Robbed of my money,
Robbed of my well being,
Robbed of my hatred towards pain,
Robbed of my sight; my moral compass.

They stole it all,
And left me with nothing.
Nothing but black and blue bruises,
As well as a few red cuts littered over my body.

I wanted it all back,
But how could I ever ask?
They are horrible people all around.
Unreasonable and unpredictable are the defining words.

As I moved on, with time,
I found none of it ever healed,
None of it. The may have cuts gone away...
Yet so does the wind, but we know that the air is still there.

And so are all these ******* memories,
That cloud over my friends like viscous tar.

Why couldn’t they have just left me alone?

I still don’t know,
but since then I have grown.
I am ready for these ***** to come once more.

Misery fills me unforgivingly, once more,
But this time, it pushed me out the door.

I ran out with an unrequited rage,
Against the world that taunts me.
I took one breath after another,
Melding into the rhythm of my steps.
The darkness became my world
As the sun was shot out of the sky
By a luminescent arrow,
Only to be replaced by the “innocent” moon.
Yet I move on, step by step, trail by trail,
until I find my way home.

Now I am cold,
Fatigued,
Sore

And still full of misery

Let the cold consume me,
Bring me farther into darkness,
And run my soul through
With two daggers of ice.
Drive my fingers numb
With its glacial insanity.
Turn me inside out,
Become my calamity.

I am not calm.
My head is spinning,
My vision’s fading.
With each person
Passing by,
Is another person
That tries to interact.
And with each
Delicately soul-retching
Interaction I have,
It all moves faster,
And my stomach flips
Over once more.

Now I feel about to cry.
People have tried to
Involve this sad soul,
But I turn them away,
Only secluding myself
Further into this abyssal hell.

I’m no better than I was,
Those 3 years ago.
I say I’ve changed,
But it’s all the same.

All I could do then was run away,
But I still ran away, even now.

Spiking into me like a soulless torrent,
Bringing a slight vignette to my vision.
I drag it to the side, feeling the skin part,
Feeling the cold metal searing my hot flesh.
Blood bubbles up,
but it’s not good enough.

Again.

I drag it through quicker, harder, deeper.
I want more pain.
I want less blood.
It still doesn’t pass the bar.

Again.

And again.

And again.

And on it goes...

My arm drips the blood I never could have cherished.
My patience with this process is almost out,
I feel a desperate hatred, as my desolate mind shuts down.

My arm becomes increasingly ravaged
by each sweet, disappointing stroke.
My mind runs out of patience with all my failures.

“**** it. I’m done.”

I raise my hand, the one holding my ever so cherished blade
And sweep the slice of a hopeless child;
a child who sees nothing left of themself but the pain they give.

The flaming arm releases some of its ruby blood,
Flinging it towards the walls and furniture,
Unable to hold onto it through the violent strike.

A vertical line of deep red divides its lighter counterpart,
A vertical line, far too shallow to stop my worthless heart.
“There’s always next time...” I think resignedly,
But I know that next time will fail as well.
I forgo the bandages once more,
And go back to what I was doing, ten minutes before.

Through all the disappointment I saw this as my savior.
But I know, that this was never any form of acceptable behavior.

Springing out of the fire with an unrivaled exuberance,
They spiral and change direction,
As if they are following their own
Delightfully deviating initiative.

They help the flaming torrent in its calming rapid beauty.
The emanating orange dots twists around the pillar.
The sparks die off, but new ones rise up in bursts.
It is a curiously renewing spectacle.

When one log falls,
Numerous fireflies fling out of the flames,
Spiraling up into the sky with an orange afterglow.
Sadly, it dies off as quickly as it was brought to life.

The sparks are a firefly;
Rather quick to die,
But beautiful to attract our gaze,
Even though the deepest haze.

The damp world, slowly yet ardently wiping itself off
from the previous evening’s unannounced showers,
Blew a feathery breeze, kissing my skin with ghostly lips.

As the air’s playfully gentle push spirals about the atmospheric arena,
A lightening overcast desperately strains it’s diminishing predominance,
Fraudulently struggling to keep a hold over what it never owned.
But as all things come to a close, the clouds were no exception,
For the articulate wind maiden seduced the cloudscape,
And spread a delicate gap among the once steadfast scenery.

The further I wander,
The further I shall ponder.
I had always dived so deep
Into my abyssal mind,
That I never once noticed
A material bliss, such as this,
Could have ever existed.

For each step I take,
I’ll have one more step to give.
So I’ll move onwards

A jolly, corpulent man, taller than high tide.
He hosts lavish parties for all, sparing no pence.
Living in front of media, nothing to hide.
Donates to charities in all his benevolence
He loves the people in his honest mind,
and the people love him, but they are blind...

Inside the saint lies an angry diamond;
Discretely rattling if one gets too close.
It’s venomous fangs puncture the media,
Infecting them at their already corrupt core.
Preying on the blind defenseless mice,
Robbing them of their “truly pitiful” life.
It puts it’s catch into blackbox charities,
They cycle it back with a tainted clarity.

The diamond holed it’s way into
This jolly saint of a man.
The deviant sunk it’s fangs into his flesh,
Infecting him with a truly visceral avarice.

All the bullets that hit the man
Were meant for the slimy scaly *******.
But the devious diamond deftly dodged...
And the man was broken forever.

All because the man was but a vicarious vessel
Of the snake’s diligently destructive divinity.

Christmas time is right around the bend,
Just next week, I can no longer pretend.
My wallet is stretched thin, I’ve got none to lend.
And the stress builds up as I lose another friend.

The anxiety builds up,
block on top of shadowy block,
The tower’s ominous loom increases
As the season steadily progresses.

Oh, I remember the Christmases
So so many years ago.
When I wanted a white Christmas,
But I never got to have
A powdery blanked covering
My especially festive day.

Now I yearn.
I yearn for not the white Christmas;
The one I cared about then.
I yearn for a delightfully red Christmas.
The one that gives my arm quite the treat.
I yearn to see liquid rubies atop my wrists,
And feel the flame festively flicking my toes.

Christmas is a day of giving,
Therefore I shall give and receive,
Be the bringer of my own serenity,
And feel the flame once more.

Am I just pain’s *****?

Side to side I look
Hearing the icy taunting voices
Of all these people
Talking behind my back
Ridiculing my every action
My every action is a mistake,
Even staying still is a sin.
My heart pumps my chilled blood,
Faster and faster
Until I feel my veins will burst
My mind runs faster and faster
Filled with terrifyingly venomous thoughts
Now they’re taunting me,
Pointing ambiguous shadowy fingers,
Laughing in deep, echoed unison.
My vision starts to turn as black as the figures.
I want to run
I want to run
I want to run
I cannot run
They will taunt me for running,
They will toss me around,
Taunting me and beating me,
Bruising me all the same.

Collapsing on the icy floor of hell,
My delusions got the better of me.
I covered my head expectantly,
Waiting for it to come.
My face was wet with perspiration.
But it was not perspiration,  
It was my tears,
I was silently sobbing,
Trying not to show them.
They would find out, but I don’t want them to.

The distant black figures are next to me now,
Crowding around me and pointing.
I’m now sure they exist.
Their heaving laughter rings through my ears.
Their breath hitting me with an infernal flame.
Their bodies radiate a subzero aura,
Chilling than heating me just the same.

The shadows start to replace my own reality,
I want them to leave,
I want me to leave,
Neither of us move.

Their ambiguous shape is standing inches away now,
They are still closing in,
Getting ready for the ****.
My delusions are reality now.
I feel I will die when they reach me.

Suddenly it all goes black,
Then brown
Then blue
Then white
I’m curled on the floor.
I remember my delusions and shudder
I try to convince myself that it wasn’t real
But I cannot fight the fear overrunning me
It was too real that time.
I know it only could get worse.

*******,
I ******* **** at
Naming things.
From pets to poetry,
None escape my
Horrible naming spree.

I still remember,
The days of old;
My days of young.
I just got a new pup,
He was cute and small,
But he needed a name.
And so I shouted out,
With little to no shame:
“Evil Trash Can the name!”
This was quite large a hurtle
For my parents to say yes to,
So I then suggested “Turtle.”
After all, his collar had
Turtles designed upon it.
The names were getting
Uglier by the minute,
Much worse than a hog.
So I went simple and direct:
“Dog”
My parents were
Laughing at this point,
My dad dropped his
Nice trucker hat,
And I tried once more...
“Cat...”

This story is not a lie,
I cannot name things,
No matter how hard I try.
My names are horrific,
So I apologize for any
Naming problems
You have with MY
Poetry.

Lock me in ice,
Freeze me beyond my bones.
Let me become a visceral tundra,
Devoid of all,
Leaving only a chilling silence to roam.

Crystalize my blood; make ruby shards.
Tear the skin with your glacial flames.
Seize a still beating heart with Death’s arctic claws,
Puncture it with five frosting talons,
to diminish the simmering heat that remains.

If you’re going to ice my heart:
Spare no wrath, tear me right apart.

I went to heaven once, a beautiful place I do say.
Found God in a palace overlooking an ocean bay.

I inquired him of all his actions and choices;
How he could've let death take away so many beautiful voices.

God gazed at me with a strange glint in his eyes.
He then chose another bad choice, but one devoid of lies.

God bestowed his divine knowledge upon me, but the words made me rather blue...
"I shoulda made a sandwich insteada makin' you."

All things can be broken.
From the Titanic,
To this spiraling pencil,
Nothing is indescribable.
Relationships included.

But not all things can be fixed.
A scarred and broken body may heal,
But it’s mind will never correct.
The memories will always haunt,
Old habits may die hard.

And maybe,
Just maybe,
A love for pain
Still resides.

Set me on fire;
Put a match to my clothes
Watch me rise in a pillar of flame,
Listen to my livid screams of pain.
Feel my existence slowly fade
As my body finishes fueling the glow,
As my screams mellow into the silent cracks.

In time, the fire will turn to embering ash.
I will have been consumed by a long gone inferno.
And when I have been burned to the ground,
I know that the only place I can go is up.

I once had a phone...
it was an IPhone 6.
Worthless to many,
but to me,
nothing
could have bought
that bank of emotion.

To part with it was
to part with some of me.
I am in no way a phone addict,
it just was full of precious bytes,
these 64 billion bytes described me.

The vehement texts, sent with wet eyes.
The entertaining games, played frequently.
The photos of friends and places held dear.
The contact of whom I am too shy to speak to.

And most importantly,
yet saddest of all...

the thousands of poems.
The stories of my doubtless fury,
my love for the pocket knife,
the yearn for another ****** line,
the sadness of another failed day,
the crushing expectations,
and the love I still feel.

The stories that pulled me from depression,
the stories that listened when nobody else would,
the stories that only I will ever have seen.

Even though it's fried silicon chip works no more,
I keep it still, not willing to let go.
So many things, lost forever,
all these things only I am to ever know.

My life is in shambles.
As destitute as that essay...
For English. This sounds wrong...

Lightning streaks overhead,
The wind gouges out my nerves,
Which are shot several times over.

Upon this precipice I stand,
The angels rise up from below.
They carry a banner of despair,
Waving it in my face
With a vexing mirth.

My destitute hands tremble,
As the glistening red rain falls,
Touching them
Ever
So
Slightly.

Upon this precipice I stand,
In fear of this desolate world.
I choose to leave my wounds be,
And wait for death’s vile hand
To scald me with and icy iron brand.

I’m happy to be here,
Alive and well.
I once lost all I held dear,
Tumbling down into hell.

But I rose out
Like a prizefighter;
Off of the net with a
Lively propulsion,
And into Death’s
Ugly,
No good,
Mug.

I’m happy to still be alive.
Not because I enjoyed rising above,
But because I
Wouldn’t ever have beheld
The beauty that has passed by.

And I know,
More is on it’s way.
So I can only pray,
To share this beauty with others.

The frozen flame
encloses me in pain.
The blue turns
to a radiating white.
I've become so blind now...
this can't be right.

I'm trapped inside a world so bright.

This world is so ****** up.
The smoke is falling down,
My pain is rising up.
It's hard to breathe.
I want to leave.

I'm being burned right through,
this scorching hell keeps shining
its infernal judgement
upon my dying soul.

My world's a burning light.
I can feel my soul fading,
but that's all right.

It's all right.

I once thought I was flying,
through the delightful air
soaring with freedom.

In all truth...
it was a lie.

From who I was back then,
I for sure,
was flying in a world of bliss.
A stone cold sky,
burning indefinitely all the while,
the sky was red and black,
my body was crumbling
into the charred ashes
that I considered my worth.

I flew under the world,
riding on flaming blue pain.
My lead wings were a burden,
dragging me below the earth,
giving me a comfortable hellscape,
The only place I called home.

The blue flame of pain had engulfed me,
and the lead wings of my blade dug deeper.

To shed them was to carve out a part of me.

I look up at it,
amazed that such a
...
thing
...
can exist
in parallel with me.

But it’s out of reach,
leagues above my head.

I see several people up there,
soaring the endless expanse.

Their words
spun like needle and thread,
Create a deep rooted motion.
The vibration moves the air,
encompassing them;
Creating them their own shell.
With the deft utilization of the vibration,
they spin and weave the clouds
With the same capacity
as their masterfully controlled words.
Weaving soft feathery wings
from the endless clouds,
they stitch them immaculately;
without a trace of fault.

I wish that one day,
I could be like those brilliant minds,
Soaring the endless expanse so effortlessly;
Controlling words with a masterful mind
And making such a deep, powerful movement.
Enough to shake the most iron-willed,
Buy warming their cool steel core.

But as of now,
I am landlocked.
I am okay with this.

I want to connect with the earth,
perpendicular to my existence
before I leave for the sky,
the existence parallel to mine.

I’m on fire.
It burns.
Hotter than magma,
Colder than dry ice.

The flames
Blue in nature,
Spread from my arms
To my torso.
My body is further
enveloped
In the liberating burn

Transcending all realms
Of known human sense,
I burn further and further
On.
As the fire spreads,
Farther and farther
Around
my blistering body.

My brain is finally hit
With the blue burning bliss.
A brilliant sight is seen,
A brilliant pain is felt.
I am fully enveloped,
And my room is now alight.

When I once again
come around to sanity,
I will notice my wrists,
Leaking my blue flame.

But it’s really just red water,
Giving me a release from the pain.

I can read and write,
therefore I can bleed and fight.
Bleeding through all the troubles thrown,
and fighting back with art, the art of English.

The problem, whatever it may be,
will not cause me to fail nor perish.
I shall move onward, towards the next sunrise.

My words are the vessel of my vitality,
so if push comes to shove I will rise,
above the death that encompasses my reality.

My words are a dull sword,
used to parry and ward,
not to slash and make bleed,
as the words of others over-do that deed.

I'm here,
at a table.

A white tablecloth,
holding a poster
sits in front of me.

This precarious
group
of four
finally finishes
a frustrating part.

A wave of
euphoria
swept over all

jumping up
I looked across
the white expanse
and noticed
something
new

She's right there
Who?
I didn't pay attention
beforehand

we lock eyes.
She suddenly becomes

e v e r y t h i n g

and I become

nothing...

Loftily flowing through the air,
In the almost nonexistent breeze.
It wanders everywhere,
But is locked to one spot.

The imperfect immaculacy called life,
Flowing unrestrained through all things.
It flows with neither rhyme nor reason,
It flows without regard to the season.

From the tips of my wiry, weak fingers
To the roots of the solemnly stoic tree,
Standing proud, for many years to come.

From the lifelessly vibrant autumn leaf
To the ceaselessly soaring summer bird,
Brimming with an almost vexing vigor.

From the phenomenally frostbitten stream
To the swaying spectrum of vernal petals,
Berating the grass with their "benevolent" beauty.

As I have said before,
Life:
The imperfect immaculacy,
Chained to existence.