The dawn rises pink and gold,
Yet I lay here feeling decrepit and old.
Breathing and crying,
Over my heart, small and dying.

I love her, and cannot tell.
Every moment I see her is an agonizing hell.
Inspired and talented,
That's what she'll be until I'm dead.

So look at the rosey dawn,
Before you know it, it's gone.
As the sun rises on a morning,
Of a poor man, heartbroken mourning.

A sketch, a word,
A piece of paper.
With emotions never heard.
That was sent to him or her.

Completely ignored by the crush,
As a sad person loses their heart
Or hangs from a noose strung in a rush.
And a soul and mind depart.

A burning desire,
A timeless sorrow,
Burning like a blue fire,
Scorching the dawn of tomorrow.

Horrid and deppressed.
A black hand reaches from the shadows.
To turn people sick and compressed.
When they drown in the shallows.

An ignored confession,
An oblivious crush,
With a knife session,
Put against the skin, where the color is blush.

A single drop,
Of Crimson liquid.
Most of the time considered a prop,
To shrivel up and die, as the knife cuts mid.

They're never seen again,
In love or memory
When the love feels the pain,
And sees with eyes that can't see.

I wage war
That's never been seen before
Is sanity worth fighting for?
I'm not really sure

Insanity?
A calamity?
I call it individuality!

Who is Society
To create this hypocrisy?!?
It seems like such a tragedy
To waste such ingenuity
To dull the creativity

Into the shadows a man can walk.
Without guidance or hope.
A darkness called hate,
That will never leave, but stalk.

The simplest things are dangerous,
And everything can ****.
Anything else would be scandalous,
While man and women scream their voices shrill.

A sad time, and a sad place.
This is where the darkened go.
Not heaven, or a shiny palace,
A dark dungeon, that tortures people so.

Pyres burn,
Fire roasts,
As flesh cooks on the spurn.
The beasts who cook are generous hosts.

The dungeon is meant to break,
Not to imprison.
Sanity is theirs to take,
With a wraith-like vision.

So beware the shadows, into people walk,
For it burns and scars the weakened heart.
Leaving a body outlined in chalk.
As the body and soul depart.

The ink from a pen is always dark.
It never changes and is dfinite
Black, white, yellow, red
The ink doesn't matter.
It is what is written...

A poem, a song, a story
All of them are the result of the ink
To enjoy a love, is never easy

Am I seen in this world?
I do not know. Any celestial being
Human, or animal seems unreal to me.
An addict I cannot become, yet the temptation grows.

Assistance, help, love,
All of these I need.
For I feel my own mother has lost her love
She follows a path, oblivious to the misgivings of life.

I turn away,
I fail, I am terrified.
The world is big,
And yet, I seem so small.

I fear for my sanity,
As I hear whispers in the gloom.
"The end, you will never survive"
And my heart grows darker with each whisper

I wish to tell somebody,
Yet no one will understand.
Not the plight of a troubled youth,
They only see a boy who is sick.

Help is an illusion,
Assistance a fake,
Love?
I do not know it.

For how can one know love,
If it is never shown to you?
Darker and darker thoughts emerge
As my brain fades into sadness forever.

A darker sadness
Which sleeps, dormant
To be tried for death,
From a tormented soul