my tears speak
more than
my words

my screaming
yells louder than
my thoughts

my silence
stands longer than
my body

words find a blank
for I cannot write
when I have written
it all
before

how does one
rewrite their life
when there was nothing
but everything
to write?

it's like my words
forgot me
somewhere along
the line of mental stability
or my identity
or what it was

unless I just
don't know
how to say it anymore


where did they go?

We only spend our life fretting the details,
Chasing our tails,
Trying to fight our demons behind our nails.

But only if they face you can you fight the crow.
Only if they step in front of you can you truly know.

But do you fight them,
Or hide away?
But do they show themselves,
Or hide away?
But are they more afraid than you,
Or is it childsplay?


The question lingers for one too long,
You have let it consume you
And lose the demon lifelong,
But yourself too.

Glass pieces falls from you,
You search the world for them,
But they never show.
You fall into the shadow the pieces left behind,
And you wonder.

Wonder if he ever knew,
How much you cared about him,
How deep the shadow became when he left,
How you thought about him at night,
When the cries you made were the only sound the world could hear.

We don’t really know if he cared or not,
And the ignorance?
It'll break us.

do you hear that?
it's the sound of her silent tears falling into her abyss

do you see that?
it's the broken glass she dropped when she tried to replace her broken heart

do you smell that?
it's the blood she shed when she went looking for her feelings on her flesh where she wore them

do you feel that?
it's the empty dark she felt when she murdered her trust for love

do you taste that?
it's the regret she swallows everyday to say it will be okay


right?

Less than dirt,
More than hurt,
What am I doing here?

Less than who I want to be,
More than I want to see,
Who put me here?

Less than reality holds,
More than the fantasy pulls,
Where am I now?

Less than a moth’s flight,
More than the soul’s blight,
How did I end up here?

Less than a music box tune,
More than the screaming moon,
Why am I feeling this?

Less than a cracked crown,
More than an emotional breakdown,
When will it stop?

Who am I to you?
I have never tasted your light,
But only ever felt my blight.

Who am I to you?
I fear you will leave me
And I will be left to grieve
For it has happened once before,
And you might do it again once more.

Who am I to you?
Will he answer me true?
I fear he will bid me adieu...

Who am I to you?
Will you forsake me again?
Will I become a stain?

He is unreadable,
And I am left to wonder,
Who am I to you?

repression.
this is the block.
it comes in at 3 o'clock
in the morning when you know it is empty,
it becomes the modus vivendi

repression.
it devours you.
taints you that rouge.
quiet becomes the switch that keeps them
crying.

repression.
like a cigarette passed around
we share it, not making a sound.
the smoke rising
and the sorrow is chastising.

repression.
the words lost in the silence
yet blooming with the violets.

repression.
there is nothing to say.
it seems like it is okay.
you shut everyone away

and lock them with the words you cannot find.