she was a puzzle in a piece of art
painted down on an empty canvas
as splatters of different colored ink
completing a masterpiece  that cannot be understood
by all **** means
and yet there he was staring,
a tear falling from his eye,
as it pierced through every little parts
of his broke down soul

it's ironic to realize that it is actually
the happiest moments that carves the
deepest scars.

but you see -
she has
a tendency
to be silent
when it gets
real loud
inside her head.

these nights —
they hold
the best
and
worst
parts of me.

and he loved her more
as he watched her listen
to the stories the moon
illuminates.

but I know,
that the only reason that we're together,
is because you see her in me,
but I want you to remember,

i could be the sun,
i'd burn myself just to see you shine,
but a love like that is toxic.

and such painful truth is that
the greatest stories are the most tragic ones

we take too much of very little things
just to satisfy our never ending cravings
we give too little of what we have too much
because that's how we work,
*us, selfish human beings

"and if you ever find me lost", she said
"tell them to find me at sea, because that is where my soul will surely be."

but this is reality,
it does not matter if I love you this much,
because in the end - I can only look at you from afar

but would the world
believe these good intentions
if you've already been
labaled to as someone
with a bad reputation?

i say as i watch my childhood
disappear in front of my eyes

different colored cups,
different seasoned tea,
what a wonderful beauty,

old scars don't hurt as much
because you learned to grow
accustomed to the pain.
but just because it hurts less,
doesn't mean you're not hurting.

No, but mamma
I am not just an echo
of who you used to be.

because only by then
would this seem so real;
that though I am alive,
my soul no longer rests here.

the demons;
the scars;
they are all real,
yet they seem to say
that they are only
living inside her head.
they say that insanity
has got the best of her,
when in truth:

it was reality that drove her under.

and after everything,
and even despite anything,
you still have every right to be happy.
remember that.

and the sad thing was that
i was too busy learning about life
that I never had the chance to live it as I should.

“You’re a good man.” He said while leaving.

And I stood there as a tear fell down my eyes. I had left my home because I was unbecoming more and more myself each day. I was afraid that the evil inside had completely swallowed me whole so I ran away. Leaving, thinking I was the devil, and yet here he was – a stranger, telling me that he sees something good left in me that remained, and my heart hurts because I wanted nothing more than to believe him.

I have laid out my canvas for you
thinking you filled it with colors
when you only made it blue

the world is a judge,
and I am the accused.
no trials were held.
but the verdict was guilty.

sometimes i find myself
slipping into the brink of insanity,
it feels like all it takes
is one last push
before I break completely.

Our truth is that we live to write,
and we write to live.

If I could do it all over again,
I'd still choose to have my heart
taken by you
no matter how many times its
bound to break

i wonder if someone ever
bothered to put back
the pieces of myself that
i've left behind.

they didn't have to be judged,
being together was punishment enough

oh and everything is slowly ending,
but i don't know how to
start saying goodbye;

and as it turns out,
i am but a poet only
of the circumstance;

the words that are left unsaid
are the ones that mean the most

you are love
and chaos
at the same time

there are days where
i feel that i am lucky,
and there are days where
i feel that i am not;
there are also days
where i feel like everything is too much,
that all these feelings
are just a lot to take in,
and that i would just explode
considering everything that i am feeling;
but there are days,
no - there are more days
where i feel as though I feel nothing at all,
and that is the worst feeling of it all.

and so everytime I stare
at the mirror;
all i can see is a remnant
of who i ever was.

but if i choose to stop it altogether,
can you be the first one to let me go?

i hate my weight
and all my weighted thoughts

there are happy endings,
and endings that stand
as beginnings,
but sometimes
there are simply just —
endings.