I take my prescribed pills with an energy drink
Monster energy if your wondering
And it's always the zero-sugar version
Because the sugar will rot my teeth.
I’m constantly on the verge of healing and destroying myself
Like a seesaw that's perfectly balanced
I am fed up with breaking my hand
And then bandaging it up myself.
I am my own executioner and doctor all in one body
The healing in the midst my own self destruction
I am the silence before an explosion
The calm before the storm.

Sometimes I feel
Like the rain
Cries for me

These bottled-up emotions
I hold onto underneath
Leave me hurting
And empty

But then it rains
and it feel like something
knows my pain
And I don't worry

Thank you

I was 17 when it happened
I trusten them
It was going well
Until it wasn't
And a fun day with a friend became a nightmare
They invited me over
To play on their xbox and watch tv
But watching tv became perverse
Their hand drifted towards me
And became an uninvited guest that I never wanted
It all went too fast, too unknwn too wrong
I became a stranger in my own skin
No longer aware of what was happening
Like a passenger on a ride
Watching my own body a few feet away
It was suffocating the corruption of what he did to me
Years later i still remember his body on top of mine
And the smell of sweat is still **** in my nose
And i try to distract myself from the uncontrollable shaking that i can't stop
But all I can think about is his hands on my throat
And the fear that still lingers today.
Till this day i have never spoken of this
But today I have immortalised the day that I wish to forget.

Not myself
Footsteps within
The mile

For what
Can a
Mule fight

Against itself
Eat and
Sleep well

Detox thyself
A destination
Unseen forward

All ends
Or perhaps
Me again

I give
Up contact
For all

Oh the unease
        My heart is green: to be
A vessel filled with the envy of a sea without
       A land to conquer
My words are dry; as of a tongue itchy and ****
      My excessive indulgence of an activity of lonely
Before the groin pain I had  to fasten my *****
      I am the poem—of the words unsung: that of which
The lyrics come from my God above, and strong

But I’m so weak
      To please her of a valuable love
She’s young as of having heart in her large *******
I am old—to be a man carrying his pride
     She’s warm inside; as under a blanket of a cold night
A warmest embrace of a kiss so personal to face
     She was chased by her beauty; feeling unnatural to this world
An angel now disgraced
      Or a ghost haunting tears each time she appears

It’s clear to me now
     That a love sweet as ecstasy dreamt on my pillow
Is as it seems—only a dream!
               Therefore: is anything in my life as so real?

Poetry is the weeping eye
it is the weeping shoulder
the weeping eye of the shoulder
it is the weeping hand
the weeping eye of the hand
it is the weeping soul
the weeping eye of the heel.
Oh, you friends,
poetry is not a tear
it is the weeping itself
the weeping of an uninvented eye
the tear of the eye
of the one who must be beautiful
of the one who must be happy.

by Nichita Stanescu, translated by Thomas Carlson and Vasile Poenaru