I look in the mirror and I see a face.
It's a young man's face.
He's got brown eyes.
His skin is the lightest of browns.
His face is round
And his chin has the slightest cleft
And his hair is short and black.
He is average in every way.
And sometimes,
But only sometimes,
He is handsome.
But I don't feel like him.
I don't feel like anyone.
What does it mean to be human?
I can't be one, otherwise I'd understand.
Right?
But I have emotions,
They just work differently than most.
They're stronger
Less restricted
And more raw.
Perhaps that is why I'm weak.
My anger is angrier
And my sadness is sadder
Happiness hides in its corner.
For fear of its own destruction
Upon the slightest emergence.
The Hurt is more painful.
Paper cuts deep into my bone.
My nerves are raw and exposed
For everyone to attack
And so I lash out.
Because I am hurt.
So I must hurt others,
Those who hurt me.
But then I'm pierced
By disapproving glares.
Because what I did was wrong.
But hurting me, that was okay.
The moral choice, even.
So how can I be human
When I am clearly so different,
So angry,
So sensitive,
So wrong?
And why do I see this human face
In the mirror?

I lay in bed talking to my maker
Asking "please God, don't let it take her"
Away from me, and away from all this.
While I would do anything for one more kiss.

To hold her in my arms is all I wanted
While we stood against the world,
Bold and undaunted.

We'd smile as we walked, hand-in-hand
Through this world of darkness,
This treacherous land.

"She's my light, my partner"
I prayed to God above.
"Thanks to her, I can understand Love"

We're the dynamic duo,
Nothing keeps us apart
Except, perhaps, an attack on the heart.

But she's stronger than this, i know she'll get through
And things will be like before, old and new.

Together we can surmount this wall.
That's when my phone rang,
And the Hospital called.

All of my mistakes are written on the walls.
The floor riddled with discarded hopes.
Anxieties soar around the room,
Bats in an orchestra of anarchy. Aspirations struggle to rise
From the failure - soaked floor.
Beautiful memories hang on the wall,
Framed with care and precision.
Gears gnash angrily at the ceiling
And the stench of loneliness permeates the room.
Furniture is carefully placed
In a weak effort to regain control.
They are torn and tattered,
Obvious signs of terrible creatures.
This room has no doors
And it has no windows.
All my efforts to escape prove futile.
Cleaning and organizing have no meaning. The Room always rearranges itself
Back into its most hideous form.