Sometimes I wish I wasn't so very sad,
Not that anyone ever knows I'm sad,
Because I'm a master of disguise,
Happiness I wear in perfection.

Sometimes I wish I had no heart,
Everyone says I have a big heart,
They don't know it's broken in so,
Many inconceivable ways.

There is no vice that can dull me anymore,
Believe me when I say I'm incapable of numbness.

My heart has been longing,
Like a thirsty man longs for,
A drop of water,
In desert heat.

But there is no quenching for my poor heart.
Every oasis turns to a mirage in time,
And water holes dry up revealing cracked clay.

Somewhere, buried in a mountain of sand and salt,
Is a heart that had so much love to give,
But died of thirst on his journey.

Impossible loves are an addiction for me.
Every time love develops for a woman,
Complicated circumstances,
Assassinate it from the shadows.

Because I fall in love over a computer screen,
Fall in love with someone who's taken,
Fall in love with someone who doesn't feel the same,
Or I fall in love with someone and then mess it up.

I've continuously believed I would die without regret.
But more and more, my heart is weighed down,
By not knowing love that isn't unrequited,
By not knowing love that is close to me,
By not knowing real love face to face.

I'm the easiest impossible man to fall for.
I'm still impossible.
I still love.
I still can't.

I tried writing a poem for you.
But just like the words that,
Get stuck,
In my throat when I try to tell you.
They never met the paper;
Lost somewhere in the pen...
Or maybe locked in my heart.

I
Will
Take
Your
Nothing
And
Turn
It
To
Your
Everything

Flabbergasted and betwixt,
At the fairy's cascading figure,
Fixed between the man's fingers,
Like a burning cigar,
In western sunshine,
Falling like toppled coloration,
Of lumberjack flapjack,
Hit the road Jack,
And Jill,
To copper,
Whatever they want,
Without a fuss.

A sickly mind,
Embraces a broken past,
Trying to hide,
Her prickly thorns,
Clinging to her.

Sprinting forth,
To uneven roads,
Running from wolves,
Gobbling at her long hair,
Feet carry her far away.

Tattered cloth hangs,
From empty tree branches,
Marking the journey she took,
From her sickly mind,
To her broken past.

Will someone help her?

Do you give the horse his might?
    Do you clothe his neck with a mane?
Do you make him leap like the locust?
    His majestic snorting is terrifying.
He paws in the valley and exults in his strength;
    he goes out to meet the weapons.
He laughs at fear and is not dismayed;
    he does not turn back from the sword.
Upon him rattle the quiver,
    the flashing spear, and the javelin.
With fierceness and rage he swallows the ground;
    he cannot stand still at the sound of the trumpet.
When the trumpet sounds, he says ‘Aha!’
    He smells the battle from afar,
    the thunder of the captains, and the shouting.