My brain shuts down but my eyes are still open
Giving the illusion that I'm alive
and human
But I am not
I am a robot
With human hair
I may still blink
But lack the capacity to care.

I knew of one who learned to breathe
Through both the eyes
They tried to express their sadness
But was drowned out by the cries

I knew another, who had no eyes
But could see through their ears
They too, tried to express the pain
But words were muffled by their tears

Oh such sorrow, so hard to express
To make others clearly see
When tears get in the way
Of some strange infirmity.

Stoic. Everyday in every way, that is how this graveyard feels to me.
Not creepy, nor freaky, nor scary, but emotionless is how I see.
It's weird some days, it gets to me, I feel as though I don't feel at all.
The sunshine doesn't warm me, the wind isn't cool, and my emotions seem to stall.
It's days like this when the tombstones seem to speak.
but not in a manner that makes me sound like a freak.
So I wonder about death in everyway imaginable, but today I wonder about my stone.
When my lights are out and i'm tucked four feet deep, how will I be known.
Will just a name and date be fine? Maybe on the back i'll have etched a poem of mine.
Have it flashy and adorned like a shrine or have it hidden by a bush and covered in a vine.
The more I think about it, the less I care, because no matter what, my soul won't reside there.
Just my body, just a shell, surely my soul will dwell in Heaven or Hell.
When i'm laid to rest in my dirt bed and grass tucked all around me.
Please forget the reefs, don't by me flowers, and things I cannot see.
Real flowers die and it looks depressing, dead flowers on my grave.
Fake flowers fade, just like our memories, their's nothing left to save.
The beautys gone in death, let my grave be just an ugly hunk of rock.
Something for someone to mow around and a reminder that no ones beats deaths clock.
If you really miss me, and you want to tell me so. Send God up a prayer.
Cause Heaven is where i'll be and i'll be waiting for you there.
Listen up and remember what you've just been shown.
Don't come visit my grave. It's crazy to think that you'd talk to a stone

Two bodies intertwine to be one soul. You and she explore every curve that hasn’t been carved. Both of you are the sculptors, sculpting on each other flaws. Physical acceptance is what you both tame from the beginning. It flows well. Yet, the conversation of those eyes is out of intonation. Leads to perform old war. That tender hand begins to abuse God’s magnum opus, the sculpture. More aesthetic flaws divine it. Scratches and bruises. After one whole day as it feels like one decade of hell, you both doubt that love can bring infinite elation. Silent moment fills the room. Wisdom whispers in melodically rhymes. Suddenly, the man cracks the moment.




He asks “How are you? (I know you’re thinking of something. Tell me)”

She answers “I’m fine. (I wonder if this is love or lust.)”

and
i hate
myself
a little bit
more
knowing that
you love me so
and
i feel absolutely
nothing

how, I ask
do I care so deeply
so intensely
and yet, am incapable
of the simple act
we call

falling in love.

What I am,
Is not what you are,
Because unlike you, I never was human.
Never was able to really feel emotions, which you all adore,
Been called a demon for that reason, a monster which was deserted,
Emptiness, calm and drenched in the sorrow of never fitting in is what embellishes me, an ornament of true, cruel sadness, undetected.
And yes, I don't understand you, perhaps I don't even want to, knowing what humans are like, I accepted my fate of being alone,
I let my fingernails grow long and sharp to at least fit into the picture of a monster you have put me, because what else do I have left ?
A heart, perhaps which desires to take those under its wing whom suffered the same tragity, orphans with no place or rejected, abused.
And a body, carrying a thousand marks done by a knife, or these nails, in a cold desperate wishing to be normal at least for a day, to not be alone and deserted, with no one left to talk but a silly pen, a pocket watch which is about to stop ticking calmly, gently very soon.
An ember of light, triggers some emotions at rare occasions, which fade into nothingness as the day begins to face it's end, ah, phantoms
So, what I am,
Is not what you are,
Because I am...
A demon.

~ Umi

Death

Death is something I want
          But can’t bring myself to take
Love
          Is something I lost
             But can’t seem to let go of
And time

         Time is where I drift, lost
                Not knowing any way or
                               place I see

     Forever stuck in between