I ponder on the fictional love
that splatters on the television
as my tears spill because I will never
experience that love
I am not in a movie

To dance the night away
is my new favorite thing
the flashing lights, the whisky in my breath  
and the man attempting to dance
all excite me
I escape into the night
and I forget the truth
I never want to leave
You will find me at the club, now every single week

My poetry is calamity !
I wish I didn't have to write
I wish I didn't have the sight
I wish I didn't see the fight
And that's why I write !
My poetry is despair
I pen my greatest thoughts when I'm running out of air
I can pull lightening out of a bottle and hold it in my hand when I'm facing fear.
My poetry is anger
In the trenches
teeth clinched, face covered in blood
Enemies closing in on me. Fight or flight!
Adrenaline a gatling,  will I fight or will I run?
God didnt give me wings that work
But is the answer the gun?
My poetry is war
Mankind hath not shown me an answer
The bible gives me freedom yes but before the son of man comes back will I see a cure ?
My poetry is the blood pumping through my veins, the electricity running down my spine
My poetry is the cold, calculated sting of a viper, coiled and ready to strike.
I don't write because I want to
I don't write because I feel to
I write because my only defense to a world so cold
Is the truth so bold
I write because crying about the world would send me to an early grave.
I write to inspire you to follow and yourself you might save.
I write because my days are numbered and because its freedom I crave.

sometimes when you say things
I wonder if you know
just. how. much.
what you say matters to me

other people's words I can brush off
and forget
but your words cut deep
they sting and ache for a while
and maybe longer
until there is only a mark left
only the mirror knows how many wounds
you have inflicted

when you insult me
I will spend the next few days
looking at myself different.
did you know that?
no, you didn't.

you're inconsiderate, to put it nicely
but even our friends note
you're nicer to me.
I wonder why, honestly.

Now were friends with history,
the worst type,
friends that were meant to be so much more.

Escupiendo mentiras
sobre esperanzas de papel,
llorando mercurio,
quemándome la piel.

Sometimes i force myself to cry,
so i don't drown in my emotions.
I pity myself until i am tired ,
then the nightmares come,
i dream of betraying you.

I haven't forgave myself.
I did not forget.
I was too young to understand,
the things i have done,
and what they meant.

I would never do it again,
never look the other way.
The words i say i will keep,
until God takes me away.

Will it ever be enough?
The life i'm willing to give to you?
Will my love be able,
for us to live this through?