Her poison reaches out,
the thousands of tiny fingers
grabbing him to pull him back to her.

He can't escape,
he never will.

All of his strength,
his identity
want to resist.

It's slipping away
as he gives in to her
and her poison.

And this time
there is nothing I can do
to protect him.

I've been staring at this same blank page for hours

and this is all I've come up with.

















Nothing

Being with you is a cloudless rain.
The refreshing downpour of spring water,
under a cloudless sky and the summer sun.

Don't admit to something like an apology

and not say "I'm Sorry"

My best friends aren't those that you would expect.
They aren't who i hang out with in school that much,
I don't have sleepovers with them or go shopping with them.

They are my guy friends that just want to climb trees, ride bikes, go crazy.
Our minds are alike, we have the same opinions about everyone.
If there is a problem we have with each other, we don't need to talk about it. We know it will pass.

No drama, just fun.
No arguments, just laughs.

Why can't my "best friends" be like this?
The people I hang out in school have to keep composed.
They won't let me be myself, my crazy and fun self.

I think they must be jealous,
'cause they won't let be hang out with my real friends
without a huge argument and making me feel like an outcast.

You aren't worth crying over.

Hell, you aren't even worth a minute of my thoughts and regrets.

Not after all you did to me

not when I never cross your mind.

isolated among the immense and dreary gray....
the clouds in the sky are dimming the day

now is our time, our debt to pay
in the streets, many dead will lay

in this single night, its wings will tear,
no longer will it light the way...

the lost will wander endlessly
until with their lives they've payed

the "living" will stay tripping,
over the decayed

until dropping dead,
in a growing mountain they'll forever lay

Like a drug I tear me apart.
Myself isn't usually a problem,
but her two cents can cause great damage.

I loves to write about love to come,
wishing upon dying stars far away.

Myself lives on instinct,
always defensive from being hurt one to many times.

And Me lashes out to hurt,
wanting to cause pain and gain power.

They are all in a constant battle.
I, the true self.

But when the odds are two against one,
there is little hope good will prevail.

Everyone has their own story to tell.
A reason they came, a reason they left.

We are all writing our stories.
Some people will pause to re-read previous chapters.

But where is the sense in that?
We all must keep writing to live the life we want to.