Youve asked me
To describe her
For you say you want
To understand her.

But all I can say
Is  that she
Is simply a poet
With a shattered pen.

Life's ink has stained
Her slender fingers
Dark blots cover her paper
But still she writes.

You cannot understand
Illegible scrawls
Scattered across
Once clean paper.

To you it seems as if
She's finally gone mad
Perhaps she has
Always been mad.

But she is brilliant
For she has hidden
Her broken pieces
Beneath those ink blots.

If you truly want
To understand her mind
I suggest you start reading
In between the lines.


-ARI

nothing
in this world
is reliable -
rain stops,
the sun hides,
stars die,
and the moon
cannot stay
in one place

so why did i
ever
decide
to rely
on you?

The killing fields
right here at home
are somehow different
from those that we've known
no longer war
on foreign fields
but there's a body count
this new war yields
students and teachers
professors and preachers
murders committed
by horrible creatures
are there no answers
to the question why
these monsters keep killing
causing mothers to cry
life is not ours to take
nor a game that we play
when will this madness end
will there come such a day
a day of beautiful peace
love shared man to man
the tools of killing laid down
would be a wonderful plan
but I know it's a dream
one that can never come true
and that thought and the stress
leaves me ever so blue

Doctor, oh doctor
Help me breath again,
Stitch up the lines on my wrist
And paint my desolate brain

Doctor, oh doctor
I couldn't feel my face
They told me I would be okay,
They told me it was just a phase

Doctor, oh doctor,
I feel like death
Everything hurts,
And I don't want to breathe again

What is happiness?
Everyone struggled to find
Happiness
I remember feeling it as a child but
Where did my happiness go to?
Where did all your happiness go to?
Where?

Nothing haunts us like the things we don't say