I self harm
to see crimson
to feel alive
to have control

I sleep all day
to wake up
with no problems
wishfully hoping
they vanished
while I was sleeping
my demons away

I remember the first and only time I was in love
Freshman year and had no idea what love was
I saw her walking down the hall and I didn't even know her name
But I knew that I needed to know her name
Is it crazy to say that I remember what she was wearing
Or how her hair fell perfectly on her face
I remember the first time she said "hi" to me
I was lost
But her voice set me free
She later became my best friend
And I wanted so badly to tell her
Tell her that I wrote songs and love poems about her
Tell her that she was the only reason I got up in the morning
Tell her that she made me feel more alive then every single breath I had ever taken
Tell her that I'd give up the right to see the moon and the sun as long as it meant that I could see her smile
And yet she had this control over me
I would do anything to get her to notice me
She'd tell me what to do and I'd come through
Walked through every hallway in order to find her
Pushed away all my friends so I could spend time with her
And when she pushed me away
I had to find a way to make her stay
Or risk losing everything
And when she stopped talking to me
I lost everything
While she was to busy finding ways to feel alive
I was slowly sinking into a hole of absolute darkness
Thinking that the only way out was to have her in my life
The only way out was to see her smile
To hear that she loved me
I remember the first and only time I was in love
I remember the way she made me feel alive
And the way she made me want to die
I remember holding her in my arms
The sweet scent of her hair
I remember how quickly she left my arms
How quickly the smell of her hair faded
So much pain and time wasted
On a girl who only wanted to hurt me
Love
Is a crazy thing

I know you hate me
with parts of your heart
you never even knew existed
and i can't deny
that i deserve it and that i was selfish
with your feelings
and careless with your heart
but please don't let your life suffer
because of my mistakes
don't fall into the trap of sadness
because you deserve better than me
and the only way you'll get it
is by taking yourself seriously
dont ***** it up
you don't get a rerun

How do you know that the pilgrim track
Along the belting zodiac
Swept by the sun in his seeming rounds
Is traced by now to the Fishes’ bounds
And into the Ram, when weeks of cloud
Have wrapt the sky in a clammy shroud,
And never as yet a tinct of spring
Has shown in the Earth’s apparelling;
O vespering bird, how do you know,
How do you know?

How do you know, deep underground,
Hid in your bed from sight and sound,
Without a turn in temperature,
With weather life can scarce endure,
That light has won a fraction’s strength,
And day put on some moments’ length,
Whereof in merest rote will come,
Weeks hence, mild airs that do not numb;
O crocus root, how do you know,
How do you know?

Why- I’ve been thinking a lot lately
a surprising notion for someone as vapid as I am, I know
but the sentiment still remains
thought- it has been happening
and I’ve come to the grand conclusion
I make a horrible poet
no teenage angst, no head over heel love
a surprising lack of passion for a girl my age
sixteen is supposed to be my prime emotional state
so why do I feel so empty
Imagine your excitement- Easter Morning- 2006
basket brimming with gelatinous ooze and future cavities
when you see it there
cradled in between the silky green plastic strings
Mega Jumbo Chocolate Easter Bunny
your little heart beats faster, faster, faster
until you take a bite
and dread is the only thing that takes place
of that once so familiar savory sweetness
hollow- the bunny is hollow
It’s nothing more than a disappointment really
to look up at the stars and just see stars
to smell the crisp turning of autumn in the air
to watch the inch worm dance despite the distance
to wonder upon the cute boy across the room
and feel nothing
Maybe I’m thinking too much
Maybe I’m just repressing that deep down hatred of myself
that society seems so keen on me having
Maybe I don’t want to be a poet
Maybe I want to be a poem
Yes, I want to be a poem
dripping in catharsis
melting to the very point of emotional vulnerability
tearing away the mask you hide behind
yes, I want to be that metaphorical nonsense you call art
I want to be the words you bravely hide behind
to tell your story like no other medium can
I want to feel the daggers in my sides
and I want to fly to the moon
I want to be emotion
I want to be real
I want to be a poem
but that’s just a little too nonsensical, isn’t it?
dream big, stay small, hope’s how you grow them all
but hope isn’t happiness, is it?
hope isn’t real, is it?
hope is a vapid emotion
perfect for a girl like me

I thought and thought
I hoped and believed
I cried and mourned
I screamed and laughed

Then I realised it was passion.

My gorgeous
Every moment with you
Crazy for you
The fluff of your paw
Touches my soul
You gnaw at my heart
Endless days
Shortened nights
Awaken to the mystery of life
Picasso book
"Art Can Only be ******"
Chewed
My babe forgiven all
You daze into my eyes
Lips so soft
I am insane for you
Our affection entwined
You lay on my chest
I feel every breath

And I realise it's Passion

Forever crazy for you

who are we
in god we trust, the ruler of a nation bereft of purities
corrupt ink in the capsule of a human’s casing
wages printed on the stoic faces of our leaders, blood and gore imprinted on their eyelids
spilling our incoherent tangle of words into songs and pleads for relief
we are spitting images of our mother, and her mother
iodized wounds that stretch to our finger-prints that they deem must be caged and stamped at all costs
our wrists are battered and tied with the rope of our pride
and our pink flesh is swelled up with their brand freshly printed onto our skin that reads, ‘you are nothing’
nothing but chains of forgotten children abandoned in rusted swing-sets
children who’s screams are full of hot air like the balloons that loiter about our minds
the balloons that burst sharply in a staccato beat when bittered thoughts contaminate them
we are children who press our fingers into our eye sockets and scavenge around the recesses of our minds
young hands damp with drops of the dreams that cascade down the pores in our bodies
the drops that empty into the gutter that encroaches the territory of our bones
pushed back dreams like the rotten tomatoes that stink of moldy desperation in the grocery store
memories melted into perfect formations like a drill soldier with a stone-cold face empty of temerity
memories stacked up like all you can eat pancakes that drape over us like an everlasting blithe
they leave vague impressions of naivety and sit despairingly upon our caged ribs
they cower behind closed doors and occasionally peek out from the clouds of illusions to say,
‘are you happy?’
but they disappear with cruel inspection like a fading smoke because we don’t dare to discover the truth
but even still we harbor desolation-spiked weapons that secrete through the same pores that piece us together
we are the ripest of onions, a scintillating mixture of strong scents and spirits
and the moment we realize this we try to scrape the walls of our binding
try to peel ourselves of the revolving emotions that we have been programmed with
and as our wrinkled layers flake off, we learn a bit more about how different we seem to appear
until we are nothing but a sun-dried core, who has found the truth only to move never-more