VoiceYou think my voice will comfort.You think it willBecause the pitch will be perfect,Though (shhhh) perfect doesn't exist.You throw yourself towards meTo feel the comfortThat I can not give.Because I have no more comfort to give;I don't even have any for myself.And when I part my lipsTo show my voice,You fleeAs if I lied to youWhen, really, you lied to yourself.
DreamsDreams are onlyMuted calls for help,But nobody cares to listen.Your dreams may tellWho you really are!But yours only tell you"You're ignorant".
Actions Speak Louder Than Words The shackles binding my feet accept my pleas of mercy Yet they act not upon them. The shackles remain locked Along with the shattered pieces of my chest. Because words mean nothing when faced with opportunity.
OceansThe ocean's waves rock back and forth,Reflecting the skies in its waters.Most find such rocking comforting and relaxingWhile drinking sangria in the sun's light.But all I think when I see the rolling wavesIs your face while you were rocking over me.The movement reminds me of the movements you usedWhen you gave me life and stole it from me at once.
TravelingWe are all traveling,But not all vacationing.Some are travelingThrough their own places of mind,Swinging from state to state,And wondering from city to city.Some are ponderingWhat direction their life will take.Will the end up in Texas?Or in someone else's arms?The traveling never stops,Never ceases, and never ends.We spend our whole lives traveling,But only once reach our final destination.
VictimsThough I feel that IAm the only victim in this,It is pleasing to knowI am not.You are just as muchA victim as I,Though we are soDifferent in category.I was forced to beThe victim I am,Even though IMade it easy.You, however,Chose your fate.And because of this,You are an idiot!You have forcedSuch a hideous beastUpon your memoriesJust to force meTo forfeit mine.
BildungsromanComing of ageIs not what it seems.It's quite less exciting,And far more scarring.At four, you believeThat nothing will be betterThan living in a castleWith twenty cats, a butler,And (of course) your best friend.You will sit at your throneBy the time you turn twenty.Because twenty is oldAnd so far very far away!You'll certainly be rich and happy.At ten, you're positiveYou know all there is to know.Certainly, you won't own a castle(You're already halfway to twenty!)Half of your dreamsHave sailed away,And the reality sets in.Okay, fine! No castle, you suppose.You'll settle for a mansion instead.As long as you can bring your butler, cats,And (of course) your best friend.Into the teen yearsYou gallop like a bull,And are stunned again and again.No mansion? No, ma'am!But you can still have your butler?Of course.If you still want him.Because, in your teen years,You'll likely face my fate.And have your soul rippedFrom the meeting of your thighs.Fearful
PagesI wish things hadn'tEnded for us;It bothers me to haveSo many pages tornFrom my journal...
Dark PoetryI write dark poetryBecause I know not howTo write in a wayTo please me and you.With each word my pen scrawls,A bit of darkness escapes.Soon, I'm sure, When the dark's all gone,There won't be anything left...