It's interesting writing poetry  in  a content and non-neurotic state.
I just feel so good,

and maybe it's not profound,  nor even reads as poetry,

But I just had to document this moment


so I remember that things sometimes do

get better.

I don't believe in heaven
But we've got one chance before death
To create our own

Critics and peers will always try to rate us.
The thought is sweet; the thoughts are often not.
They take what’s so dynamic, fluid, and full.
And try to shift it to stiffened, solid, and dull.
Maybe it’s just me and my mind,
but it seems to be that we the people
turn each other feeble, and
***** each other with poisoned needles, I find.
There’s ‘Welcome’ on the doormat,
though are we truly welcoming?
There’s always someone below
and unwelcomed, at that.

The outcast.
The pariah.

The one.

Who feels like the single person
the people and world are against.
Someone who turns their back
to the world,
because when has the world had
their back ever?
Maybe it’s just me and my mind,
but it seems to be, as soon as we
get a clue is when the sky turns
back from black to blue,
and a heart turns back
from black to red, and
saves a Soul that's living dead.

I take a bath
You guard the door
To make sure I don't do anything to escape from this life
My mind drifts across the surface
Submerged with ideas
I forget what made me want to leave
The only thing that remains is a new chapter written on a half soaked page

Don't be
Afraid of the darkness
Because I can see you shining
And believe me,
The dark's got nothing on you.

may you never be satisfied with having the world;
i hope you find happiness
and continue to search for more.
this world, though beautiful, could never be reward enough
for you.
seek the stars.