Getting lost in your eyes is, I am sure,
Much like being rescued from Tempest waters
With the Blue Moon dappled on my back.

What you see wonders with, I often find myself drowning in
But I never suffocate, no,
And I never die;
I just lose my breathe for a moment
Before you bring me to life.

I would very much like to meet the Sirens in your mind and appease each she through acquaintance;
I will jump in at the deep end with no questions asked-
Alas, I am not worthy to drink nor feel
The Aqua of your embrace,
Instead I cloud my face
And speak the lines that Prufrock spake:
'I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.'

I am undeserving of the swim within your sweet, salt water,
It would seem.

You elusive *******
Where are you?
The years keep passing
And I'm still looking
Trying to find you
Every possible way
Every possible place

Sometimes I have my desperate hands on something
A clue
Some kind of insight
But it always crumbles in my fingers

This game we play is deadly
So why must I be taunted so?
I don't think I even wanted this fight
But the past is just as lost
And I like to think I'm closer to you
Than that which I left behind

It is in the midst of strife
when the burden weighs most heavy,
your innards writhe and twisted;
the discomfort tugging at you so intensely
you cannot help but feel the tightness in your throat.

It is in the thick of this black mist
when your hands pick and pull
upon the wisping thread inside your head,
unraveling the rabble of cowardice voices
which spill like venom on your thoughts.

It is the unsettling notion
you are alone in a vast and empty ocean
sinking, suffocating and claustrophobic,
your mind is brimming, overflowing,
afraid it might just crack right open

It is knowing
these thoughts which come pouring
from that fractious bore inside your skull
seethe with undisclosed emotions
and their exposure to the air could crush you whole.

Will you allow this shameful wave
to crash atop you with all its galling weight
and drag you under grain by grain?

Or-

Will you battle back the coming storm,
standing above the surging tide
a rampart refusing to forfeit a single inch
of your distinguished shore?

I say battle.
Battle with the erosive waters rising inside you.
Battle knowing fully at first you are destined to lose.
The hero must be humbled
before others see him as the hero too.
So battle **** it, battle you glorious fool!

I can feel anxiety crawling into my mind, feeding me with unnecessary thoughts.
Self-doubt reaches out for my soul; fear smiles at me as I quivered my lips.
My trembling hands strike down on the concrete, and my head spins.
I slowly shut my eyes, hoping my demons would leave me.
But they persist, making me feel like I have to plea for peace.

I grasp my reality behind a mirror and watch the clock unwind.
I hear the faded children laugh, it echoes through my mind, and I feel the fear within my heart.
I wish my thoughts were sane, so they didn't fall like rain.

When I look ahead of the storm, I see a generation full of demons.
Darkness may rule the world, but I kept holding on.
With every battle I withstand, I fear the shadows will bind my heart and take my breath away.
But somehow, my spirit will never give in.
-Niko

But now we can communicate.
I am not sure what cause this sort of block.
Under normal circumstances I suppose it's human.
To access so much of ourselves mentally.
Yet physically remain mute.
An attempt to be funny. Charismatic.
To yearn the manifestation of being represented such as a memory.
For some it's easy. It becomes culture.
Ignoring this association of fear.
Although slight. We begin to judge ourselves.
In fight beyond a couple of seconds that leads to bliss.
The things that have yet developed.
The possibility that things may not.
But definitely something is there. Reflected from the light of eyes.
Self doubt in light of holding back.
Yet we've evolved.
We've evolved into a splitting image of what we adorn.
The critique of what eyes see & what ears have heard.
We've thought in different ways of what binds.
Now we communicate.
To better service our needs, our wants.
We've binged them all.
Knowing all of our favorite parts, to speak hesitantly about the bad.
We recite them only in private.
Ignoring the kick backs and *** lucks that begin with pleasure.
It begins with the closed culture of what feels foreign
to no longer recite in mental.
Now we communicate

And while beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, not even you can deny that she shines with a radiance that makes the shining stars in the night sky pale in comparison.

Love is the urge to **** yourself
It’s the immediate feeling of self-doubt, self-hate, and self harm when you think of how you hurt the one you love
I know the feeling all too well, because. I hurt the one I love, in a way I can’t undo. And everyday I regret it, and feel the pain of it.
I feel the pain often, especially when the one I love is upset, because no matter what I go through, they’re going through something worse.
The one they love, betrayed them.
Belittled them
Made them feel inferior to one they never felt inferior to
And that’s my fault
Not anyone else's
Mine.
I’m not asking for pity
I’m not asking for excuses
I’m asking for forgiveness
And I think that’s selfish.
Me wanting it to go away is selfish in my own eyes
My mistake will live with me throughout my life
I won’t lose it, no matter how much I run.
Some days I think if I just stop running, and fade, it’ll all go away
And I’m right
It would.
Love is the urge to **** yourself

A flood.
A torrent.
An endless pouring of doubt.
It fills.
It consumes.
It chokes and kills.
You don't see it.
But it's felt.
Inside the depths of my chest.
I'm dying.
It's strangling.
It continues to press.
I try and fail to breath
And the funniest part?
I put on a smile and make a joke.
And no one seems to see.