Something about the weather echoing my thoughts that makes me believe I belong to winter alone.

The meek raindrops dripping through the notched ceiling is the slow release of all the bottled-up agony and sufferings.

Darling, it is raining in my head as well tonight.

The startling gusts of wind against the windows are my bleeding fingernails pressed against a wooden door with no one to save me on the other side.

The deep, dark murmurs heard on an empty road are the humming voices inside my head that neglect and put down my efforts.

The voices have become amplified.

Those angry, screeching cat cries is my true voice finally finding itself after long seasons of quietness and despair.

Frustration now has a voice.

Umbrellas hold people hostage under their protection just like my pulsatile depression seems to like restraining me to my lousy bed.

What a fierce lover I've got.

This gentle nature-stirred madness has made its way fearlessly right onto my once-blue skies to shamelessly prove to me that I'm never alone.

By Arcassin Burnham


Sometimes I've had enough of childish kids acting
Like they're grown men & women in society,
We don't gotta live like this....
It's hard enough that everyday someone dies and you
Feel like you should have said something to them,
You don't gotta live like this.....
Kids around the world with cancer and illnesses wondering
Where did this come from,
They don't gotta live like this.....
Young girls out on the streets selling themselves and the boys just
Rob and ****,
And they don't gotta live like this.......

What could the future possibly hold,
For all of us?
I've seen it all before,
it's dangerous....
better make your presence known,
For him in the sky....
building castles with the most high,
can't wait to fly.

White Lips,
Pale Face,
Breathing in Snowflakes..

Tell me, my love
What is on that beautiful mind of yours?
I've tried to fix so many but,
you're the only one that doesn't seem to need healing.
Maybe that is the problem,
Ol' love.
I only love things that are broken,
But you,
Are old, love.
And I crave the youth
That your calloused hands allow.