I met a stranger last night,
His gentle voice brought me delight

A heart of gold with a smiling face,
He spoke with a mighty grace

His words - a delicately-crafted art,
Tender & elegant, at once entered my heart

He spoke as though I was his own,
Though in reality, I'm hardly known

What was the last time someone consoled me?
When did someone extend an arm to hold me?

What is love?
Baby,
Don't hurt me,
Ha Ha.

What is life?
Old.
Past-question,
Death.

If you knew you were dead
Would you continue to go to work?
Like weeds,
Growing on corpses.

I didn't understand life,
I don't understand this.
This dream,
This dream in death.

Free will,
Does it exist?
I eat
Because I am hungry.

But **** am I always hungry,
I cut myself
Because it hurts,
And ****, it hurts all the time.

Can't count the cuts,
I miss the blood,
The way it trickles,
But I don't always cut.

I miss making decisions,
Could word this hypothetically:
Like it was for the audience,
The ghosts of the dead that watch life.

Did they have free will?
To die?
To watch the entropy,
Do the dead souls experience entropy?

Oh audience!
I hope you appreciate
All the effort I make
To balance my thoughts for you

Or make them entertaining
Or philosophical,
That is, make it take longer to process,
That you may miss the next.

I write because the thoughts
Are bleeding out my ears.
Did I choose, Me, did I choose
To pick it up?

And have these black lines
Wrap around my neck
And softly choke me,
Forever.

A testament to silence,
For the ages,
Just letting nothing know
That I was thinking of it.

And **** knows!
If the nothing-forever
Could pick up my book
Even if it wanted to.

Silliness.
This self destruction.
Perpetual,
As all things are.

Inevitable heat death of the universe,
Revert to singularity
To explode.
Then let's do this again.

Christ.
What am I doing?
Pain perpetually?
Until when?

Is brief non-existence
The only reprise?
All I have to look forward to
Is sleep.

And ****!
What is the ******* difference?
Between sleep
And death?

you are hollow, but i’m whole enough to make a sound for both of us combined. i’m lazy, quite hazy, quite sensitive when it comes to certain topics. standoffish, obnoxious around groups of people i know too fondly, poetry nerd, timid and almost vibrantly in love with the early morning peak of sun peeking through the arms of the tree outside my bedroom window. i’m quite passive, rarely erratic, hesitant but reverent. and you’re a howl-at-the-moon monsoon, curious raccoon, brazen, contagious smiler. and i’m most definitely in some kind of daze, trapped in a trance and you’re the sturdy rope that pulls me from my evitable demise. but i’m seventeen, still unseen, still solitary. still completely and irrevocably in love with the way things feel, dying for the realness of your peace wrapped around my shoulders.