UntitledNothing There was once a man who lived in a grey city.He was quiet,And no one noticed him.He lived alone,In a large houseThat could have easily fit two.The hallways were always full,Filled with the mournful colours,That bled from crayon tips. Everyday this man went to work,Then returned as the sky turned black.Everyday this man was greeted by nothing,Smiling, until the man trudged away.Nothing was nothing after all.It was always the same routine.Every day for the longest time.But the man never changes. The same.No matter how hard anyone tries to make the man realize,That there is Something.That it is yearning for his attention,That all it cares for is him,He will always blind himself from these things.Besides, it wouldn’t matter.Nothing would move on.It would forget. So many years.You left me alone,But why?Did you fear me?Did you hate me?Did I make you feel guilty?I still loved you anyway.
LiarStriking designStunning, the messageOutrageous to the knowingUniquely colouredSuperb, the techniqueHilarious to the informedWisely composedSkilfully arrangedMaster of his ArtLiar.
TakenIt was just a strategic readjustment.It was just a necessary tactical move.It was just your finger moving half an inch leftand curling slightly.It was just the centimeter or two of differencebetween the moment that just was,and the one that is,but you reached for my handand you took my heart.
DownfallAnd in this dark harvest of seasonMy life has completely lost reason,For which or against to decide.All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tideIn sadness and in kindnessIn light and in darkness.In a boat made of hopeI shall sail to tomorrow,In a winding hurricaneMade of treachery and sorrow.There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...Piercing, slashing though my head.Starting somewhere in heaven,Ending somewhere in hell.Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.Are the armies within.In my head they are all thrashing.On the heaven's and hell's whim.To be light or to be darkness.A perpetual array.It's not merely my choice,But the choice of the way.It's an option of the voice,It's a thin line of gray.Is it a choice forced by fate,Is it a pre-set time and date?Or a choice to which I myself sway?But here's our story anyway
."Nothing that I do will matter.As all things will merely shatter!"All my hopes thus darkness scatter,As it shoves me a decree.As it si
alcohol and words sometimes mixHe said good night because he couldn’t say goodbye.It was one of those times when his tongue was an anger,his insides an outburst of words and every particle of the universehe has inside him. He was fourteen when he made the excuse it was probably the overwhelmof being anti-poetic and Shakespeareanat the same time that robbed his voice box of his voice. He’s twenty-three now,taller with his own share of metaphoric broken bones and drunken one-night stands but none the wiser on the starshe keeps wishing on. There are two things you can have when you’re afraid:courage or more fear. And he realised with a smirk and a pitfall in his stomach,that he’d been allowing himself to ride more on the latter.But yes, he loved her very much.He just got too drunkon the poesy of unrequited love.
SapiosexualI don’t know what I’ll dowhen the first fistfulof dirt hits the bottom.Maybe I’ll follow you to the grave.Or maybe I’ll prayfor a zombie apocalypse,so we can dine on eachother’s brains one more time.
I think of youAs suns set afar and mountains flameAnd eagles, turning, turn to fireAsh cold, alone I lieAnd think of you.
All Hallows EveThey say that on this night the witches ride,that spirits walk and churchyards spew their dead. It isn’t true. It’s said the stench of hell infects the earthand healths of heated blood are downed. But Hamlet lied. The dead know nothing, the living less. There are only poets with blood-nibbed pens;souls hung between high heaven and deep hell.
Not My Kind of Fairy TaleDon't give me the KnightWhose armor shines so bright.Give me the Knight,Whose armor is dull and broken.Whose horse is weary,Whose heart is heavy.Give me the Knight who looks at the dragon with pity,For that dragon has done nothing,And is just as imprisoned as the princess he guards.Don't give me a princess who only wishes to be saved,By that Knight whose armor shines so bright.Give me the princess who wishes to escape yes,But wants to free the dragon,Who does not wish to marry her savior--Nay, give me the princess who wants to explore,Who wants to live and to learn.For the years of imprisonment only made her yearn,Not for the Knight whose armor shines bright,But to see the world and live in the light.Do not give me the evil dragon,Whose soul purpose is to give that bright Knight something to fight.No, give me the dragon who is weary,Who longs for the freedom of the sky,Whose leg is burdened with chains,And whose heart aches for the princess he must guard,Lest h
each one of us carries cemeteries beneath our skinyou are not the only oneto walk like there areskeletons underfoot,who looks both waystwicebefore crossing the roadbecause you"knew a girl who";you are aliveand you will experiencehurt, and you willbe so thankfulfor every painful breath you takebecause it's better than wheneverything goes quietand all you feel is exhaustion.there is more than justone cold snapbefore you enterthe winter of your life.there are spellsof sadness and rage,hate and denialof all that you knowand all that you deserve;and you are not the only oneto fight for everyday you are here,alive and breathingand striving to thriveon such an unforgiving planet,in such a worldthat births emotional desertsin its people;you are not the only onewho hurts--please,be gentle.
There was an old clock in the hallThere was an old clock in the hall,Whose gears had been broken and stalled. Then ticking ensued, And it filled all the rooms,Though it wasn't the old clock at all.