I write when I feel the need // To fight // Against myself
War inside // Two enemies // Never sure of what the other wants
A tango of emotions // A struggle of feelings
I pickup my pen // With the intention to win // Suddenly it now ends
The struggle is over // My emotions are released
Now I can go back to bed // Time for another day // To do it all again

The words I write,
come with no crime.
Tapping away,
in a field of grey.

Imagination,
temptation,
and the need for acceptation.

It is a meditation.
Feeling everything,
letting the words come up
as I'm puking.

The words I write,
help me survive.
Not alone,
forever be known.

Another day, another moment passed,
It feels like time has taken away the connection between me and everyone else,
I feel what it’s like to be disconnected from those closest to you and distance from those I never once doubted to be next to me for the worst of times.
I have no one to call when trouble starts,
I lost the closest people to me, due to my pride and self worth,
Giving up those who were deemed trustworthy because I actually thought, contemplated and realized that loving myself is all that’s worth.
Told myself never again,
Reaching out to the voices in my head,
Everything is just scrambled now,
Situations and certain things can grow to ruins in a matter of a couple seconds.
Time has effortlessly proved to me the true colors that reside underneath the personalities of people, associates,
Even family members, those never underestimated can still indicate actions of opposition,
I was shown that at a young age and even now; a connection, yet a reflection.

Devour My Memories, I Utter My Thanks

The faintest heartbeat, beating incessently within the womb of the accursed
A plague, a toxin, a parasite adorned in rozen love...
How despair will foster you as its own soon.
Despair that dusts blue skies to crimson.
Painting the earth with the despair you, so courteously, gifted...

A life she was meant to live, and a life she was almost denied.
Who was it that almost cried when she died?
Not the mother,
nor the father.
Not the god that wouldn't bother...

But the one whom those pointed and screamed
“Monster”.

Adorn thee with strength, needed to breathe
Adorn thee with love, needed to grieve
As an infant, our adoring spirits you teethed...
Our child, concieved with love...

Father adorned your body in gallant, red petals...
Sprouting purple fruit, that blossomed upon your beautiful body.
Mother, saw nothing, for the sugar in her eyes...
Nullified her to the girl that slowly died.

Your brother we had, whom we ensured held your hand...
Overcome with corruption, he mangled those porcelain bones,
It needed to be planned.
to dust they turned, hollowing them from the inside
until the walking world grew barren, and your canvas lost its color.

They covered their eyes to the “us” that they saw...
And you, who wanted to live, wished to know why their spirits died.
You asked of us, begged as a young soul, to not be blind
So HE painted your canvas with color.
Distorted blacks, containing every hue that even a treasure of a species only saw...
You saw, for one simple reason,

We loved you.
We showed you that the conceptual distortion you felt...
That solidified pain...

It, too could become a comfort. And I became your comfort,

the only comfort that you need.

The rain pattering upon the window panes would drown out the screaming.
The nightmares that you put into my brain, gave my life meaning.
I could see through eyes that weren't mine,
into lives that were far from sublime.

Their tears were like a treat, a bitter chocolate that made my heart flutter...
Because what you shared with me, was a feeling unlike any other.
Their remarkable sadness, I felt as my own.
Had I not felt what you'd forced me to feel, there is no way I would've ever known.

Sensors that are there for me, are but vacant to the large majority.
What they cannot see and will not see,
combined by what I cannot see and will not see,
It drowns me.

My words rise like bubbles to the surface of this ocean.
If I press that sole piano key, the sound reverberates for an eternity.
And yet, it ceases to wade up above the surface.
I'm but a coelacanth, and my swimming is clumsy.

Not even the sound of that lovely train tune billowing throughout the wintry air...
Not even the audible tone of your crisp voice, nor your hissing within my ear,
Could make me wish to live. Yes, I know, life is unfair.
But it's so much easier for you to say that while you're up there.

The painter who paints with only a black and white canvas,
will have an easier time meshing hues, as opposed to the one who must encompass,
the broad colors of others. Their pigments, their variations,
with some paints dry and cracked, and others melting into congolomerations

Ah, yes. How much easier it is for you to say that from up there.

The lies resound the loudest, because the blatant call for help ceased to be loud enough.
Tell me, God, why wasn't my call loud enough?
In life, I have learned, yes it is not fair.
So I must take what I want. I cannot just sit and stare.

The strong prevail over the weak, or so, that is what you have lovingly taught me.
The man and the nightmare, splaying my insides out upon the pavement
electrocuting my body until not a single grief was left to be.
That pain drained away thanks to you, leaving not sadness... But resentment.

That I am this lone coelacanth, whose colors and intonations
touch but the surface of her own ocean, with but one measley formation.

And yet you swim with me, even if this swimming is clumsy.
As the lone, sea serpent... Whose scales glitter so vibrantly.
Dull to so many others, whom couldn't see your shine.
But I could with these eyes that you so humbly gave to me,
and even if I do not wish to live this life you gave me all the time,

you are but a buried treasure I call mine.

The knife slid smooth across smoother skin,
A thrilling thing, a winning sting,
Blood bubbling up like syrupy scarlet wine.
Alarm bells felt like fireworks to celebrate the first time,

“That’s dangerous!” the brain screams, eyeing the **** aghast
“It’s exciting.” the body sings, sighing dreamily and relaxing finally,
I’ve found a way out, I think, somewhere between the two.

To bleed is not to die, but certainly it holds the key,
Perhaps someday, some night in the haze of the absence of sleep,
I’ll reach for my razor and cut so deep,
That all there will be left to do is bleed and bleed and bleed