In a perfect world
There would be no poetry.

No need to pine for love.
That would be a God-given right.
No need to protest.
There would be no need to fight.
No need to despair.
There would be no desperation.
No need to shout in rapture.
That would known throughout the nations.

But the world is not perfect.

I need not say it.

I suffer,
You suffer,
There's no real need to play it.
That record will skip and repeat,
skip and repeat,
skip and repeat,
and death may only delay it.

But the world will never change.

Why should I even say it?

A poem
is like a fountain of youth.

Makes it's writer immortal
whether he or she
wants it or not.

I'd rather not
be immortal.

But this fountain of youth
is a fountain of words
from a mountain of thoughts

That if said
could make a fountain of tears

I'd rather not put people through it.

If I wrote for death
I am cursed to live.

All my thoughts
written down
have made me immortal.

And unfortunately,
they can't be
erased from
the minds of those
who took time from their lives
to read my words
and add to mine.

I'm sorry for making a fountain of youth.

What's wrong?
You can tell me anything.
I will never repeat it.
You are my friend,
Whom I love,
and whom I trust.

Why do you not trust me?
Listen,
I'll hold your heart,
If you'll hold mine.
Be careful,
It's just as fragile as yours,
A glass swan, out of reach.

Holding hearts like delicate birds,
who fell from the nest and broke their wings.
In sharing our hearts,
their wings will mend,
and they can learn to fly again.

All it takes is trust.

Will you ever realize
That I never stop thinking of you?
Will you ever see
What I've been meaning to tell you?
Will you ever realize
That all this drives me insane,
But I keep on going,
Keep on living,
Just for you?

I know you've been hurt
Though you won't admit it.
We think,
'If I can ignore the pain,
It is no longer there.'
When all it is
Is a ruse.
Ignoring your pain,
And doing nothing about it,
Hurts others.

It goes on in a neverending cycle.
Words echo across the world...
'Why does nobody care?'
The value of life and feelings have plummetted,
Because no-one feels the pain.
Holding your pain and inflicting it on another
Rather than dealing with it.
That's the way the world spins.
That's the way hearts break.
That's the way the world will end.

The Holocaust of Life and Feelings.
And, one by one, we're the Nazis and the victims...
Who's the ******...?

I am made of nothing
Finer than grains of sand
Which ebb and flow
With the pushings,
The pullings
Of the tides.

These tides we live in
Reflect within us
In unpredictable waves.
We've made large dunes
In hopes to never yield to the mighty wind,

Only to realize
That the grains gradually blow away.

I am
The heart that flows
No matter how many times
It's been pierced.

I am
The guy who hides his scars
In fear that someone
Misinterprets their meaning.

I am
The boy who tries
To desperately act like a man
No matter how impossible it seems.

I am
The one everyone picks on
For crying when there is
Nothing to cry for.

I am
The one who cries for mankind
As it clings onto
The instruments of its own destruction.

I am
The one who keeps
Old traditions
Old wounds.

I am
Proud to say that
I'm persistent as hell
Despite the opposition.

I am
The soul that burns on
At a time where
Souls have no meaning.

I am
Strong
In the fact that
I am
Weak.

I am
Myself
No matter what
Anyone tries to make me.

Here is my heart.
Take it,
You wanted it so much.
I hope I never see it again,
Because all it ever causes me
Is grief.

It's not like I deserved any of it.
All I do is hope,
All I do is dream.
I'd be better off without any of it.

It's all because of that beating mass.
Take it.
Do with it as you will.
I'll get used to being a tin man.