Blisters. So many blisters. But I had to keep running. I had to get away from him. I forced the thought of my aching feet out of my mind. I had to keep running. Desperation and fear were now controlling me. My mouth was so dry, my legs burned, my knees were coated in blood and the tears made it difficult to see, but I kept going. The pain and tiredness didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except running.

I have never realised just how dangerous the streets had become… all I wanted was to go out and have fun, but now I was being chased through the town by a hideous beast. The thought of the town going down the drain quickly left my mind, I had to concentrate on keeping the concrete rolling underneath me. I had to keep running.
My dress had begun to tear and my feet looked like the aftermath of a chainsaw massacre. Pain? I could no longer feel it. I didn’t know where I was going… all I knew was that I was going to get away from this man. I had to.

Eventually, I turned onto Swan Street which would, at one stage, lead to the hospital. Once at the hospital, I’d be safe. I hope…

RUN! RUN! KEEP RUNNING! The words stuck on repeat in my head. Out of curiosity, though, I spun my head around to see if he was still there. Black. Just the black of the night followed me. A screech from deep within my body erupted. It was a noise I’d never thought I could create but I continued running for the safety of the hospital.

Then, I made the biggest mistake of my life. I turned down an alleyway, in hope it be a quicker route to safety, and stopped halfway down the alley. There he was. Just standing there. His grin gleaming in the dim light. No longer could I scream. No longer could I run. Fear had taken a strong hold on me, forcing me into becoming a statue. He begins to laugh as he moves closer and closer and soon enough he reaches his hand out…

Emtpy. Just emptiness. At first, I thought I was dead until the throbbing in my head begun. I was alive and in a dark metal box. He, the predator, had won his prize.

Rejected
I am cast out
For no one cares
What I am thinking about

Love is overrated
And I do not deserve any of it
For I have done too much wrong
To be forgiven

I'd like to be loved
But what is that to you
You simply care
About nothing but yourself

You say things that burn a whole in me
You tell me to be
Someone I am not meant to be
You make me see the things
No one should ever have to see

Why can't you be more caring
And just love me the way I am
Instead of just staring at me
And pointing out my mistakes

Rejected and alone
I look for a home
But turn up emtpy
And completely unknown

Then you my father
Took me in again
Only to beat me
And put me in pain
For I am worthless to you
And deserve to be
Without any hope
To have or see

Having taken my last strike
I am dying from being alone
My whole entire life
If only I was loved
Then I would have something to strive
To be
To want
To have
But maybe
I'm better off alone
Drifting in the bottomless sea...

there's 14,000 pre-written messages you can write inside a sympathy card,
but there's not a single one to describe the sadness i feel,
right now.

i could file a missing persons report,
but the police would think i was stupid if they turned up,
and i told them the only thing missing was a piece of my heart.

sixteen months is a very long time to wait for someone,
but i would do it all again,
if it meant you were mine,
even for a very short time.

i think the worst part about human beings,
is the fact that,
no matter what,
you will never,
ever,
ever,
really know,
exactly,
how one person,
feels about you,

because in the end, words are emtpy.
words are shallow.

Lying half naked in bed
thinking about all the lovers I haven't had
and sometimes it makes me mad
that they probably aren't even sad
cause there's always someone else they could have met

Filling myself up with solitary sensuality
I keep asking how much of this can be reality
when we were never one but lovers in singularity
and only in late-night-born words there was sexuality
merely a disturbance of tranquility

And as I lay there in the warmth of my solitude
Hot waters find an opening in unfulfilled gratitude
they leave my eyes, then run down my spine in some strange interlude
and I'm getting scared of an emtpy platitude
of feeling like a ****** *******

Because my spine is not endless
and neither is the beating of a heart kept loveless
I'm tired of phrases, of having to confess
to love that seems only to know how to obsess
that tries hard to be profound but then is still just heartless

I try to see some good in the fact
that my spine is therefor still somewhat intact
and beyond this tiring and ongoing act
I calm myself, 'There's still time to find', I'm committing to the pact

so many people seem to be only limbo dancing...
fat-diagnosed                         meta-humans,
                   and juxta...
they the are scorn of a thousand
chinese labourers...
                      who later squirm...
    i forget what speaking english was about...
it's this carelessness
  that somehow surmounts the ideal practicality of it...
  it's somehow shadowy...
  somehow removed from all need to:
extract a core of struct cipher...
             long before the software makes
man his decrepit-self, there's
the metallurgy of the conclave...
                           and the is the minor statement:
if man is to breach a culprit worthy of being denoted:
a meteor.
                      prior to the hardware,
there needs to be a software insurgence...
                  a fail-safe mechanisation,
with us, imprinted as: beyond the death of god,
the death of sleep... and the capacity to dream...
                      nihilism revolves around retracting the
last ******* cursor...
                               all machinery rests,
it's a question of whether organic matter ever
    contradicts its inorganic humanisation...
             if i am bound to rest, then i bound to not
be woken from such a rest via a nightmare...
   erradicate nightmares, thus erradicate the organic
cursor bound to invoke...
  all other contradications that counter the
originally intent escapade...
                               if indeed $ is a symbol that is insomniac
when 1 - 9 symbols are used toward no signifying σ...
that there is no actual prefix in arranging a - z
as there already is, perfecting arranging the 0 - 9...
   with the σ being the more: well addressed... in being
                           what is the reigning smmation of
the symbols a - z, as the simply unknown cradle...
   so if the symbols 0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9 can be governed
by $...
            what number can govern
                               a, b, c, d, e, f... r, s, t, u, v, w, x, y, z...
if not Ø?                   emtpy talk...
                       0 is a symbol for negation...
                  say of 0, Ø: you get affirmation..
  and you can say as much as you want...
        it doesn't mean you'll get the proper mediation
of being nearly human in the endeavour, a mediation
that demands: losers and winners, paupers and kings...
    man outlived the concept of letters and words
having any worthy construction...
    anything worthy of collaborating with...
                 there is no higher grownd with words and letters...
   it's the five-sense endorsement man that's
at a loss...
                    as long as
  there's the fewest numbers
                        to posit, once the
              hierarchy of 0 is stated after the comma...
and the number of crude denials are mustered...
  toward the million-shared among the 1% and not
the 0.1%...
                  once the Tolstoy's opus is worth:
0.0000000001 readership...
                      and a poem is 1.000000000's worth...
    we'll continue with this warfare of symbol...
       hierarchy:
               the one denied by the many: is the hierarchy...
and the one acknowledged by the many: is the monarchy...
   somehow it was worthwhile reading Kant,
given he suggested 0 = negation...
meaning that 1 = affirmation, but that was the least
   bother for me to attest...
                       i just found
    disavowing myself from the argument of god
as befitting man: who had no standard in a termite mount...
or an ant colony...
                         if man was indeed prone toward
such perfection, i'd have no concern to form a politics at all...
    man, as a political animal, as an animal non-intuitive,
as an animal overcome with conscience,
  has no place in man: guarded by such angelism...
  coinciding with duty and fakery: for the worth of prayer
and an albino amnesia.
and never prone to intuition and a synchronisation of the senses,
but rather their divergence... epitomised with
sharpening them in the sphere of intoxication...
        if man was indeed prone to such perfection,
    i'd have no concern from a politics at all...
  man, as a political anima, as an animal non-intuitive:
as anima ego-centra...
    could be neither a tangens or an omni-servitude
divergence of all the species, on the palette...
esp.  wondering if he could be:
  insect prone, rather than bedroom fuelled by mammalian
        jealous prods into: ******* gladiators!
                          religion only relapses into upkeeping
this utopian dream of it never happening...
   of a congregation...
                    imagine the Koran or the bible in China...
    common-sense numbers of China said: nope!
               the Chinese would have said: me mongol,
and slaughtered each other... for the bride to be!
  i really didn't want to write this for a reason that it might
be made dogmatic, or kept for posterity,
or a welcome inquiry...
                              i simply wonder why we dream
of world peace, and yet come up with such
diabolical schematics as Jung's collective unconscious...
    and all that: as if dreams really did require a 1 + 1 = 2
rules of interpretation...
    and all our dreams where: **** or phallus dreaming...
protruding in the oven of being flacid, once, so overcome with
thoughts, than in dream, or Buddha's awakening:
pretty correct in being: full blodied,
  stood up to overcoming shyness...
                                     and at least said: an astronaut's hello...
     ego to hyphen, non-complex word... complex
word to Houston... why wasn't it mission Hermes 13?
     i don't think we should believe in those gods...
but it would make great strides in asserting them
as best in a modern vocabulary...
                              Hermes overrules Apollo...
               there was a message intended in that vanity project,
surely!

Well this is new...
This silence that surrounds me...
It use to paralyze me...
I use to avoid it..
I know life gets too quiet sometimes..
Like a moonless night...
Perfect timing...
For that door to open...
The door to all and everything you've
Been suppressing...
Meant to make you strong...

Why yes...
I know all about it...
Unavoidable self reflection..
Breaking into your thoughts..
Breaking into your heart...
Unlocking everything thats written..
On your heart...

Remind me of all my failures...
Past lovers that left me to bleed..
Friendships that left me damaged...
My brain always use to say..
Yea lets talk about it....
Im game...

Oh yea I knew the silence far too well..


But not today...
I sit alone in my emtpy apartment...
And I'm okay...
Happy thoughts surround me..
Im driven...
Im focused...
There no room
For the negative in here..
No dissecting..
No over analyzing...
No worrying about what someone said...

At the end of the day..
You only have yourself...
So when silence comes on
You like a thief in the night..
Dont runaway...
Embrace it..
Love yourself enough to say...
I made a few mistakes..
But I'm going to be okay..

Be wise... Be aware...
Because when everyone leaves...
You to bleed...

Who else will you have??