On the one hand-
A scream- a shout: MAKE MONEY

On the other one-
Why? What for? Who asks this?

It isn't this simple, it
Really is that simple.

I would to nothing more do,
Than fill pages with thought, lyrics and

Amuse me, amuse you.
Yes, it is true.

I am filled here-
With the space to see how to make-

Yet, neither you nor i,
Truly, do wish to- see-

What it is we could amount
To be-

Leave it aside, brush it now.
What more is to be said,

About the blind poetry-
The blind poetry of-

this wasn't our first time
at the waffle house
sitting across from each other
staring out the window
at fading car lights,
astigmatism placebo running rampant
(or maybe just greasy windows).
  this wasn't our first talk
about you wanting to die
sometime late at night,
we talked for hours
the week before this,
tears, sweat, and trembling lips.
  this was our first meal
we shared together at night
after hopeless thoughts
in late december
before your brother's wedding.
  this wasn't the last time
we'd see each other again,
or order the fully loaded hashbrowns,
or talk about suicide,
that would come in time.
  this is the first time
I've thought about this memory
and have been grateful for your marriage
and how far you've come
from eating garbage at 2am,
from wearing the punisher hoodie I gave you,
from drinking mike's hard lemonade,
from feeling lonely and hopeless
and wanting to end your life.

I stand amidst chaos, lost in the haze,
Reaching for you, but your gaze never strays.
The one I once sought, my refuge, my guide,
Is no longer waiting where hope used to reside.

You, my constant in a world so unkind,
Now absent, like others who’ve left me behind.
Perhaps you've surrendered, as they all have too,
Given up on the soul you once held true.

So now, I'll play the role they’ve designed,
Proving them right with the scars in my mind.

No, I haven't abandoned the fight within me,
I’ve merely become what they forced me to be:
Friendless, loveless, and cold as the stone,
A shadow that lingers, lifeless, alone.

-fir.m

He sat on the cold, wooden floor,
His only source of light a dim lamp outside
He was shivering from the cold but that didn't matter
As long as his words were given life

The quiet sound of the pen hitting the paper
The notebook being the only thing he owned
Yet so treasured
A portal to the past

Some pages were torn
Seen as useless
But so truly beautiful
As they gave character to the brown notebook filled with nonsense

Exhausted with his work
He fell asleep in the middle of a word
The pen slowly tracing a line down the page
Only for it to be found, another reason to shame the boy
For that he is different

The face I still remember vividly.
The memories replayed every second.
The messages I never deleted,
I read them every night.
The voice that seemed around me.
And the laughter that is always contagious.

I want to keep it longer.
Hey, I ache for you.

no love can fix me
because out of this "love" thing
I was born damaged

was it your twisted time?
or was it just a figment of my mind?
I built my wall so high
it reached above the sky
you built your ego so bright
that I was even blinded in your sight

you made yourself so right,
so it seems.

i break my wall so briskly
never thought that it was all too risky.

i crashed,
I crashed,
I CRASHED.

I did not see the sign
I lost track of time
i-
I, would've thought that you were mine
but that was only a figment of my mind
a figment
of my mind

I did not pick up this pen
for you
only to repress my hand down all the way
and spill all this ink over my bleeding hands

but you,
wouldn't know it anyway
i burnt
behind you all the way.