Sugarcandy or a chilli flake
Either a sweet tooth or a burning ache
Lethal or way too safe
Either a tequila or a fresh water lake
A diamond or a snowflake
One meek other too brave
Rumi's words or Evanescence
It's birth and death at play

This suffering has become too much for my mind and my body to handle.

I am angry with You because You broke me before I had a chance to grow. You were supposed to be the one person in the world who made me feel
safe,
loved, and
cared for. You
manipulated me. You
used me. You
abused me. You
ruined me before I ever met those who crippled me. The worst part is that I will always love You more than anyone else in this world...and when You die I will feel forever empty.

I hate YOU because YOU knew that I was
younger and more
vulnerable and used that to
maim me. I can never enjoy my life again because of YOU. Every day of my life is
violated and
defiled by YOU in the same way YOU
tortured me in those three months. The worst part is that it has been five years and YOU are still happily living and breathing somewhere out there. I want YOU to die.

I am terrified of you because you hold all of the power and you do not and will not care about my life. You don't care if I die. You are
ruthless and
disgusting like Satan himself. You are
vile and
cruel and
apathetic. The worst part is that I see you every day and I can never hide.

i love you, but you scare me. i shake when i think about giving all of myself to you. i am alone forever in my existential thoughts that you can never enter. your touch feels wonderful...so warm and comforting. if i let myself enjoy you...you precious soul...you'll just be ripped away from me like
every
other
almost
happy
thing. the worst part is that the only way to protect me is to not let myself believe you love me. please love me.

I am desperate. Clutching on for dear life to anyone and hugging until I turn blue. I am
trembling and
peeing and
crying. I am
screaming and
bleeding and
struggling. The worst part is that nobody knows that I am a child who just wants a hand to hold.

Life is meaningless and horrible. I feel grimy and disgusting, twisting in and out of all of their scraping hands as I walk miserably
on and
on and
on.

I'm dying. I mean it--I am dying.

Someone help me.
Someone touch me.
Someone care about me.

I'm dying.

wishing for a break
from the hectic mania
that my mind projects
and the absolute havoc
the outside world reaps

Your actions echo love,
My rendition of it;
Why don’t they linger
Like words will.

Your actions parade love
That I applaud;
Why can I not trust them
Unless I have it in print.

I write
Poems of love
For a man of few words.

I feel
Acts of love
For a writer, is it not enough.