I don't know how to end a story, don't see when the plot has died
Especially when it's a good scene, and the mood is always just right
The sun is setting- there's lovers on the beach, the future stands before them with nothing out of reach
Maybe that's not in the cards they pulled, I should let the story line fade out, but that makes me physically ill,
"They belong together" I shout-
And I'll stall the scene with every breathe, hoping hope can out-write loves death

Why is it the dark thoughts,  
the shadows that hang at the edges of my mind  
that so easily creep out and stain the page?

Though love and joy may be found  
they never seem to draw my heart out into words.  
At least, not in the same way.  

It is regret and misery,  
longing and melancholy  
that moves my hand to compose

The introspections of my afflictions
what could have been or would have been,  
if only…  
if only.  

Perhaps it frees me in some way  
to trap these long lost deliberations with ink.  
With a time and date scribbled down on paper.  
To bother me no more…  
or perhaps, to bother me all the more  

I weigh the merits on my scale.  
To stand firmly on the shore  
or dip my toes into the water  

To let myself sink into that dark place  
to retrieve some trinket from the depths of my soul.  
All the while keeping my head above the waves.  
But what if I tire of treading  
or the weight of love and sorrow pressed together proves too much  
sinking me down below the air  

If I open this door  
what if no one can shut it

The people who were supposed to be
My friends
Proved not when I needed them
Most
I was called r***** for being interested in forensic science
A  spazz because I had emotional scars
And toll to k-i-l-l my self
Because i was unique
These people who were supposed to be my friends
Proved to be a pain in the ****
Both physically and emotionally
A keloid
To be rid of
Has more integrity
Then them
What they did they will have to
Answer for to God he says
Thru shalt not killer
But that is only with weapons
Not with words
As I was slowly murdered
And my dreams broken
These people who were my friends
They are
Fake

Most girls think of boy bands.
Most girls think of heart throbbs
But they are shallow
I am not like Most girls
My crush was not with a throbbed
Or a boy singer
But with a doctor
A Most unusual
Was there something wrong with
Me
At the f**king time
I will never know.
I am not like Most girls

So I am human
Though I have been discarded
By many people and lovers
Never to be touches again
I have a biohazard sticker on my forehead
No one wants to go near me
I am emotional Medical waste
I find  nothing  redeeming
About love the
Very mention of that word
Frightens me
More than
A fight with death
I am scared
That if I come looking for it
It will lead
To me
Being hurt
Discarded as if I am medical waste
Don't go near me
I am who I am
As I cry in the corner
I can't think of anything
More then to flutter
Off like a butterfly
A butterfly to a better place
Why don't I stop looking for love
Why can't I look for
More knowledge
And curiosities
In life and death

I don't write when iam happy
Joy makes me dance,not think
It fills my hands with flowers
Not pens.

But sadness?
She sits me down,
Open my chest,
And spills the ink.

I wrote few poems about life,
and the rest of them were about death.
I always tried to look on the bright side,
but every time it felt like a theft.
Every day I was left sad and bereft.

I wrote few poems about happiness,
most of them were about sadness though.
I always wanted to be joyful more less,
but every time I tried, the joy told me No.
And the sadness never let me let her go.

So I stopped writing, I thought Well, okay,
if it can make me happy again,
I will throw pen and paper away.
And I did, but it doubled the pain.
Since then I lived a life of a dead man.