The beauty of dream is,
Its not real...
Good or bad probably doesn't stay on memory long .
It could be bitter or a sweet song.
100% your own and to only you it belong.

My heart tenses,
I look down,
the blackness is pouring out of me.
I am dying,
like I have many times before,
I wonder what I will be born at this time.
My face flinches,
this hurts.
I look up at fleeting stars,
I breathe in the light cold breeze,
I bid adieu to the black trees
and smile at the curios cat peering at me.
I leave,
not knowing much,
just knowing the fact that I will surely meet the ever-encompassing,
BLACK!

The flowing lava,
destroys,
burns,
hurts,
kills,
overwhelms,
turns my blood to molten magma,
and yet makes feel so alive.

                                                                             -storm-

Hot tears spill
despite the efforts of my fists
deep in my eye sockets.
Even behind the void,
my sensitivity escapes.
Even when I think I've outgrown it,
it comes back like a curl around my heart.

If only I could black out
without causing them any worries,
and in my greatest passion
to deal with my pain,
there's still something left to criticize.

If only I could show
how flawed I am.
Prove that I'm not the perfect child
they hoped for.
If only I could stop feeling
the world around me
as a burden in my chest.

the taste of disappointments
i never thought i'll have.