My soul carries the burden,
of more than a thousand unsaid words,
and on occasion, they strangle me,
grip my vocal cords and squeeze,
until mutism seems like a good thing.
When words try to find their way up my throat,
they are gagged down like a first taste of strong alcohol,
when you're sixteen, and trying to drink away the pain,
but can't stomach the bourbon or the regret,
so you pour it down the drain, and curl up,
next to the toilet, trying to heave away the poison,
you've just forced on yourself.
If I could find a speaking voice,
I'd scream at the top of my lungs,
begging you to see what your foul thoughts do to me.
Waking up to screaming, set like an alarm clock,
must not be too good for the  psyche,
for I am falling apart like the seams of,
a sweater worn with age.
But you can't be wrong.
God have mercy, never tell her she is wrong.
She justifies her mistakes,
with the pain she bottles up,
like an over-filled balloon,
ready to pop,
and knock the wind out of you,
with it's own.
This cycle will never change,
though in the midst of it all,
I don't see myself as misfortunate,
for whether or not I set an alarm,

I will always wake up.

Do you see him behind the camera?
So handsome,
Painting you delicately,
Looks right into you so passionately,
Effortlessly puts his hair back
I could see how nervous he was,
by just the way he walks
here and there
around the room.
Do you see the way he looks at you?
Yes, the way he looks at you,
Like you're some work of art
Not in picture
But in flesh and bone
Every look is every touch
every touch he places on your body
Do you see him?
So flawless behind that camera,
Rolling his eyes every time he asks you to stand still.
How he just looks to the side
Do you see how badly I've fallen for him?
Am I a liar? A sinner?
But am I a tear on his cheek?
I have fallen for every part of his brain,
Every perception of his,
Every look I wish I was given.
Dangerous affliction,
Beautiful affection,
Locate yourself into every breath that I take,
Hold me by the neck
And deprive me of oxygen
Glad my last breath,
Was in your hands.

I am bound to sadness,
like Dorian Gray,
was bound to his beauty.
It seems to me, that every time I try,
It gets harder to turn back,
to the person I used to be.
Innocence disappeared,
and this world is a cruel place to live in.
All it does is just break me down,
bone after bone.
I have become addicted to sadness,
because happiness doesn't seem normal.
But what's normal anyway,
when they say it is the best of worlds,
but we know nothing of others,
or when it's simply not true.
I die everyday a little.
I cry a little more everyday,
into ashes those tears will turn.
Best friend and worst enemy,
loneliness and sadness,
come together as one.
This is probably what I deserve,
and how I should live
and die