My life before I counted plain.
I was no stranger to the pain
And more than sunshine,
Was always rain.

Each thing in life
I held as thread
Had only left me empty
And filled with dread.

With hints of confusion
That did surround my mind
Such a lonesome life
I once called mine.

My life before had been a dream
Not waking up without a scream.
I was no friend to the sunlight
Nor it's warm and kindly beam.

Each day I loathed,
Each day I wept.
No one to share
My sorrows kept.

And through each lie
That said "I'm fine."
Such a sadly life
I once called mine.

I don't want people to notice me, because I don't want them to realize that there's nothing there to be noticed.

Do you hear it? That sound.
That deafening sound.
That GHASTLY unnerving sound!
Is it the clock which mocks
Every last beat of my heart? No.
Is the sound a Shrill
A cry or moan?
A sound that I know
Well enough alone? No!
What is the sound
Which I must - I MUST drown?
Oh God in Heaven!
What is that unhindered noise?
Is there none to rid that horrid tone?
The tone which
Makes all madness known?
The sound that drives a good man mad
The noise that to my misery add?
What is the theme
That brings me to screams
But SILENCE?

How childhood hour
Hath been a lasting dream!
And my soul still not waking
To the awaiting dawning beam!

An eternity spent
In shame and sorrow.
So that I could not gaze
Or dwell upon the morrow.

Dreams have been
Nothing more to me,
Than a brazen lie,
And more so a harsh reality.

For in that reality,
There were no hope to be found.
And with that commentary,
I share no common ground.

Though I have been happy
In a time before.
But this emotion
Was only found in dreams.

But in waking life,
I have felt no sadness more.
Nor have seen such light,
That o'er me will beam.

Writing is not a hobby
It's the soul having the opportunity
To speak on It's own.
It's a way of life.
And the more you write,
The more you breathe life
Into a society
That the rest of the world
Has left for dead.

Vivid dreams
Of my lover's screams
In sickness and of plight.
Try as I may
To rid these dreams
I will have them again tonight.
Every morsel of tortured sleep
And each moment of poisoned thought,
I find despair, no comfort there
And no greater anguish my soul has brot

I am alone in the world of naught.
In a place what tends my soul to rot.
A situation of constant moan,
I wish with life, I could atone.
And differences I would set aside
Only then with joy could I abide.
But such wish is beyond my reach
To learn such things
So I might teach.