I look in the mirror
It's such a waste
Why does this surface
Reflect my face

What is life, but to hope and wait for things that would never happen?

I wrestle with my existence
So why would I want a eternal one
But I understand the concept of a father
Giving up his only son I didn't ask be to your Prometheus
I didn't ask for any of this
I'm not you Adam,you didn't breathe life or love into this creation
I'm just a man with no soul or purpose
I only yearn for my own damnation
If I'm your own reflection
Then we are silhouettes of your worthlessness
So I sin without transgression
Because a eternity in hell over heaven would hurt much less.

There is a sudden charm in the idea of being invisible. I have thought endlessly about being invisible. Maybe, just for a day. I would get up earlier than my usual time. See him sipping tea in his balcony on a wintery morning. Watch him watching this new movie. See him upset, when he doesn't get a parking spot on a lazy day. I would follow him like rivers. And he wouldn't even know that I have already walked past his house 5 times in this past week. I wasn't invisible then. But, I guess I have been invisible to him all along.

Where does worth come from?

I've been told my aura is Lavender,
By a man trying to flee
light blue paper scrubs

and milk dripping down them.

He says I'm not suicidal,
Lavender never is.

it's when you think you're over someone
when you actually aren't
and you fool yourself thinking
that you have moved on
so you latch on to the next guy
who calls you pretty
compliments you
and shows you the kindness you've always craved
but again, you're just fooling yourself
thinking you have a chance with the new guy
when the truth is,
the reason why you've been alone all this time
is because
you're not worth the fight.
so you feel petty and horrible
and cry yourself to sleep
then when you wake up
you try to move on again.
and the cycle repeats

I'm not that good with words,
Tends to **** my poetry,
I'm not that good with herds,
It always stopped me fitting in,
I'm not that good with birds,
Ruined attempts at ornithology,
I'd find it so absurd,
If anyone was ever impressed by me.

I've grown beyond a joke,
It's just not funny anymore,
I'm no "ordinary bloke"
I'm useless down to the very core,
I'm an egg without the yoke,
That's ended up face down on the floor,
Like I knew before we spoke,
I'm the sort of person you'd wanna ignore.

And I'm not that good with words,
I can only say the same ones over again,
I'm seen but seldom heard,
You might not even know were friends,
And though I wish it never occurred,
I'm glad to see you're on the mend,
I'm not so good with words,
So I'll leave no note on which to end.

The dough in the pizza pan
Becomes my heart.
And with my hand, my fist,
I strike it and flatten it.

I force it to change,
Plaster it into limp pancake.

With my palm I knead it,
But the pain which should ebb out,
Will not separate and flow away.

It stays inside the dough,
The flattened,
Moulded,
Hand-mangled dough!

I slip into the languid,
Red body-warming liquid,
Sinking so slowly...
Plummeting backwards
At slow-motion speed...

Through timeless fathoms
I enter a dream of gulls
On silver wings
Flapping overhead,
Drawing out screeches

Endless screeches, mingling
With my tumbling,
And tingling
With my mumbling.
Lying in a purple sea.

She won again!
This time, I was going to fight back. I was determined to speak my mind.
It was like a tennis match, where I was being served aces and smashes.
It was too much and I knew she was enjoying it.
My mother left the room and I immediately felt a combination of frustration and hopelessness hover over me.
What is the point!
I felt a burning sensation as the tears came closer to the surface, but I managed to hold them back.
Instead I put my ear phones in and zoned out.
Just another day with mom!