To love is to fall
Fall like shooting stars

To love is to forget
Forget the pain I will regret

To love is to remember
Remember my souls request

To love is a poisonous game
A game I simply love to play

Come to me surreptitiously like fog comes in December night
I will hide you by the news of discontent and discomfort-
Engulf and surround you with fear of loom,
The country is going to dust now,
Master has become maniac puffing the ***** of 'Power'
deeming good into bad and bad into good,
The books affirming violence his students seek,
The guardians and protectors stand and watch
the clashes like sadists forbidden to inflict pain;

I lament the plight and plunder of my sacred home,
Hoping a dawn of summer amid chilly winter.

from day one he held her fragile hand
tugged her along the cliff's edge
watched her through even the longest of days
or peered throughout the green garden's hedge
he tugged a bit harder the older she got
until her skin drooped like elastic torn apart
fed her alcohol like a bottle to a baby
popped her pills till it paused her heart
As he'd comb his hands though her soft brown hair
streaks of gray followed the strands he once brushed
he'd press his black lips on her sun spotted cheeks
and place a rotten finger over her mouth whispering, "hush"
he tugged her night gown once more in the rocking chair
as wind from the open window brushed by with a chill
he held the jagged dagger up to her neck
although his intention was not to ****
as he sliced her open, the scythe hit the ground
her eyes of glass finally stood still
he brushed her hair behind her ear and whisperd
"i promise, my intention was not to ****."
They walked away from the old rocking chair
hand in hand like it was from the start
because although life gives you your pulse
the reaper steals your beating heart

Help
Do anything

Help
Save me

Help
Where are you

Help
I'm drowning in my thoughts

Help
They're eating me alive

Help
I've waited so long for you

Help
You never showed

Help
I'm pulling the trigger

Forcing thoughts to spill on a white page is like taking an empty pen and exepcting ink to leak art onto a white canvas. I've never been good at putting my thoughts into words, you've never been good at listening to what I didn't say. We were open books read by blind men, and music being played for the deaf. Never enough to satisfy, but always enough to appreciate. You dipped your dreams in sugar glaze and fed it to me on a sword, while I was busy cutting off pieces of my own with the same blade. Sometimes it's less about the meaning of words, and more about the look in your eye that comes with the sentence. Sometimes its less about the silence and more about what's filling the air. Sometimes its less about me, and more about what I could've been.

Unamused, abused, inflicted by I
Distractions, that keep my heavy eyes alive
***, drugs, deep conversations keep me fed
This feels as real as pretend, driven by others for fuel I don't have
This must be the end
Nah, I'll never die,
I'll continue to tell myself so I don't amend my habits

Embrace these teenage customs that feel so unique
They aren't, but that keeps me in synch
Willingly letting denial be a trait, a style of it's own
That will take me out one day, I already have condoned