Poetry is a hundred billion stars on the clearest night, the music of the night beating a pulse in you're soul that you simply can't ignore.
It's a rhythm that leaves you thinking for hours about something that would never cross your mind otherwise.
It's the chorus of the lost ones, and yet complete silence.
It's the light of our sun, and the moonlight of our moon.
It's the noise of the war and the quiet of the aftermath.
It's the fluttering of a butterfly's wings standing out against the screaming of the world.

It's the voices of the ones afraid to speak, finally making noise.

I hate when people use the psalm to say,
“our bodies are wonderfully made,”
but they don't teach us that our minds
are made wonderfully as well

I am fearfully made but I am fearful
for I have been taught through this teaching
that my body was made more wonderfully than my mind

night just wants some sun and the sun wants to sleep
but neither can get either with being alone every week.
some people sleep all alone every night
and that's what scares me to death.
am I one of these fools,
or can I follow these rules.
and that's why I'm so scared of my bed.
the monsters in the closet are just my memory's in deposit.
so I can sleep like the rest of the dead.
i know i'm not one
to laugh or complain
but weirdly my pain,
is the only thing
that wants to keep me sane.
for better or worse, we all have a Cain.
who would stick us in the heart.
if only he could remain.

Fearing every touch
Every intimate thing
Because of you

Fearing the way you look at me
Because maybe, just maybe it will happen again
And again

Fearing my own thoughts
Floating around in my head
At high speeds and the neverending cycle

My life
Never the same
Because of you

Your roots is your foundation
Don't droop
Stand onto your roots