Lovely life, a hearty soul,
Sweetly happy, sadly whole.
My moods I show for all to see,
But only my notes know the real me—
The dreams I chase, the goals I seek,
The quiet longings I dare not speak.

People call people who try to end there lives, selfish.
"You should never do that. Think about how many people
who would be affected."

Think about this though.
Kids don't off themselves so they can put others in pain.
They do it because others have put THEM through so much pain.

Don't call me selfish, because I am hurting. I would give someone my heart, I would jump in front of a moving car if you needed saving, If you need a hand, I'll be there.

So no, I'm not selfish. I am tired of picking up other people's messes and then being treated like nothing in the end.

Something's missing, alone.

At first, the state
of being, only, one like,
in the extreme, being

once,
in a while passing
at thought speed past
instances
on planes,
like that one
carving lines up there,
above my head, so here,

I laugh and materialize,
a new idea,
as long as I am breathing,

I am not exactly alone, I know,
not alone, at all,
on Earth
on average,
we all breathe
at once,
half breathing in,
half breathing out, but

never, on Earth does one breathe alone.

I don't want to miss
How good your skin feels
In the dark,
When no one else is around
Except our breath.
And we can breathe.

Opinions are just that.
But at the same time, I know,
I don't want to miss out.

I know how bad it feels to show up
Late, and "goodbye" is the last thing
You want to hear.
I don't want to miss out on the
Dark parts of you,
The parts of you that fit
Between the empty space of my
Fingers.
No matter how dark,
There's always a place for you.
It doesn't replace how soft you
Actually are.
It's not for the world to see
They can see whatever they want to.
When it comes to you,
I am not the world.
And I don't want to miss out

The moment at night. I am supposed to. I have needed to. For many years. Again and again I find myself at this point and failed.

I can blame the world, but it is I that has failed. I failed myself.

Only I am real, nothing else is real. None of you are real.

Just lines, shadows, white paper and crayon.

Good night.

Failing the stages of what once was realities,
Then decided to escape to Dreams,
Trying to give senses of scenes,
What if it turns into a nightmare with endless questions ‘n’ means,

Holding hands with yesterdays,
Falling in love with tomorrows,
Trips long gone in Milky Ways,
Shooting stars in far beyond galaxies,

Now you’re the star of tomorrow,
Tomorrow you’re the star of gone,
Living in fake until you reach the sun,
Nothing relieving in a loaded to shoot gun,

If dreams failed the meanings,
Our feelings gives it leadings,
To reach what’s called greetings,
Don’t worry of a temporary bleeding,

Now you know whats real,
Do you understand how it deal?
If stitches failed to heal,
Will be making you a skin of steel,

That happy ever after will,
Among those dreams to be fill,
You need to stand still,
Don’t wait for the far fars until,

Look at those flickers,
Beautiful but only in presence of liquors,
Hold your breath with all considers,
You now belong to the highest
worshippers.

I lather my skin in the mist I’ve grown fond of
Why is it that pink vanilla is the solution to my problems?

I’ve always loved the smell
Comforting; yet, somewhat hostile

I envision the time we spent in silence
When I wear the drops of scented denial

Three years later I savor the fragrance
Spraying my pillow with cycling sadness

Knuckles, my weighted stuffie, reeks of coated plight
I inhale then exhale the memories I can’t wipe

Every night I spread pink vanilla amongst my place of comfort
An easing feeling that deprives me of life with you I can’t falter

I’m stuck behind the bars of memories I can’t deplete
Another night inside the cell of pink vanilla deceit

Of all the worlds
I create,
none of them
miss you
miss you