i remember your scent
it stained my favorite place to kiss on your neck,
and just behind your ear where you always nervously tucked your hair

i remember your flavor
the way your lips tasted like hope,
and the sweet tang of licking you off of my fingers

i remember your touch
how your palms where smooth like silk but your knuckles were hard and cracked,
and how our bodies felt when your bare skin rubbed against mine

i remember your sound
the way your morning voice resonated like you smoked two packs a day,
and how your moans were like the cries of angels

i remember the sight of you
how freckles were sprinkled across your cheeks,
and when your hair fell around your face and over your shoulders you looked a lioness

you awoke all five of my senses,
and you won't soon be forgotten

I'm that record player that keeps going on,
Playing the same old, outdated song.
I'm sorry.
All my poems spout the same cliches now.
Hell, I'm the embodiment of those cliches now.
I don't know why I'm suffering from the disease
Years after my exposure to patient(s) zero,
But here I am, sick, bed-ridden and sleep-deprived,
Scratching sores I thought had long healed up.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry that I don't see colour anymore,
Just the monochromatic shading of decay.
I don't know how to pull myself back up again,
Can't remember how I did it the first time.
I was a ticking time bomb without even realising it,
And I don't even know if I've exploded yet,
Or if this is just the precursor, the countdown
To ripping apart everyone in my vicinity.
I'm sorry.
They say pain makes for the best artists, the best art,
But I'm too repetitive to make anything good.
Even the violent strokes of red have turned dark grey,
And they get darker the further down the abyss I go,
Where the darkness is so dense that light can't penetrate,
And I don't see the nightmares that have come back.
I'm sorry.

If I could take your place in death, would I?**

No.

I would rather bear the weight of the graves of grief and drown in the seas of sadness than let you know this kind of suffering. I would rather let my heart be torn in half out of loss than let yours be crushed by sorrow.

---

Yes.

You will feel pain and become empty and hollow but you will live and thrive and slowly be whole again and that will be enough for me as I smile down at you from the skies.

Holds it tightly
Loves it really
Loud guitar......,it is quit silly
Swiftly paces,while humming  
Song
With that **** guitar how can he go wrong?
A puzzle unsolved  
Why the desire
Insanity It leads me
If volume go higher
It's like a addiction,
I kid you not
To remain by his side
Curse is the day I bought
Oh silly red guitar
Why so attached is he
Never will I know
It shall stay a mystery....

When the world takes on an air of confusion, ever more than it had before

I run to a dream
A children's cartoon
Where a boy and his family live in the stars
A life of robot pets, world-hopping and talking spaceships

Where they are still flawed as humans tend to be
But greet their challenges with grace and humility
And accept the alien friends they've yet to meet- true heroes

I don't know about anyone else, but it seems like a pretty great world to me
And more possible than other fantasies
That humans will one day live in the stars
And not just live, but thrive

I'd like to visit there someday
But I've still got a long journey left to make

I'm only seventeen

So I've got to kindly ask,
that while my feet are firmly planted on the ground,
*please don't mess this world up, for me

I think I've finally come to understand that there are two types of happiness,
of the Heart and of the Head.

Happiness of the Head
I can make for myself.
Look at that sunshine,
feel the kiss of a breeze,
hear the voices of friends,
We're alive!
I just want to scream.

Happiness of the Heart doesn't work like that though. You don't have to work to be happy in your Heart.
Happiness of the Heart just is.
To not have to manufacture happiness, to just, thoughtless, have it be-
I don't remember what that feels like.

Today, at long last,
my Head will mourn for happiness of the Heart,
because in my Heart, I know that that happiness is dead.
Never to rise again.