Sadness is a virus that attacks the human being within

This pencil
This paper
Looks just like coke and razors

I write so much I can't feel your kiss
I'm not attached to humanity
Except through this bleeding heart
That I'm slowly whittling away
It's taking shape of something so ******* beautiful

But you always say I'm killing myself
That I'm in denial
Crocodile tears and a plastic smile
For a while you fool yourself into thinking you're right
For a while you fall for your own *******

This apathy
These scars
Tattoos of times I've been torn apart

I ache for human touch
But every nerve has been severed
I close myself inside
Your ****** up mind
And watch your memories in silence
What we made is so decayed and rotten
We denied life to what we'd forgotten
I can't look at my reflection without slitting its throat
I remember what you told me and I quote:

But you always say I'm killing myself
That I'm in denial
Crocodile tears and a plastic smile
For a while you fool yourself into thinking you're right
For a while you fall for your own *******

This love
Those emotions
Can't find which hole in my heart they go in

I balance my life on the edge of a blade,
I get cut and nicked
No matter which turn I take
I'm teetering, watching myself bleed
It leads me to believe that smile was always fake
There was no right time to deny the lies I regretted
Self destruction was the first defense I hated
As I see all these lines blurred in my head
Thinking back to what you said...

But you always say I'm killing myself
That I'm in denial
Crocodile tears and a plastic smile
For a while you fool yourself into thinking you're right
For a while you fall for your own *******

Lips sealed tight;
inside
a gaping chasm stares me down.
Patience!
When the abyss unleashes
like a dam unhinged
words will flow
for better or worse
from lips no longer just mine.

Today wasted on rage
Tomorrow too distant
Yesterday a blast and matters not.
And you?
Didn't notice me standing by your side
Even when you kicked me around.
Pathetic.
(me more than you).
Shame Is the sister of tolerance
Which is the brother of victim
And the mother of choice less
Right now,  in this precarious moment,
I've discovered how bitter true  
it is...
that we all
pay dearly
for the sins of our father.

I grew up with the silly idea
That boys would write poetry
For the girl in the back of the coffeeshop.

It’s far from romantic
The countless times I’ve walked that road,
Entered that C- bakery,
And rested my elbows on a wobbly table.
Once, I twisted my ankle,
Caked my jeans in mud and embarrassment.
Another time, I fell in a puddle.
Nobody helped me up or dried me off.
Hundreds of dollars wasted on cheap coffee
That only kept me up long enough
To realise how low I was.

I wrote poems for boys in the coffeeshop,
Adam and all the rest.
They didn’t write any for me.