In the pitch black of night
Lights shine bright
Keeping the boogey man
In the corners
Where no one will see him.
One brave soul, though
Braces the unknown
Running through the dark alleys
In search of the scary demons of the night.
He lights fires in the endless sea
Of aimlessy floating things,
To see, in relief, that
Nothing was ever there.
That the boogey man in our dreams
Never left our mind to
Become the monster we
Imagine in the dark.

All the secrets in your head
you say they're better left unsaid
but if you dared to let another know
a weight will lift and your strength will show

to think of people the weeks or months before they died
and what they were to you at that time
what they were to you
and then to think
what you are right now
at this moment
on a scale, how much you are trying for
you friends your family the stars the universe
who would be the one to think of how you were?

i pray for silence.
a quiet moment from the storm.
my mind possesed by unwritten lines
burdened by the weight of life.

i am unable to feel
beyond the thunder and trashing
of my own mind.

slowly losing myself.
chaos breeding inside my head
of words that are slowly dying.

my battle has always been
between overwhelming thoughts
accompanied by poems,
versus... not feeling anything at all
with pages left blank.
i prefer either the scorching passion
or the cold numbness.

this is much worse!
with each thought not articulated,
i'm missing pieces of myself;
which i can only find
in the calmness of writing.

Life is a labyrinth
And we are all wandering
Searching for ourselves