Why is there a need for me to not be like the the rest of the world?
Why should I not be like them to them?
I am insignificant compared to the world...
Why must I try to change it?
Why must I embody the better of them?
Why can't I go and be cruel and selfish and ignorant like them?
I might as well end up being their superlative....
Answer me..... Why can't I give up?
Why am I wired like this?
This world is beyond saving... The belief I had that I'm like this cause someday I might end up showing them that my path is the righteous one...
No.
The world isn't finite nor is it infinite... It's meaningless.... So i might as well be the best at being selfish cause that's what I'm searching for... "my self".... How else does one find it??
If you have answers... Answer me. Else...
Fade away.... Like everything and nothing.

Sometimes I wonder

if I even survived
my childhood.

Maybe some part of me
is sleeping
up on the hill.

One of those
Nightmares
That I couldn't escape
Carried me off
In its jaws

and so maybe
I am planted.
Looking down
At all the people
I can't remember.

I hope that I am ashes.
I never wanted a stone.

In Florida sometimes it rains so hard
that you believe that it can't possibly stop,
that it will just rain and rain forever.

Sometimes I'd wake to a storm late at night,
and I'd sit out on the porch.

You could smell the lightning, and the coolness of the storm would
make your hair stand;
I'd feel so alive.

Some nights I'd go out, and my father
would be sitting on the porch already.
Lost in the storm
or maybe
called to it.
We wouldn't talk,
but we'd be lost together
in the rain and thunder.

Sometimes I wonder what of him
is left in me.
I am not sure
if I am more afraid of there being
very little
or of there being a great deal,
but when it rains
I think about him on that porch;

Tick a hundred places,
You wanna be..
Mark one too many people,
To prove wrong..
Note down each rule,
You wanna break free..
Have so many dreams,
You wanna see, come alive..
..that even depression can't inspire suicide..
..and instead, find pleasure in offending life.

I want to tell him
that I’m scared,
that I’ve been here before.
And that the last time I felt potential like this it imploded;
I imploded.
But I don’t want to taint it,
You see I’m still hopeful
That maybe this time
Won’t end up laced with maybes,
Or what ifs,
Or open wounds pouring blood onto paper.
That maybe this time,
just won’t end.

I’ve not quite worked out whether I think it’s beautiful,
Or stupid -
The human capacity,
And pliancy,
And longing,
For love.

she slides her slender
white fingers down the
branches of his spine

her eyes melted like
glaciers and lips as soft
as freshly fallen snow

skin lustful, but heart
unforgiving, exhaling
his every intention

she is autumn in his
palms, her trees bare,
the leaves rust fallen

flashing indifference,
thoughts plucked in
shades of violent rose