They often judge the poet
On the words that he thread
Some readers formed his silhouette
In each poetry that they've read

Judge him not at one piece, else you'll be upset
Because his pen can laughed then can bled
In every second his mind will reset
Truly, you'll never know what's inside his head

In the universe of paper and quill
He can create truth within lies
He can put soul to nonliving
Some of his creations will never die

Every poesy made was alive
Talked of its own tongue
It will definitely survive
Even the poet was long gone



9/23/2015

Mysterious Aries

I can paint lovely pictures,
With blood red ink,
The lines swirl together,
but its not what you think.

There's a twist in this story,
A tiny little sin,
My paintbrush my razor,
My canvas my skin.

My wrists cry tears,
They stain my arms red,
The blood loss and pain,
Is getting to my head.

I see black spots,
And twinkling stars,
They look like the galaxy,
A view from mars.

My walls stained crimson,
My bed splattered red,
My beautiful carpet,
Scarlet like my bed.

I regret everything,
All the things I've done,
This is why I'm doing this,
Why I'm holding this gun.

For no matter how much I try,
I can't stifle the ache and need,
I tried so hard to be perfect,
And I so nearly did succeed.

But now the torment will end,
I can finally be free,
No one can judge my imperfections,
And I can be just me.

I've smiled a long time
a habit i guess...

smiling isn't all that great
smiles are almost always fake

i've often wondered:
"why is it abnormal to be sad?"

when can we stop smiling
and not be treated as sick

I wonder about the most peculiar things
Impossibilities and ludicrousness
Like, what if hell was good and heaven was bad?
And how the world would be so ugly
If no one was just a little bit mad.

I fall in love with peculiar people –
In books and in movies, but in real life too
Like the mad character, Bellatrix Lestrange
I find it beautiful how she is
So completely deranged.

But nobody sees me as peculiar
It makes me wonder how much we hide.
Hence, the way others think of you is not who you are
There is so much they don’t know
They’re only judging from afar.

Are we human?
Are we monsters?
Are we living in reality?
This darlings, is called insanity

Society judges us
Label after label
Its the only thing they do
Trust me, they’ve already got a barcode on you

Avoiding my own kind
Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide
Our time is running out
‘cause it’s them drowning us in doubt

But our masks don’t display
All the hurt inside
Yes, we are afraid
What do we leave behind?

Yes, we are human
And we are monsters
This is reality
And there’s no such thing as sanity

Are we human?
Are we monsters?
Are we living in reality?
This darlings, is called insanity

Society judges us
Label after label
Its the only thing they do
Trust me, they’ve already got a barcode on you

Avoiding my own kind
Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide
Our time is running out
‘cause it’s them drowning us in doubt

But our masks don’t display
All the hurt inside
Yes, we are afraid
What do we leave behind?

Yes, we are human
And we are monsters
This is reality
And there’s no such thing as sanity

I'm weird because I like it.
I'm weird because I'm cool.
In my novel, movie and musical,
I am both the Stars and the Moon.
The only outcast present,
is your attitude and you.
So when you try to judge me,
the world is judging you.