A triangle
starts at a point
goes toward
two other points.
But who's to say
it doesn't begin
at two points
which meet
at one point?

What's the point anymore
The depression is too strong and I am too weak
I can feel it clawing at my soul
Breaking my bones turning me into jelly
I can hear its whispers in my ears
Telling the rest of my body to just ******* give
What's the point anymore
My blood has already blackened
And eyes have already dried from the nonstop crying
My head aches and my heart is non-existent
I just need a respite from the ******* called life
Only I wish it would be permanent
No more tightropes, afraid I may fall 30 stories to my death
Not that it would be a bad thing to begin with
Funny I say I hate life so much but I'm terrified of death
Maybe a part of me wants to live
Forcing me to second guess every move I make
Only making it that much worse
What's the point anymore
Maybe there is one and I just can't see it
Maybe it's not just my left eye that is blind
Maybe it is me as a whole
And death isn't the answer I seek
Maybe just maybe I'll see

~

Pain
    Might lessen
         Over
              time

But
       The memories
            Never
                 Fade

~

If all what I just posted
Are not actual poems
Then what are most of the
Words on here considered then?

Is a poem a song you speak?
Is it the music of the soul?
Is it a random, over-analysed hypothesis?
Does it have meaning as a whole?

Does anybody care,
About the words we post on sites?
The pain that makes good poetry,
Does it make us parasites?

Do we **** the blood of sorrow,
Till its bitter juice is done?
A ton of bloated leeches,
Belching back the pain we've won?

Is my anguish worse than yours,
Because I write it like a song?
Do you care about my heart,
Because my sonnet reads so long?

Are my poems just graffiti,
On the tombs of poets dead?
Is a poem really better,
When it's torment that's been said?