The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

I assume we are scared of death because we don’t want life to end

but Death wants to live too,

The sun has to go away
For the moon to be able to shine .

“This is my last time”,
I said 4 times ago
As I paint my brittle fingernails
Red with blood

I'm not tired
But my eyes are sore
That's bad right?
Oh well

In case no one gets it,
i collect my excerpts
better
than i spell my prayer.
Spills my personal feelings
and trouble,
longer than i bow
on my knees.

i memorize every shame
and quote it
in a piece of paper,
the same stroke
they did to break
my bones.
Marks down
every of their tone
when i got yelled at,
being degraded.

In case no one gets it,
i use my fingertips to fight.
Being sure of my words,
but never myself.

They can take off my guts,
break down my sanity
into pieces of insecurity.
Yet i’m here to remain bold
until the last spill of ink,
and my pen
can no longer stand.

Sometimes it’s easier to hide
what I really feel.
Sometimes it’s easier to run away
from what I really feel.
Sometimes I pretend to not believe
what I really feel.

But what I really feel will never go away.

I watched the clock
7:39
7:40

In that minute
108 people died

what if one of those people happen to be
someone I knew
someone I love

so I have come to this epiphany
what the **** am I doing

I just wasted one minute of my life
a minute that someone could only wish for now
so why am I wishing my minutes away

love someone?
tell them
they don't love you back?
let them go. now.
have a test?
study
feeling sad?
cry
cry and cry and cry
feeling happy?
spread it

because every minute that passes
will never come back
and even though I love you,
the minutes are still passing,
and I know you are not coming back.