles, I do.
So I must question why you don't respect mine?
Is life all about you, little girl?
Or is it you just find joy in driving me to insanity?

No longer will I entertain these loathsome conflicts,
As you are my unchosen inferior.
I will fight the urge to play your game,
And find the humor in your desire to leave me discouraged.

Little girl, you silly child.
One day you will be mournful,
When the time comes where I will not be present,
And you will nevermore have me to fulfill your barbarous needs.

Fruits of my existence causes a sensation to ratify my soulful being.
A feeling so warm and so deluxe that I fail to contain it in entirety.
While I may misunderstand aspects of this mystery I continue to ponder,
I do entertain keeping faith.

A great deal of gratefulness for love and lust as it pumps gracefully through my heart,
Leaving me incapable of discovering a detainer of joy.
She's known to have many flaws,
But I mustn't exceed an investigation of what they are to be.

Life, she's such a beauty.
A beauty no man should take for granted.
For I am a man she treats with royalty and favoritism.
I do not dare question why it is me,
That she adores so dearly.

Flowers bloom in April,
A month of my debut on Earth.
I'm blessed by god and the angels above,
With a lack of remorse and fear.

I'll shamelessly thank whomever is responsible,
For this happiness I've been gifted this year.
No being should challenge the strength of her power,
It is I who can appreciate the loveliness about her,
And will forever hold a smile when she stumbles across me.

It all starts with a kiss on the forehead from the devil.
A curse so deadly that The Grim Reaper would fear for his life.
Togetherness is a lost cause for sanity and my mind.
One of them, if not both, has been absent.

I've killed many and many before.
Homicidal cravings have polluted my veins.
Empathy has fled the scene of this heinous crime inside my head,
As the voices so gracefully moved in.

Frequent scenarios are projected in my dreams,
Like some spooky yet ****** film.
Two vampiric women kiss so maliciously,
As their lips are painted with blood.
This vision makes ****** *******.

The blood flow has not yet been drained from my vision,
As it stains the cotton of my memory.
Remorseful thoughts convert to an addiction.
I need to accommodate another fix, before my inevitable conviction.

I've once felt the feelings of the peaceful,
But reality has stolen my conscience.
A lovely soul transformed to atrocity .
This lantern gained a shortage of oil,
causing me to become lost in a field of misery and pain.

Minacious laughs frolic in my ears,
Though these giggles I'm quite familiar with.
I heard them often, so joyful and so free.
But now they've turned to evil.

An inability to move my hands when desired,
Caused by attire not aimed for warmth.
I'm a prisoner blocked by a wall of darkness,
So deliberately detaining my sanity.

I have loved a time, so long ago,
Where happiness was my most valued acquaintance.
Yet something inside of me awoken so suddenly,
Shamelessly demolishing any remote heart I once possessed.

Possession is such a polite word to use,
describing demonic forces taking ownership of your soul.
But I consider it a blessing in disguise,
Due to the unescapable fact that who I was could not be an acception,
To those who hold superiority over me.

A monster I was?
Or A monster I have became.
It would never be determined by the others.
All they fathom is that a monster is contained,
And lives will no longer be stolen by the guilty hands of this monster.

But what gives human life it's worth?
I will forever ponder that thought.
For I am the star of this so called Hell,
And where I'll be when my time has come,
No sane human would dwell.