As I walked through a bitter wintry night,
ghosts whispered through my ears a tale of fright.
I felt my throat growing slightly tighter,
as I hear them speak of a mysterious writer.

A man of tremendous talent once walked this town,
and he would always wear a coat of hazel brown.
He wrote stories of wonder that brought children glee,
and people would always ask for more with plea.

Though when discrimination unleashed its wrath,
prejudice stood against his path.
As men and women mocked his believes,
all of his happiness were mourned in grieves.

As his resentments were freed from chains,
rebellious anger in his story it gains.
Vengeance of evil in his tales did fly,
a mad man he became as he cursed to the sky.

Unjust it was to him; evil crippled his mind,
he massacred the town as if he was blind.
And when his sins did wrap around his head,
his knees buckled and he was dead.

My lips were quivering upon hearing this tale.
Frozen as I was, my face grew pale.
Petrified I was as my heart jumped to my throat,
because I was the man in that hazel brown coat.

It's to late to change
For I'm filled with hate
I try to be rearranged
But it is already too late
For I have come tired of being a marionette
For the darkness in my eyes
Can cause more pain than a bayonet
All I desire is my freedom and your demise
But If I do it too fast it wouldn't be fair
For all my pain, suffering,scars, and tears
To breaking me to where I couldn't even "care"
The only thing you ever did was forge me to become your greatest fears
So now there is no where else to hide
There is no where to go
But now I can release all the rage inside
And now I realized that you were meant to die alone.

Pain is inevitable
It cannot be avoided
It can only be eased
Some drink it away
Others may smoke
We all handle pain differently
Who am I to judge?

This life is all greed,
hatred, anguish, joy,
betrayal, hope, hurt,
loss, deaths, failures,
luxury, pain, happiness,
melancholy, helplessness,
habits, hobbies
and a curse called love.
It's called love
because they named it wrong.
We're cocooned in paper thin walls,
tearing through
and ripping them apart
and stitching them again
when they see our dark sides.
We're sunburned
and blue-veined,
and the recrudescence
of these scars spills
nothing but blood —
frozen blood
breaking into incandescent shards.
And we're bleeding,
we're bleeding with tears
and we're bleeding with screams
and we're a destruction
destroying others
and destroying ourselves.
We're a wave of hate
swallowing those
with a difference.
Gray haired people
tell us we're too young
to know the world,
but they won't ever see
the rivers like we do.
They tell us
the sky is colored blue
but our wild imaginations wonder
if sky could be pink and green,
and it is.
Where we shattered,
the pieces are still lying there.
Someone else picks them up
and solves the puzzle we are.
Some breathe
with broken hearts
and some walk
without leaving footsteps.
We are so different,
all of us,
looking back again and again
and again
and hoping again,
and we wonder all the time,
what I would be like to exist
in a different place.
Somewhere far away
from this present
spreading darkness
until we're blind —
so blind that we forget
what light feels like.
In the end though we'll
know we're fallen.
We're fallen faiths
and fallen dreams.
We've fallen into a phoenix called life.
We're different.
Maybe it's time we accept.