Memories of You (2/24)Your musical laugh, your sweet, honeyed perfume - myeyes open. You're gone.
Masochist (2/21)With words like knives, hestabs at my skin, but why doI love this so much?
Leaking Out (2/18)I empty out mybrain, believing you'd like tosee all the contents.
Insomniac (2/23)Close your eyes and sleep. Your eyelids are drooping, yetyour mind is whirling.
The Reign of Terror (2/16)When you get her mad,trust me, it's close to beingapocalyptic.
SempiternalShe says thatlove is like a rose bush,once you're caughtin its embracethere is no escapingfor if you try to escape, the thorns will catch you andonly hurt you more.He agrees.She says she will never try to escape from their rose bush.He makes his vows with another.The cake is set, the moon is lit,and she disappears.They found her in a rose bush,blood flowing out like a river.Drowned in his love, forevermore.
The Imperfect ReplacementThe new one doesn'tquite fill the void that his oldlover left behind.
Seventh Heaven (2/13)She clings hopefullyto this cliff, knowing there'll be beautiful sunsets.
More Than Skin DeepThere's a whole other personlaying next to you in that bed,their mind as complex and confusing as yours,spectacular and profound thoughts doing cartwheels and backflipsall over their head.They see the world in a different color,their story, history, and dreamsshine like a full moon on a clear night.But all you care about is their body.
NostalgiaUnworthy of you,All I can hope to possess,Is this memory.
WritingI am a writerI write whatI wish I could sayTrapping my feelingsOn paper everydayI am a writerI write whatI see around meMy eyes; wide openHave set me freeI am a writerI write whatI need to doClear and confusedJust give me a clueI am a writerI write what I feelAnd I feel what I writeBut when I stop feelingI stop writingAnd my little worldStarts reelingI am a writerWho writes to find reasonAnd maybe even some treasonIn this worldWhere insanity rulesBehind a piece of paper marked:"Here are the fools"
My DiseaseMy fingers bleed wordsthat my lips cannot say.When they try to trickle out,I scowl and turn away.It may not be contagious,but it is a disease.Holding myself deep inside,it's getting hard to breathe.Lies come so easy,to cover up the truth.It’s like my second nature,grown from my very youth.It’s deeper than conviction,more earnest than a thought.It’s my wayIt’s my lifeIt is my disease.
Duct TapeYou're broken? I have duct tape.
Beautiful.They say I’m beautifulBecause of the way my crystalline heart reflects light off its fractured surfaceWell, that isn't a reflectionIt’s rejection of the light because it’s all too much to handleThrow myself away into the dark without even a candle‘Cause I don’t want to recognize all the pain I’m inOr realize the truth behind what I am or who I've beenAnd I tried to make things right but I just keep on making wrongI never listened to the angel on my shoulder when she calledI count my tears like they’re experienceAnd my scars like they’re mysteriousAnd that’s a feeling I’ll remember –Watching as you leftWatching as you ended what was meant to be foreverAnd I can see it in their eyes; everyone can empathizeSo they say that I’m beautiful because they don’t know what else to say.But if being broken is beautiful, then it’s the ugliest way...
I Wish It Would RainI wish it would rainThat it would wash you awayOut of my skinI wish the clouds would partShine light on realizationWhat I could beI wish there was a rainbowAn arc of brilliant colorsA sign to give me hope
Inordinate-she's petrifiedof being fixedbecause being brokenis all she's ever known-
i'm not good enoughI had a dreamthat I woke up without acneand that you wanted to date melike in the movies but I'm sorrythis is not a dream and I'm sorrythat I am waking up with flaws this timeand I am sorry
SacrificeThe blood trickling down my chestIs the same blood dripping from the bullet on the ground.The heart that was puncturedIs the same heart still beating for you.The world that is so stained and bloodiedIs the same world that you live in.I will protect youWith, regrettably, the only life that I have.
Being MeBreakable? Yes.Broken? No!Crazy? Yes.Different? So?Feeling? Lost.Looking? Blue.Hearing? Things…Missing? You!Knowing? Some.Forgetting? Lots.Writing? This???Dating? Not…Doing? Stuff…Acting? Free!Happy? Yes!Being? Me.
CureThese inner feelingsI must now releaseCure heart from painAnd set myself freeThese chains I removeFrom my soul and mindSo I could breatheBe whole once again
Content.I went searchingfor myself,I ended up finding youinstead.
Pearl When your heart is broken Don't believe those liars. The ones who say, "There's other fish in the sea" Why bother with a smelly, common fish, When you can find a pearl?And my darling…You are a pearl to me.
I Am Lost.I am lost,I cannot feel.Is this sleep,When I close my eyes?Or is it death,When I rest my head?I am lost,I cannot see.Is this real,When I hear your voice?Or is it an illusion,When I see your face?I am lost,I do not knowWhere I am,When I look ahead.Or where I've been,When I look back.I am lost,I have forgottenHow to speak,When words weigh on my lips.Or how to scream,When terror fills my lungs.I am lost,I’ll never be found.No one noticed,When I went away.They can see me,But I am gone.
BreakingI sit alone at a table in the far corner of the crowded room, easily ignored by the people around me. I can still picture my wife, sitting in the chair across from me, complimenting the soup that I sip on now, which had always seemed a little bland to me. Ever since her passing, I have been left alone, spending my days sitting in her favorite spot and thinking of the times that came before.I hear him first, rather than see him. His shoes stomped loudly into the old folk’s home and, even though there was only one pair of feet, his footsteps sounded like a bull participating in a wild stampede. People turned to glare at him as he walked past. I did not look up.“What has upset you, my boy?” I ask in my hoarse, aging voice, keeping my eyes glued to the lukewarm soup.“Mother and Father won’t let me join the school’s soccer team. They offered me the goalie position.” My grandson, Matthew, whines. “They say it will take away from my studies.
Stubborn Love (2/20)I'm mad at myselffor not despising you witha burning passion.