Do you remember the last time you felt alive?
Was it when she delicately kissed your neck?
Was it when she whispered I love you?
Was it when she made you feel empowered?
Or was it only when you felt you were dying that you remembered what it felt like to live?
Was it when she looked at you with daggers?
Was it when she hissed out your name?
Was it when she ripped out your heart, that had only ever beat for her?
Do you remember what it felt like to die?
Was it the burning of your eyes as she walked away?
Was it the aching in your bones as she crushed every part of your being?
Was it the way the darkness engulfed your mind and never let you escape?

What does a winky face mean?

;)

is it flirty?
is it just how you text?

I

don’t

know

was it
a mistake?
an accident?
these questions are driving me crazy

i think of it as flirty,
(but maybe that’s just wishful thinking)
what does it mean to you?

please tell me

What are you meant to do today
Sit quietly and enjoy the view, to pay
your dues and wait patiently for improvement
while so many ants scuttle on by,
Talking and biting and lighting cigarettes
and I lie in my bed and I fret
about all the things that don't matter
like why are we here?

Who are you meant to be, and
what's the purpose behind your story?
Weak poetry makes the world go round.
That and people not getting enough sleep.
I can't remember who I was or who I am going to be.
I'm the one that won't make it
because I'm the one without a dream,
like my father before me,
no passion, no cool,
no fashion, just school and work and pension funds
stepping up each rung of the ladder
but you fall off and dunno what to do
because now the whole ******* ladder's fallen on top of you.
Weak poetry makes the world go round
and lonely singers in lonely bars
with their hands on their hearts and their eyes on the stars
because it's a star that makes the earth go round.
Magnets and the sun or something like that
Dinosaurs and satellites and bureaucrats
and peace and war and what's for dinner tonight and all of that
and none of that matters.

I don't know where I'm going with this
I'm waiting and writing until I can get ******,
when I run out of antibiotics
and have successfully quit the deathsticks
85 per cent of throat cancer is caused by smoking
but so was 85 per cent of my good moods
so now I have to choose if I'd rather be happy and die
or live long and sigh and cry after every meal.
Eat and breathe and believe
that weak poetry makes the world go round
because I'm full of it.
I'm full of **** but at least I'm full of something.

Shaky on the inside
Shaky on the outside
Can’t keep still
Can’t keep calm

Always in my poetry
I ask a lot of questions
It’s like I am not sure of my feelings
But I know the questions I need to ask

A gross misuse of my mind
A horrific abuse of my thoughts
Ask me a question
I won’t answer like you want me to

Questions wreck me
Tidal waves of anxiety
Where do they come from?
There I go again...

Evening nears
Another dreary day
Hauls me over its shoulder
I continue to draw breath.

I sit here
in the knowledge
that what I want
will ruin me.

A little canary
lands on my shoulder
and chirps its song:
"My friend, my friend,
wait and wait.
It's not too late to smile again,
Tomorrow has its own tomorrow,
your legs will gain strength
and your heart will follow"

It's not the best sunset I've ever seen,
nor the most pristeen,
but it holds secrets.
It makes me feel something
blue, orange, lilac and grey
Leafless trees stand silhouetted
Pretty, prickly nervous systems
I'm nervous too
I hope God isn't petty
Hidden in the lilac clouds

A flaming horizon
caked with lilac clouds
I ask it questions
but its silence lasts the night

I want to fly.
I want to use a gun to die

I wonder how free a butterfly feels?
I’m sick of all these repulsive ideals

Do you ever wonder why the sky is blue?
I want to slice my scars until they are brand new

I like my black and brown shoes, Vans is my favorite brand.
I’m not sure whether my funeral would be small or grand

I love drawing, I’m not very good at it yet though.
I can’t look in the mirror for fear of seeing my greatest foe

I love small cuddly soft things, i own so many teddy bears and i love them all.
I wonder if anyone can hear me when i scream and slide down to the floor in a ball

I like smiley faces, there’s so many different ones, each with their own charm.
My favorite is the one i just carved into my arm

The night sky is best when covered in stars.
My deltoid looks better covered in my blood and scars

I want to be happy, body mind and soul
I don’t know how to be happy, or how to be whole.

When did we become finely divided?
When did we get to the hinterland of love?
When did we divide into particles finer than silk?
When did our love become bland?
We are sand.  
We are non renewable.

Can we all just
be happy
and not depressed
forever?
It's
    really
        not
            that
                hard.
Or so I think.

Why do people get sad?
Why do people feel mad?
Why do people become glad?
Why do people turn bad?

Questions in life, unanswered to the wind
which comes over me and wraps around my skin.