What is strange is the lack of reason,
that blue is my favorite season.
Sadness be my bottle, and sorrow be my fuel.
Darkness shows me where the light is living, and so
blue forever rules.
An ache of puzzling pleasure
is the thorn of dark despair.
So oddly is the sound of strained emotion music in the air.
The wall of bleak depravity is like a blanket warm and soft,
enrapturing me in melancholy and keeping me aloft.
Woe is so soon my watchword, and waning resolve my cry.
Teardrops are like candy, and moonlight my exclusive sky.
So addictive it is to weep I say,
and many would think me mad,
but still it seems depression is the best I’ve ever had.
The reason does not matter, for I shall find some cause with ease;
and the season of blue,
while its ways ensue,
will give me such a tease.

Today I feel sad,
Not convinced about this life.
Such a strange, strange world.

I feel like something has changed inside
My odd new quirks won't let me hide
But what can I do to extract this?
A poison, or a cure for the masses
I could be lying, you won't know
Not until we wake up tomorrow
**** me today, and we reset
But I've told you this a thousand times
I wish we'd never met
All I have to do
is reset

i am a tumbleweed
i gather dustbunny thoughts and entertain them with a tea party in my living room

i am a scarecrow that doesn't want to be looked at
but the ravens all come
they stare and oggle anyway
making me blush

i am a girl with a huge heart who doesn't want to be loved
because things that are cherished and wanted hurt people more when they break

i prefer being a sock without a match

Blood parchment, blood parchment
You're screaming and smiling
You're living but dying
Red stains, copper scent
Won't go, never went
You're not even trying
You're always lying
You aren't broken, you're bent.

Crumpled papers, ripped shreds
You're smiling, your hurt
You're killing yourself like this
You're caught up in your head
Just wishing you were dead
I hope you never get your wish.

The broken
and the odd
seem to cross my paths more than most.
For each and every riposte
that I deliver past the ever advancing guard
of Fate,
there is a blow that slips through my vigil
and hits me square upon the heart.
Each of these damaged souls is a part of my
grand design.
I find happiness in giving them love
and acceptance they've never known.
I find their problems to me mine
and their tears shed from my own ducts.

I do no see myself as superior to these people.
I see myself as in the position to good,
because under the hood we are still human
and there is no denying someone that.
There will always be an exchange of hats
now and again,
when it is realized that there is
nothing wrong with this
is when anger turns to peace
and sadness to bliss.

Before I raise
My hand,
Tell me
How rude it
Is,
For me to 
Put this same
Hand on
Another person.
In what way 
Is it 
assault, or
How would it 
Be to 
Steal something 
From the same 
Individuals 
Own hands.
Tell me this 
Before I 
Ask, or 
Do