I like short poems.
Second only to ****.
They make me feel like I have accomplished something.
When I really...

I have not put pen to paper in a good while.
It is probably for the better.
The blinds hide the world.
Listening to movie trailer music,
I write and hope.

What happens when you get older?
I hate it when people say they are "young".
You're 40 years young?
No.
You're an *******.
We are dying from the moment of birth.
Don't forget that.
Pessimistic and proud.

Sometimes I sleep with the T.V. on at night.
A constant reminder that my dreams can give way to
war,
famine,
Perez Hilton.
If this is how the World ends,
life was good.

You see...
This is why I don't write anymore.
Poems that give way to inner thoughts.
How deep and depressing.
I could write more...

I won't.
Maybe.

Poems that end like highway wrecks.
Leaving you wanting
nothing,
but a refund.

Slam.

Even when you think that you are being watched,
through the roses and the
cotton flying around you.
Villains will always remember that you can fall.
It is the purpose of the world.
The Earth breathes and the butterfly moves it's wings,
just a little faster.
The moment will always come,
when the wings are shattered.
One final
darkest before the dawn.

Even when the final step seems impossible,
remember,
it is.

Poetically falling apart.
I really don't care.
Even if...
You should save yourself for this sinking ship.

Don't forget to laugh
when you fall down the stairs.

Don't forget to smile
during the car crash.

Don't forget to grin
as the sky falls.

Don't forget to cry
when the clown trips.

Don't forget to love.
Even when the stars are not aligned.

Forget everything.

When he ran
it was fire that followed.
An orphan with a family.
Remembering all the wrongs in the world.
These false pretenses
will be the death of him.
Forget what the past says,
and just keep running.
Through fire and wind,
change will occur.
Only when it is least needed.
These lies are eating up the insides.
They are making for a dark future.
Regret.
Regret nothing.
Just look for the wrong answers and
find the truth hidden in
this scorched Earth.
When he ran
it was fire that followed.
It was fire that extinguished
the truth.

To all of those
who consider me a writer.
You are only fooling yourself.