Ask yourself
Can you change the world?
Can you make its heart bleed?
Are you capable of storming its tallest of mighty towers?
Can you ring its shrillest of bells?
Ask yourself
Can you rule the world?
In the absence of a blood king by right,
Can you take charge?
Can you create the Empire of Necessity?
Tell yourself
No one died and made you king
No one sheds your mighty wings
But still
Someone can find them true
In the realm this side of blue
Tell yourself
You’ll do just fine
You’ll be ok
Just give your best shine
Ask yourself
Then tell me
When you can be
Finally free

What if I died today?
Would anyone miss me anyway?
What if I died today?
And I never had the chance to say goodbye.
Would you hate me,
Because I just wanted to stop the pain?
What if I died today?
Would you forget me that easily?
What if I died today?
Would you say good riddance
If you saw me lying there
No heartbeat, just a cold body.
What if I died today?
Would you trap me in your arms,
Like I was trapped in my own mind?
What if I died today?
Would you cry like I did
Every single night, Alone.
Because of the demons in my head.
What if I died today?
Would you realize how much
I wanted all of this to stop
And wish to see my worth.
What if I died today?
Would you see my scars
And wish you'd have noticed
How I was in so much pain?
What if I died today?
Would you care?
Like nobody does.
What if I died today...

When can you call yourself a poet?
When you write down a word?
When do you let yourself know it?
When you are finaly heard?

When can you call yourself a poet?
When you get a like or a love?
When do you show it?
When your confident, sort of?

When can you call yourself a poet?
When you get a sunshine?
When do you let other people know it?
When you reach a headline?

When do you call yourself a poet?
When you are published?
When do you flaunt it?
When you are considered established?

No.

You know when to call yourself a poet.

When your hands are always moving
When your writing about even the kitchen sink
When your mind is always turning
When the white becomes stained with ink.

It starts like this:
"Where is my beginning?"
"Is there an end?"
"Where did the maddness
        come from?"
Does the ghost wail for
  itself?
or for
  others?
Who do you wail for.
There are no answers.
Only questions.
What is your answer?
Now tell me your question.
The end is always nigh.
Especially if you are
        planning for it.

What am I to you?

A friend
A mystery
A gargoyle
History

What are you to me?

A blackbird passing
An indulgent feast
after fasting.
A morsel at least
of something new,
Something good.
Of the many you're the few.
What's for pudding?

What is more difficult for you, looking into someones eyes when you are telling someone how you feel, or looking into someones eyes when they are telling you how they feel?

I
can't
     look
           into
                 your
                         eyes
                              when
                                     bearing
                                                my
                                                    soul
                                                           to
                                                              you
I CAN'T LOOK OUT YOU
I CAN'T SEE YOUR REACTION
I AM AFRAID
I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOUR REACTION
                                                                      TO
                                                                 MY
                                                            TRUE
                                                     COLORS
please
I
just
want
you
to still love me