Past my skin,
nothing lies within.

Alone.
I am so achingly alone.

In a world full of souls,
Mine has been trapped in a void.

Alone,
So painfully alone.

Deserted by all
But the pain I bear,
That my existence  
Will only be
mine own.

~Sailor, Sailor~
Come rescue me
before Davey Jones drags me to the bottom of the sea.

My existence  is forlorn.
From my body, I am torn.
Withered and stripped,
My soul is worn.
Inside brews an endless storm.
Oh how I long to be no more.

Lifting my head,
I look to those colors painting my reality.
They encapsulate me.

No longer am I          here,
I begin to fall
into the kaleidoscope.

Morphing into the plethora,
the substance of my being
d   i    s   s  i  p    a    t    e   s....

Nothingness becomes one
as everything
discon   nects.

Both in and out of my body,
the colors have taken ahold.
As they morph what's before me,
they paint pictures from within.

I'm taken out of my skin,
as I sink within.

I wish, I wish upon a star that you could see how beautiful you are.

To him, I was beautiful,
To me, I am a beast.


In my eyes, he found the world,
yet my eyes were blind to all but the dark forests.

On his lips I could taste his spirit,
with none filling mine own.

In my hand, he found his,
yet I could feel nothing.

On his skin, I was painted as a rose,
ever wilting as my black heart faded from him.



To him, I was beautiful.
To me, he was beauty.
But who could ever learn to love a beautiful beast?

I am a piece of glass.

a glass that has been shattered time and time again,
losing a piece of me with every new bash/
a remnant of what I once was.

If you try to put me back together, the world will never look the same,
for
I
am
shattered.

If you try to put me back together,
you need to remember that I am a broken piece of glass,
you will hurt yourself if you hold me in your hand,
and then I will hurt you more.

Don't hold too tight,
but don't let go.

Looking at the world through me may be hard.
I have fallen so many times that I am mere piece of myself now.
Me as your lens of the world would be small and stained.
But then again, I can show you the world.


If you try to find yourself in me,
you need remember
that I am not a mirror,
but a hollow thing where you can never be reflected.

It's a lonely existence.

I am a barrier yet I am a transporter.

You will never know

I am transparent.
If you want to find inside, you can see right through me.
But do not be deceived, for I am empty.

But with all this,
I am a piece of glass.
I am fragile;
I can be broken,
so please handle with care.

It was not me
who you loved.

It was not me who you saw,
but rather the mirror you put before me.

It was not my voice you heard,
but rather your own echo.

The mirror you held between us was fragile.
Slowly it began to crack.
Each time I held you closer,
the mirror began to disintegrate.

The more the mirror began to break,
The more you saw me.
But you cannot stand to not stare
at your own reflection.

As the mirror shattered,
so did my heart.
You picked up the chards and threw them to my skin.
For you do not see the blood coursing through my veins,
but rather the lack of yourself.

For it was not me who you loved,
but rather your
mirror.

So she slept in that sleep where there are no dreams.

Echo- his commands
Beware- his orders:

Don't!
Do not say no
trust in others,
Listen to me-
hateful things

You are.
not
To you
I am.
Not
to me.

Follow his commandments and incinerate in his hell.

Her crystal ball held his fears of the future,
for she painted over the scars of his past.

Her jaded eyes were in denial of the life before him.
Her hands held his ribcage like no one ever could.

Traced in black,
her locks
fell
against
his side,
hiding his secrets within her jaded eyes.

Lips seeping with his secrets,
she blew away his pain to the silver blade,
stabbed between roses as black as night.

It is a pervasive sense of grief,
but the only person who has died
is you,
and yet your corpse remains.

This skin is not mine own.
For it will remain ,
When I am gone.
This skin is my home
For my time here.
Did I choose this skin,
Or did this skin choose me ?
I am plagued by own existence.
But is it even my own?

She is an enigma.
Written not by ink,
But carved in skin.
Each evening she fades by a cigarette.
With her, you will burn;
You will bleed.
Immersed by the smoke of her being,
You are in a room of mirrors.
Behind them she hides,
Only a reflection of her will you see.
She is an apparition.
Handing you a glass of elixir,
You consume her.
Soon the smoke fades away,
And the mirrors begin to shatter.
You are alone with her barren self.
And so you run.
Because it is not her who intoxicated you,
But the image she painted for you.
So she is left in shadow and dust,
As her heart is left to rot.

I was a candle, and you were the flame

With you, I fade away.

I was a candle, and you were the flame

Without you my light fades away.