we're the same level of insane
we take pictures and lock them away
let's run through this city with stars in our eyes
prank strangers and trust frauds
lose our minds
pass out in an alley
let's be free
for once
because these shackles
won't break themselves
and if we make it out alive
we'll be jumping past the fence

Drip, drip, drops the wax on the candlestick
As it sits upon the moss covered bridge
There to show the way to the other side
We seek its comfort, its warm embrace
The orange light shines in the dark of night
We stand there listening for the problems in the wind
But we stand back to back, always together
Never knowing the other is there
We just feel the comfort of the burning candle
As it pushes us through our lives

Will you say sorry if i tell the truth
Will you be there if i say i need you
Will you hear me if i say these words

(Will you love me the way i love you?)

(I know you won't)

It's become so hard to write beautiful poems
Because it seems that I only pour my sadness out when I write
And I have absolutely no reason for sadness
Therefore I just leave my pen on my desk,
I don't ever pick it up anymore ;
Because I now know joy and everything that goes with it
Now I only listen to swinging songs
And I just dance to them all night long,
Now I only watch decent films and not depressing ones,
Even my psychologist says I've overcome my depression
But now I can't write anymore..
I've forgotten what beauty sounds like
When I try to put my happiness down on paper
I can't even do it properly

I'm used to writing about death
And tears, lost love and broken hearts
Now all my sadness' gone
And I wish I could write about her smile
But my poem would be too joyful, and that is just not me.

Dark, moonless nights,
No stars, no light.
Sleepless for a fortnight,
Constantly losing the fight.
Only shadows in sight,
Nothing shines bright.

"It will go away soon"
That's what they always say too.
But tell me do they ever lay strewn,
Out of Gods to pray to?
Do they ever feel consumed
By demons that chase doom?

Tired lungs and broken ribs,
Breathing all the past right in.
The devil holding on so grim,
Regurgitating memories within.
Detached heart strings,
Too used to the sting.

Crevasses and milestones,
Every crater- an achieved goal.
Lonely and alone,
Another youngster torn.
Placing the headstone,
Uncared for, forlorn.

I don't feel a darkness creeping on to me,
I don't feel my demons.
I don't feel tears on my face,
I don't want to leave.

I don't feel numb,
I don't feel like screaming.
I don't feel like bleeding,
I don't want to succumb.

When there's no negativity in me anymore,
The paper and pen lie alone.
When I've begun seeing good colours,
There's no more of me forlorn.

I used to write five or six poems a day,
Now I write one in five or six weeks.
In the night, I don't lie awake
To craft ink and silently weep.

I wish I could pen down happiness,
The way I could with emptiness.
I've tried to do so a number of times
But that's just not me, no vibes.