Oh, a miraculous world isn't it? Silly fights and all?
They keep me imprisoned,
Think it's two to one,
But they have never even fought in this battle. I was never their prisoner.
You set me free every time you look me in the eye.

Concentration.
A game.

A game is about laughter,
Not frustration,
Not confusion,
But some games beg
For panic.

They'll ask you why you quit,
But they won't agree.
They'll say you didn't try hard enough.

Spoil sport.
Sore loser.

I am a sore loser when games challenge my patience.
When games remind me too much
Of life.
Or when that's
Exactly
What it is.

Waters black; time
Leads to chaos.

Fallen soldiers and their
Rotten
Bullet wounds weep.

Salt cauterizes gouges in
The pretty skin of paper
Dolls trying desperately
To be strong.

Impossible dreams of returning
Scars
And keeping the glow.

Forgotten
The dye seeped through
The palms of everyone
Who touches me.

Nightmares drown
(The happiness)?

And fear is unfinished.

A white noise in your throat

The palpitations drop and boil
Your stomach inside itself.

The motors and gears in your limbs
Rust and stick like someone spat
Their chewed gum into them.

Tears freeze in their place and
The burn sets in.

Save us.

A drug like lust,
Pinning me at the wrist,
Scratches on my thighs.

Love me.

Tossing me into the water,
Watching me drown in
Desire?
Passion.

Bruises on my heart and body,
Curiosity is ecstasy,
Painfully hard to dictate.

Simplistic and forbidden.

I deleted all of my poems about you
I'm trying to forget the love I had and lost
The act done onto me tore you away from me
And it hurts knowing we both regret everything

Heart beats irregular,
Figurative physical figments
Of our emotional imaginations.
Thrumming like humming birds.

Speaking so sluggish,
Moaning.
We shouldn't have to try so hard.

Dependency. A cruel fate for a young millennial.
In this country, karma means nothing
Ethics are fiction, as I've found out.
Relying on the manipulative rich man.
He's different for everyone.
Where do you get your checks from?

Vivid cultures dancing
like jellybeans in a frying pan.
Pop like a violin
flow with the rhythm of the sandstorm.
Spinach leaves sway in the depths of the ocean
like worms
hooked through one of its many stomachs
filled with plastic bottles.
****** honey bombs flavour
the ink that spills across
the landscapes.

I am so scared. I am crying and I can not stop,
The screen I  am using to type is blurred.
I am a violent, emotional, nervous wreck.
Tomorrow marks the day. Six months
And I can not imagine what I will do.
I want to know exactly what you think.
Tell me, with details, no short, whimsical
Answers. Tell me how much I have changed.
I don't like this. You look at me in a different way,
I've seen it. Don't you dare tell me otherwise.
You looked just as scared as I felt today.
Admit it. You're scared.

Don't lie to me, I hate it.
But I love you, so it is okay.

Constantly sitting in the same place
Makes me feel lost.

My lips are my weapon,
My sadness- my shield.
I will fight for you.

Nankurunaisa

A black room surrounds me,
Grey shadows and eyes on the walls.

Smoke caresses me, a ****** of happiness;
He steals the angels protecting me, my spirit.
He may just be as in love as I am.
Love... Love..... Love.........

Is it though?
Words unspoken, an asylum unopened,
The craziness. Consumes.

The spice of wind in winter burns through,
Somehow flows through my arms to you.
These visions belong to the shadows of your body, mind, heart.
Tell me that I am in your darkness, do not lie otherwise.

Do you love me enough? Or is this a nightmare?

Every lie, every single one, is in some way a truth.
Every truth, every single one, is in some way a lie.

Think about it.

"Hey, sweets! How was your trip?"
or
"Hey, love :) Hope you had a good time!"
or even
"Hey, I missed you."

No.

You forgot.

Hours after you get home, I sit waiting,
Not knowing when you would get home.

I was home at two yesterday.
I had service at eleven.
I left the cabin at nine in the morning
A six hour car ride
Wondering if you missed me, because I sure as hell missed you.

And I get a "hi."

When each syllable turns into a dance
across your lips,
I can only imagine what it would be like
If I took your hand and stopped you.
When each alliterative phrase swings from
My lips, My only thought is

"Stop me."

When our verses fall silent and the falling snow
Turns into thunder,
I can only imagine what it would be like
If you made my heart beat louder.

When I haven't written for as long as I have,
I begin to think of any possible inspiration.
I have kissed and made love,
I have argued with others and battled myself.

Since no inspiration has arisen, I find myself
Torn between searching the ends of the Earth
And giving up.

Words are the building blocks of the modern world,
And I am unable to use them like I used to.
I find my poetry becoming essay-like.
Robotic. Empty. Hollow. When I speak my poetry,
I lack passion. My vocal chords leave me flat.
It may be spreading to my mind.

I lack passion for words and emotions all together
I am purely physical. I express my emotions in
An ordinary way, but I would rather sing and write.
I am becoming lost.

And then the seams broke.
The fabric unraveled in ghostly shades
Of purple, red, and black.
The slaughter of sanity could never be more
******.

The blood of the covenant is
Thicker than the water of the womb.

I am one with the demons rampaging,
Tearing my mind to pieces.
And yet,
Pain has never been so sweet.

whycantwekissitbetter

I didn't mean to let fear rule,
But the destruction and disappointment
That runs rampant around me
Is a plague among vaccines.

Like love, just know time.

Ignorance has become a new fashion: the dresses on the red carpet and the
Black mascara on the TV screen. We write things as epiphanies come,
While they are out there making fools of themselves in their transparent or
Nonexistent clothing and neon underwear.

I imagine all of the people in Tome Square, even though I have never been.
The daily routines and mechanical gossip about the ******* celebrities that run their lives
And the stench of portable hot dog carts. You are a numerator of what you could be.
Wake up... You're dreaming. Try harder, you can't run faster after you have
Stepped in quicksand. You are so stupid! Look ahead! Watch for things before they come,
You are too impulsive!ay attention to others for once, it is not all about you.
Truth has become a new fashion: faded jeans and thick sweatshirts. Those of us
Who understand and seek nothing from others;
They are not worth it.

I hate break up poems.
Theyre sad and depressing, but most poetry is.
Its a reflection of emotion and
Influenced by bad experiences and negative energy.

But, I guess, this is a break up poem.
I knew it, and I will move on.
For now, though, I am sad.
I am disappointed.
I am numb.
And I am trying to find something to
Help me up after I've fallen this hard.

I've never written a break up poem.

This is a first for me, just like you were.

Just that smile. The nervous voice and the awkward hug.
You stole me away in those short moments.
Almost six months ago now.
Time flies, and if that is true,
I might as well be Time herself.
Because you gave me wings.