I wish I could make everything better,
But, I know just as much as you.

I wish I could heal your pain,
But, I cannot see what you have been through.

I guess...now, I understand how I am the better half.
Yet, you don't see the contempt.
I don't believe it so,

halves are suppose to be equal.

I wish you would talk to me,
but I growl back instead.

You hit my foot as a way of love,
and I tap your knee in return.

I wish I knew what to say,
I wish I knew what to do,
I wish
and I wish.

But, all it is is empty.
So, I'll just stand by you.

Voice
is what I see,
it is what I hear.
But, what is voice?
All it is is air.
Air
air vibrating to more air.
to things that run on the oxygen.
To the throat, to the neck, to the person.
Who was once star dust, and will one day return to the stars.
When I think of voice,
I think of my own.
The one in my head, not the one that you hear.
Because that is my voice, it it does not change through time,
harden with the wind and twisted in the cold.

It never gets tired, it is the only constant reminder
that I am my self.
Not anyone else.
I don't hear it in my ears. Or see it through my eyes.

I can't because
voice is only made up of air, vibrations of air, traveling through more air.
Now, I'm afraid. I slow down my speech pattern so that the rubble in my head can be heard over the screaming pain that echoes in the back of my neck,
wait no, I mean head, the front of my head. The back of my head...
my brain.

Why are you only electricity when I wished for air?

It's
it's
it's a collection of thoughts
cough cough
a
a
a collection of things, things that don't want to be seen.
Seen by the likes of you, with your nosey eyes and pointed up chin.
Look at all the disgrace that you placed on them.
But, don't be sad, happy, or crossed between both.

It's
it's not about your emotional pain.
I am the star of this show, do you not see the bright lights that glean out of my checks?
But, now they are turning meek and red from the heat.
The show slowly turns to you and
I fade out,
sitting alone not because I have no one,
but because they are in places I don't want to be.
in places that I don't want to see,

Now, what am I trying to say?
Oh yes, listen to me.
I am me.
I am not the ocean, or the sun.
The moon does not crave my call.

You are not the earth or the world,
you do not deserve my attention, nor I yours.

What is observed and deserved...
it's
it's
it's called being kind,
because maybe I can help, if you let me.
I hate you, you stole my shine.
But, don't be discouraged when I still hold out a pencil for you to use on your final exam.

I do not  intent for this to be a threat or a regret. I am just trying to help,
my own opinions do not hold true.

You do not have to trust me or love me,
Because I will not.

The difference between us is subtle, yet I see it.
No matter, if I can make your day a little better I will try.
Or make you laugh rather than cry I will still try.

A skull on my finger
A skull on my shirt
A skull on my pants...

Will anyone notice?

You're young
no matter how much your chin points up
or how you can hold a conversation
the quiver isn't in your voice
footstep
or how modest you are.

you're young
and the naivety can only be shown
through the half crooked smile
and the raw look in your eye when everything seems perfect.

you're young, now
live

It's 1:25 in the morning.
I'm sitting in bed,
not really knowing why I'm still awake.

It's the ear bud in my ear,
the other dangling by my side.
No music is playing, no music is on pause.

It's the unknown beat in my head,
I think about moving to its rhyme.
But then it's gone. Replaced with a new song.

It's the sleep that etches into my eyes,
or the bags under them.

Hell,
it's the fact that I think I'm twisted.
or maybe it's the reason I'm tired.

I wonder if my life would be alright
If I turned into a cat between the night

The main mission of my day of slumber
Is to find the most comfortable place to lumber

In solitude I would thrive
Teamwork still Would be nice

All I know is cats dream of mice
Sometimes I think that would be nice.