The human mind
The human psychology
The human heart
Is ultimately
Where darkness dwells
And it well in all ove us
It takes one snap
Of the mental
Twig.
Just ask my mother

As i walk into
My brothers place
I am instantly
Hits me with gruesome
Engery,  emotions
And madness
And as I sleep
That night
I hear the moan of
The call to prayer at
The witching hour
Not at morning
When i wake up
I find that his house
Was haunted
By a madman
A madman who convert to Islam
A madman who killed himself and his family

Red blood drops
The tears of the body
Clear uncolored tears are the tears of
The soul
Blood red leaves
Falling from the trees
Are the tears of the trees
Nature
And of the
Suicide victims
Them leaves have blood
Soaked into them

You can run and hide
In your novels,
In your poems,
In your dreams,
But know,
We'll be waiting.

I FEEL LIKE I AM DROWNING
IN THE DISGUSTING, ****** MUSH OF MY BRAIN
HELP
HELP
HELP
I'M SCREAMING
but people laugh it off like it's a funny joke
i laugh too
because life is a joke

MY BRAIN IS BLENDED
MY LIMBS ARE DISMEMBERED
MY TORSO IS IS GUTTED
AND I'M LAUGHING

Why do we ask the same questions
Using the same words
And hope it is any more relevant
And meaningful
Than it was before?

The truth,
The lies,
The pleasure,
And love,
All things that when told,
Still have a time when it hurts...

You come at the best of times,
And the hardest part is when I cannot cry,
You leave me here to lie between,
Beddings and sheets,
And as much as one cares to weep,
You instill this repercussion of my sanity,
Leaving a shut down,
Like when a computer... shuts down,
However it's crazy right?
How the shut down leads to a standby,
But when you're dealing with two parts,
It is not the machine no,
But merely the display,
As it, replays a signal,
That there is no signal,
There is nothing feeding the monitor,
There is no rest for the screen,
Always on,
Slowly.... dying,

As soon as it activates,
It is consuming,
Consuming the complex knowledge,
Energy,
And memory,
Of what is,
Was,
or will be,
And what became,
To create the distinction and difference between man and machine,
Is the stand,
And the costume,

As I stand here,
Staring at what is merely the imaginative reality,
The one I've always talked,
Dreamed,
Discussed...
What is the truth,
The lie,
When I love,
Hate the feeling,
I told myself,

When you are on the other side...
Does it still hurt?

There exists a special type of insanity,
Only known to poets
And those who adore poetry.
It is something that cannot be explained
Or described, only experienced.

And those who experience it
Are never the same. They know
The burning need to write and read
And the comfort of finding yourself
In someone else's words.

This madness holds a hidden truth:
No one chooses this insanity.
Instead, it reaches out to those
Broken, disillusioned, embittered
And held captive, by life itself.

I do not ask you to pity the poets,
Or those captivated by poetry,
But the next time you see one
Ask them: Why do you love poetry?
And watch as their eyes light up.

My thoughts never rest
And in them she nests
She’s so comfortable there
Stealing my air
So I’m breathing her essence
Always feeling her presence

I think I feed her too well
She can feast and dwell
In premium space
Consuming all trace
Of my sanity
Insanity
She creeps

I’m not really insane
But don’t we all play this game?
We keep her at bay
But know she could have her way
If given the chance
We all let her dance
And toy with our thoughts
We enjoy her taunts
Tease our sanity
But insanity
She creeps