I never wanted to be a character of your novel but an inked odyssey of your words left unspoken.
I never wanted to be the star of your life but your inner star gazing novice.
I never wanted to be the light of your life but a glistering ray to hew the gloom you hid within your *****.
I never wanted to be a smell of a splendiferous bouquet of flowers but a soothing petrichor.
I never wanted to be the drizzle of ephermal joy but a downpour of eternal bliss.
I never believed in any space but being the aura of one another.
In a world so materialistic I believed in nothing but something very realistic for which, I afflict no more!

i want to cut.
i want to cry.
i just want to take every drug in this house,
and die!


© Copyright Tyler Atherton

I woke up
I've had enough

Enough...
Enough of EVERYTHING!!

Enough of being lonely.every.single.NIGHT!!
Enough of being lied to, by the ones I love.
Oh, you promise you won't leave??
hahaha... I've heard that enough to know, no one stays.

Enough of crying myself to sleep. every. single. NIGHT!!
Enough of taking these pills, and waiting for the numbness.
Oh, you say ''I don't need them''??
hahaha... I've heard that enough to know, I need them.

The reason behind my poem? to tell you I woke up...

I woke up
I've got to change...

Change...
Change EVERYTHING!!

Change the fact I feel lonely. every. single. NIGHT!!
not everyone lies
Some people will break promises
hahaha... I've just got to live with it.

Change the fact I pop pills. every. single. NIGHT!!
These pills aren't good
They'll **** me overtime
hahaha...I've got to fight this demon.

If only it were as easy as writing this down, willing my poem to make me change...

Change...
Something I can't do...



© Copyright Tyler Atherton

My Teenage years;
Teenage years with people saying 'sit down and shut up'
Teenage years with no one caring
Teenage years with physical abuse
Teenage years with razor blades
Teenage years with no mother
Teenage years with bottles of pills
Teenage years with ****** assualt
Teenage years with suicide attempts
Teenage years with no reason to live
Teenage years spent pining for what was lost.



© Copyright Tyler Atherton

Morning sun rises, here he comes
All night I have waited
Waiting for him to wake from his slumber

He is old, frail in need of company
She left him for a place in the clouds
Never a smile only a frown

I long to say good day
Its lonely on the web
Waiting to snare a bug
On the silken strands I call home

He shuffles his feet along the rug
I watch it all high upon the ceiling
Wishing for a glance upon my web

He never see's me
I see him with all eight eyes
Mr Mccoy, That's what I call him

He makes a cup of tea
I stretch a few legs hoping he will notice
The kettle boils, steam burns my feet
I scuttle to the top as beads form
Like raindrops on silver strings

His tender eyes peer out glass panes
Watching his crop, Old Mr Mccoy
Deep lines mark his face, thoughts of her mark his mind

Eight legs, no way to hug
If only he would see a friend in me

A picture of her, a tear shed
I spin my web, lowering
Closer and closer to his head

"Mr Mccoy ill be your friend!"
No words can I make to fall on death ears
He takes his tea and leaves me be

Tomorrow he might look up
Ill be ready, waiting on my web.

we write when we're at our weakest
we write when we've been cut open
we write when we're bleeding
we write when we're dying inside

Not all those who write are sad,
but all sad people write.