I will write every word that I can,
I will write every emotion on every face,
Every tear, every star in endless space.

I will write endlessly,
I will write fearlessly, page by page,
Write to please every mind, every age.

I will write every story I can,
I will fill each book my soul, my ink,
I will not be afraid to share what I think.

I will write to the edge of my ability,
I will write wings upon my back,
And fly with words until my bones crack.

I will write 'til I'm dead,
I will write away my death,
And whisper poetry with final breath.

Here we are, skin on skin,
But no closer than we've ever been.
You're the one that I've always had to want,
The need that only stays to haunt.
Take my lips now, but you won't take your turn,
No matter how many love notes I burn.
You're the one I've always wanted in day,
The need that I can't get to stay.
The night is cold, star on star,
And your knife in my need will leave a scar.

I started stealing recently
Because of the feeling of power it gave me,
Like if somehow all that power
Would make the healing go faster,
But it only got me caught.
I started small, petty theft,
A piece of gum; not a lot.
The thrill was exciting
And made my heart beat stronger.
Every store was inviting me in saying,
"Come, stay a little longer."
So I did.
I lingered and I watched, and my
Heart raced as I fingered each item
With my eyes and paced the aisles restlessly.
They were just trinkets, what I stole,
Nothing anybody would miss,
Not like I did every night as I woke up
without a kiss
without a voice
without something to call my own.
So I started stealing to, if anything,
Distract me from what I was so painfully feeling.
Staring up at the ceiling every night
In a too large bed
With too many thoughts in a too small head.

My thoughts are louder than the
    headphones in my ears, while I'm
Staring down the cliff face and
    yelling "echo" through the fears.
But they're bouncing back and
    beating against my face, which
Isn't my own, just a mask I've made
    of paper and string and lace.
It's stuck there, covering my lips,
    making me lie, changing the blips that
My radar is catching every day, while
    sanity is beginning to sway
Against the endless tones
    that aren't loud enough to drown
Out these dismal mental moans
    screaming past my headphones.

Waiting up, buttercup,
Waiting for the sun to come up
And greet the day anew,
With blazing light that grows and grew
Back then when the earth was young,
Before words were inked or songs were sung.

Laying down, sweet girl,
Laying down to watch those hairs curl
Around my fingers, soft and smooth,
With lips to calm and words to soothe
What pain is bottled up in that head of yours,
That mind too young to fight such wars.

Sometimes death seems easier than here.
Maybe then the maybe's will quit.
Maybe then the voices will hush,
and maybe I can write this **** down.
Sometimes death seems easier than cheer.
Any day now the volume will drop.
Any day now the clocks will rewind,
and any day now I will finish a thought.
Sometimes death seems easier than fear.
Sleep might come and ease this pain.
Sleep might come and kiss me soft,
and sleep might come, shower words like rain.
Sometimes death seems easier.

We live in systematic chaos that is
peeling us away from what we need to say,
what we need to do.
It is stealing our tongues from soft-spoken mouths
and squeezing our lungs until we are hushed
amid the people too rushed
to push against it.
It is a chaos that is subtle,
a chaos that is tearing at our
huddled forms, our minds too muddled
to even consider fighting back.
But we hack and we hoist against
every other trouble in the day,
which only serves to double the pain
crashing in at night.
And with all our might we praise
a form way up in the sky, so silent
and forgetful we begin to question why.
Why do we scurry to honor this
man in the air who seems to
be in no hurry to help, to hear?
When we **** and we steal whatever
we want, this systematic chaos
just continues to taunt us down here.