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.
He only dates broken girls.I will destroy you. I willmake you love mewithout even trying;you’ll love the scabson my knees, the bruisesunder my eyes, mysinged hair. You will lovethe rush of holdingmy hand as we crossthe bridge; you’ll feellike a hero each timeI don’t jump. You will buyme chocolates, the mostexpensive, to guilt meinto eating. You will buyme seeds instead of flowers,to give me a reason toget up in the morning. Youwill make me dependent,even as I feed your whiteknight complex. I will destroymyself, and so you,and you will know why storms are named after people.
ReflectionI want to sprinkle a piece of meInto bit-code hoping it sticks.But no one cares about the truthUnless it's funny.And I've lost sight Of what that is;I've been taught that it's all relative.We're all irrelevant in the endAnd so, the fire that use to burn in my heartIs all Charcoal. And I've been tryingTo see with no eyes; to drive withNo direction.But now I know I want to meltTogether people's 90 degree angles,Until the world knows everyone's rights.I want to melt together the distanceThat separates prose and poetry;Fact and Fiction; light and darkness.
While You Were SleepingWhile you were sleepingCells clusteredto whisper about you jealouslyin their tiny little chain gangbefore poppingpoppoppoppoppop -bigger, badder, better.While you were sleepingThey cementedtheir undying bond of friendshipand every face hardenedbefore poppingpoppoppoppoppop -sadder, snider, solid.While you were sleepingconspiracies rose and fellwith your breathand They rustled with laughterbefore poppingpoppoppoppoppop -more, malicious, mayhem.While you were sleepingCancer shoved over other kidsin the playgroundand took their placebefore poppingpoppoppoppoppop -suddenly, so, scared.While you were sleepingyou were overrunand we can fight it, of course,with artilleries in the arteriespoppingpoppoppoppoppop -we'll, wield, weaponsbut while you were sleepingthey took a misered,bleak,first victory;poppingpoppoppoppoppop -into tumultous, tumourtuous, laughteras you lay undefendedand they captured your heart.
The Horror StoryMy horror should turn to grit that chokes the rusting cogs of passing breaths.It should sneak into crevice and corner until each pirouette of a clock hand crunchesa desperate death rattle into the mid-December hysteria. It should.I want my terror to ooze into the machinery of existence and permeate the iron.I want it to coat, and coax wheels off their axels as my mind spins out of control.The whole world should grind it's internal organs like black pepper. To a halt.The stars should feel the chill of my desperation and slide sluggishly down the sides of the skydripping burning nitrous into our eyes that in turn melt out of their sockets.I want every subatomic particle of life itself to suddenly stop, mid sentence.This is the way the world should fall apart.This is the way the world ends. This is the way the world ends.Not with a bang but with a resolutely maternal voice, strong as gravity, growling "Cancer."I want the world so still that I will see the traces of the dead le
ImmuneYour poisonous wordsThe ones you throw at meUseless they areYou can't hurt meYou can't break meIt's beyond your power
Ignorant WisdomThe best of us die youngWhy?We are blood and bodyMind and muddled matterThat decays from the very airNecessary like an addictionOur eyes are skin and sinewSenses intaking a surfaceBut to the machine of faultsWhat is there lost to us?The best of us are of willAs what will be passed beliefThe demanding of subconsciousEdicts of the soulThen why do they die?Why must a will be severedWhen it drives our existenceAll that there isAnd will ever represent us?Why do vessels feed the muscle?Bones hold up our legsAnd a head with strong neckThat its aspirations rise?The best of us accomplishTasks of a higher calibreLike a barrel of the cannonOne volley into the starsThey undertake with all motiveAnd lose the unwinnable conditionFor through their demarcationRevitalize our weak heartsThe best of us die youngWhy?Because they are not usAnd remind us what we should beThrough the greatest leagueOf history's lessonsThey sacrifice their chance to liveAs watcher of the
ursa minor, maybei've realized that the only reason i have ever returned herehas been because of you.these paths we walked over and over againstill barely bare the imprint of our toes.you've been gone forclose to forever, i know. but stilli lay here where sky meets sea and stareat the stars you will never reach.it's kind of saddening to see that you will never be theinfinitely remembered cancer, orion, gemini;fame is not meant for everyone. you taught me that.once upon a time in a land broken long ago,you told me that the wicked never rest among the living.with quick feet i had thought you were talking of yourself, a wanderer, runner.now i see you only ever spoke of me.my feet have blisters.
two spoons in a draweri don't believe in god,but i know someone putthe stars in the skybecause here you are,loving me.
the hero of my life The hero of my lifeThere is a man over 5’8He has forever changed my fatePuts out a video every dayBrings hope like a ray of shineSome might call him a weirdoBut I call him a heroHe is light and funnyNot caring about moneyHis name is as funny as heBut has given him great fameHis friends are not as great as heBut he does not hate themNow you must know who my hero isMy best mate is MARKIPLIER
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.