It didn't matter. We didn't matter.
"I saw you and felt nothing."
"I saw...you know...and felt something."
That's what you said to me.
You don't want to keep hurting me.
You didn't want to keep lying.
Those statements didn't make a difference when I confronted you, crying.

"Honestly, you're sick."
Disgust and a sour taste filled my mouth.
Your feelings for me are too intense?
That was the same for me.
Notice how that sentence was in past tense.
You couldn't breathe for a second?
You didn't think about your lapse in judgement?
I'm not asking for the world, which you wouldn't be able to give.
I'm asking for the respect,
r the prospect.

Now I'm here, confused.
Tell me what am I supposed to do?
Hold your hand and be a healer
or slap it away because of fear.

An outlet of articulates, is this solemn, surreal site.
Many minds, and many more, shall glow beneath its light.
Yet sadly for myself I've found, the holes within it all,
and now no longer does my heart, answer to its call.

Goodbye poetry, and thank you always; you deserve all you achieve-

Thank you for giving us a place
to share what we believe.

I will say hello to you, and glow with all again someday,
But for now I say goodbye- as I go on my own way.

The howling dark, twists my soul, let life be forgotten once more.
The dark cavern that is my chest lets even the brightest of lights die,
never can I rest, troubled times are all I have, I revel in my own misery
every night before the cold embrace of sleep takes hold of my sickened life,
words of lies to others is all I have, I pass each day with thoughts of sanity but
these thoughts of sanity cause my insanity, I hear the howling winds once more,
they taunt me, will my mind break from these sounds or will the wind end before the dawn.

Hours. Days. Weeks.

I can’t get the time back
spent on a nintendo DS
talking to no one
lost to myself

Don’t even like playing
but being in another world
where I could control my life
kept me there for months

My eyes are wide shut
This silence is deafening
I keep on stressing
Heart beat hastens
Silence so loud
Unspoken words
Like a hot rod
Burns in my chest
So much to tell you
So little said
We're not paid to hurt
It hurts to love.
But I love you.
I literally crave you
Just let me save you
Let's pace together
A path we'll walk
I did stalk you
In the wake of a shattered moonlight
The beams that held dreams are
broken because of words left unspoken.
These thoughts are just a token of my hurt.
My memories are fleeting
But one thing will never change
I AM JONATHAN
Or am I SCARLETT
Blurry line between right and wrong
Quite a sad song
I need an outlet for this pain.

I am writing this using a pen that was oh-so-kindly gifted to me by a kind old lady. She also gave me a cookie, but that’s beside the point. I think she knows that the best way to bribe college students is through food. I’m standing at the table beside a girl who I THINK is in one of my classes, but I still am not quite certain. She is the kind of athletic and strong that screams “this is the confidence that you’ll never have”. We’re both being shown a piece of paper with a minimal amount of writing on it, but an infinite amount of pure heart. The paper says a sweet word about prayer and doing well on finals and all that, but my focus is on the excessive amount of exclamation marks at the end of each sentence. I guess Presbyterians really are the Oprah Winfreys of religion. I forgot to mention that the old lady is Presbyterian. She is advertising a fall bible study led by college students, which, if I were not plagued with the constant assumption that I’ll never know how to socialize or make friends, I would be absolutely enthralled by. The truth is that I’ve been trying to get “plugged in” for a while now, but how can I get plugged in when my wire is frayed and everything I touch seems to smoke and burn at some point? My plug is a circle and the outlet is a square, so I guess it’s like that saying, “A circle can’t fit into a round peg”, or something like that. Anyways, I didn’t mean for this to become an analogy between being disconnected and electrical outlets, but it turned out that way. The old lady at the booth was nice. I hope to someday be that lovely. Although I was around her for a total of thirty seconds, I saw what it’s like to live a life not shrouded in a black cloud of fear. So, thank you, lady.

When one wants to express themselves
Do they use words
Images
Sounds
Actions
What?
We all need one right?
An outlet, for when human emotions pile up
And come overflowing through a waterfall
They need an outlet
Either they’re let out
Or
The pipe bursts
And it’s too late then

I think about smoking sometimes
on dreary days
on quiet nights
when I'm cold
or lonely
or sad
and I just want to inhale the numb
and exhale the ache

but aren't I just inhaling the poison
and exhaling it too?
I take it into myself
and breathe it out into the world

I think about rainy nights sometimes
dark, with the taste of a storm in the air
faded music playing in the background
door half-open
me, leaning over the balcony railing
with death perched between my lips

I think about smoke
spewing from my mouth
carrying all misery away
burning through the walls I can't tear down

I imagine cigarettes
come with leather jackets
sly smiles painted red
and sharp eyes lined black
with a devilish spark in them

They pair so nicely with
the blackest of nights
with bonfires and quiet laughter
and with silent solitude

But then I remember
crooked smiles with yellowed teeth
lungs, withered and black
coughing, gasping for clean air
because they're so infected with smoke