This Demon screams,
This Demon moans.
He slices my soul,
He breaks my bones.

He takes over my body,
Only to kick, to scream,
And when he is done,
He rips at my seam.

He’s got other Demon friends
With plans underway.
They grab at my arms,
They pull me away.

The destination is isolated;
A building of brick.
A man adressed himself as, “Doctor,”
Isn’t that sick!?

His comrade in white dress,
A clipboard and a voice that sings
She smiles at me with metal, sharp.
Such odd delusions, this ***** brings.

These Demons do tests,
To determine my will.
Scans and long needles,
A daily purple pill.

My least favorite torture,
They call, “Spinal tap,”
I’m breaking, I’m breaking,
I am a twig; I snap.

I yell and I scream,
As they put me to sleep.
The only sound now,
Is the metronome’s beep.

I’m normal, I swear!
It’s this Demon in me!
But the “Doctor” calls different,
He mutters, *“Insanity…”

Do not trust in me, my dear.
I can make you fall farther,
     than your deepest fear.

I’ll break your bones,
I’ll break your heart.
Your head is a bullseye,
and my hand holds a dart.

I’ll give you bruises, (accidentally!)
royal purple and a cobalt blue.
Because if I can’t even trust myself…
Why in the world should you?

There is a monster behind my back,
That no one else can see.
My eye can neither view him,
But I know he’s here with me.

The monster is there when you’re thinking,
And when you are awake.
But when you are sleeping,
your dreams he’ll forsake.

Call for him never, for he shall not show
But he’ll follow you far, wherever you go.
He’ll point out wrong, he’ll point out right.
And all the things that are not by sight.

He does not require any reward, nor fame.

There is a monster behind my back.
     “Conscience” is his name.

Thank you for your purchase.*

I recently bought a computer,
complete with:

Poorly labeled documents, (Untitled53.jpg).
Terms and conditions; a ten-second scroll-through, mind you.
Pre-accepted, pre-agreed.
A clutter of programs I (supposedly) need,
and a firewall,
to keep your virus
out of my heart.

Sadly, however,
this model lacks a *restart.

Can you tell?
  Can you guess?
That there's a beating, in my chest,

But my heart is not here.

There's blood, tissue, bones,
  But the emotions are clear.

My mind does not live with me,
  nor my heart.
We are apart.

Where are you.

A beating heart, outside the cavity of my chest.

Where is it.
Can you tell,
  Can you guess?

Social ladder like a spider web.
The hunter, eight lilting legs,
makes her way to her chessboard.

She can see her reward.
In the center, he stills.
This is her game of conquest,
Possession over thrills.

One leg on a spoke,
seven others slowly follow.
No throat to choke,
    no going back.

To the first tier,
more than a crossroad.
The intersection friendship,
A link to his abode.

One level to the other,
connecting one another.
She is taking over his social circle.
She can see the podium.

Closer now, to the epicenter.
    So close.

One circle away, all she can see,
The boy, the prey, the delicacy.

I've never truly believed in love.
Playing Coldplay in the mountains above,
An inch from the edge of the atmosphere,
you told me not to give my tears,
you told me not to cry.
"It's weak," you said, drilled it into my head.
I did something I believed I never could,
You might not know, but you changed me for good.

I've never truly believed in love,
The mountain air, or lack thereof.
I tried not to fall as best as I could,
Did everything a blind girl should,
But I stumbled, and I tripped,
I fumbled, and I flipped,
Not off the mountain that we were part of,
but into the abyss that one calls 'love.'
At the edge of insanity, where we once stood,
You might not know, but you changed me for good.

But does 'for good' mean 'for better,'
or 'for good' as in 'forever?'
I tried to find out as best as I could,
but all we'll ever know is that you changed me for good.

So shining, so vivid, so bright.
You were a star,
My genie at night.
You were so far.

So many girls looked up,
They thought it was love,
But you only hooked up.

I tried to be special,
to stand out and shine.
But I'm only human,
I can't claim space as mine.

The other thing that I want now,
Is for another star to show you how
It feels to be played,
Looked at by the sun,
And know you weren't the only one.

I'll look upon you, falling star.
Sinking closer, no longer far.

My wish is for all the girls you've played,
To think, to dream, recall,
and make wishes from your downfall.

I tried to push you away;
to deny your voice.
    You make my mind sway.

New phases came,
and I got hooked.
    I forgot your fame.

But then I heard you, from her.
And I remembered us.
    You make my thoughts blur.

The last time I heard you, I don't know when.
But now I've tasted your song;
    and I'm in-love again.

I listen to you, as I go to bed.
Your rightful place,
    is in my head.

So many questions
    flood my head.
Do you know what I thought?
    Did you hear what I said?

When does the heart begin beating,
    and consciousness start?
When will the sun stop shining,
    and humanity fall apart?

Are there things in outer space,
besides the stars so bright?
What happens when a black hole
***** in all the light?

Is the world going to end
in my short lifetime?

    My short lifetime.
So many lives to impact.
So many things to do.
So many things to go through.

Too short.


I want to try everything.
    Know everything.
    Do everything.
    Be everything.

Can I pull off a ******?
Or be a famous Hollywood Actress?
Will I do drugs?
When all my family all dies,
Will I cry for them?

Am I just going to burn out like a star,
and work the average human life,
with no trouble or strife?

So many things for me to try.
    To taste.
    To see.
    To feel.
Will I accomplish it all before I die,
in my short lifetime?
So many lives to impact.
So many things to do.
So many things to continue.

Will humanity fall
in my short lifetime?
Will I ever learn it all?

Am I ever going to fall in-love?
Get called on by the Heavens above?

Heavens above.
Is there really a God up there?
Does our makeshift prophet really care?
About us? About the world? About one person?

Will I travel across the world,
to see it for it's glory and shine.
I want all the world's treasure's to be mine.
    All of them.

Will I find the perfect life,
    in this world?
Will I find the perfect man,
not too distant, not too needy?
I want all the world's riches.
I have to be greedy.

In my short lifetime,
will I commit a vicious crime?

My short lifetime.
So many lives to impact.
So many things to do.
So many things I wish I knew.

Amidst the foggy graveyard stones,
a boy walks over buried bones.
He finally stops at a young girl's grave.
He gave her the drugs that she did crave.

His batch is what had stopped her thoughts.
--A noise breaks out where her body rots.
When it sounds, the boy falls,
for he has heard the Siren's calls.

Angelic voices, so sweetly shrill,
pull him over against his will.
Figures appear, grotesque things,
burned skeletons with bony wings.

Its long white finger reaches out,
the boy does not have time to shout.
Instant contact, sends him down.
Swallowed by earth yet he does not drown.

In seconds he has broken through,
to the land where Hell does brew.
The Devil stands before him, but is not fiery red.
A dark-haired figure, sheathed in cloaks, has eyes of blackened lead.

Handsome would have been his face, if not for the evil smile.
He glares down upon his prey, look nothing but hostle.
The boy quivers and sheds open tears,
for the voice of Lucifer appears.

The voice is coming, not from lips, but from the boy's own mind.
It tells him of damnation, the contract that was signed.
He pauses to let it sink in,
as the boy's face shows chagrin.

"Seek out miscarriage mothers, tell them of this deal.
If they happen to sign it, their child I will heal.
A mother will do anything, especially in rage.
They get to keep their child—until he comes of age."

The boy knows why he is here now, on his eighteenth birthday.
He will persuade the mothers, to sell their child like pay.
They'll do it in the spur of the moment, simply on a whim.
Just like his mother did to him.

Amanda,

Do not become the spying rat,
Do not invade their habitat.
    Do not become a ****.

Do not do the scientist's evil deed.

He does not care for his fake plant,
You are simply a decoration,
He is using you.
Bought for beauty, thrown on the shelf.

Do not overestimate yourself,
fake a strong back,
and bluff about the things,
    you are lost in.

You will not win.

Amanda,
Chop off your synthetic stem,
before you grow into something so unknowingly fake.

Amanda,
Do not make people up,
and drop them like impostor petals.
Do not make excuses up,
or blame your actions on substances,
to salvage your pride,
    and save your lies.

Do not fake life amongst the butterflies.

Accept defeat.
Burn from it,
    Learn from it.
Regrow from your ashes,
    Like an organic phoenix.

Fall with the seasons,
    Nutritional blue.
We're living, we heal.
    We always do.

Amanda,
Save scars as reminders,
And only open the wounds,
When you are too.

Remember the things that we once knew,
put past us as we said we grew,
and lied to ourselves,
as we sprouted plastic leaves.

    Turned into information thieves.

Repeat this course, like a failed grade.
    Re-burn from it.
    Yearn for a different ending.
Like a request that is pending,
Flashing yellow, like the neighbor stoplight,
And it maybe, maybe, might,

      Change,
          Amanda.

Did we teach ourselves to see?
Do we imagine touch?
What do we strive to be,
Ask for so much?
Were we built with this instinct?
    To breathe?
    To sleep?
    Survive?

Or were we given it?
From our creators?
    Creator?

Are we their creation,
    That has created their own?
The forgotten plant planet,
    That has lived; grown?

Is it miracle or mistake,
That we cannot judge,
    Our creations,
With an unbiased eye?
No, we can only judge other's.

Did we make this up?

True, false.
Born by blood, live by pulse.

This is all we know.

Did we make this up?

Hate, Love.
A molten core, celestial above.

Directions are simply words.
Is time as well?
Is emotion?

Did we make this all up?

A beginning, an end.
Just to feel, just to understand,
    comprehend.

A boy in the field,
By the age of eighteen.
A flag for a shield,
And a crowd he's never seen.


The boy whose life was ruined by war,
Passed down a hate he has no use for.
A country scarred by the recent recession,
Houses todays funeral procession.


The boy looks on at his father's new bed,
So many questions, housed in his head.
"Why are we fighting?" he thinks to himself.
His father as fresh as the frame on the shelf.


Hours run by, but the boy is still standing.
Visions in his head of planes crash landing.
"I have nothing against them, but this I must do."
Chasing after his unchangeable view.


He won't stop, until the war is won.
Feeding the fire, like father like son.



Generations of hate, forever to come.
Like father like son,
     Like father like son.

Heat from you ignites the fuse,
to spark my static thoughts.
An explosion in my black night sky,
adorned with unimportant dots.

You are the only star that matters.

My needy being owns these feelings
that my mind cannot control.
Gravity of 10 black holes.
    The closer, the clearer.
    Burn me when I get nearer.

You are as rare as a supernova.
    So bright.
    So vivid.
    So far away.
Through a million lightyears delay,
I will watch your reflection in the sea.

Shine for me.

Let me bask in your chemical composition.
Hydrogen and helium in nuclear fission.
Soak into me,
    poison me.

You are the reason for my lack of sleep.
The reason I pray to the stars.
Not Venus, nor Mercury, nor Mars.

I am relaxed with only you.
You are divine.
    Even if you don't realize.

Cloud cannot keep me from you.
Lightning and all the others
are nothing when your glow is mine.

Shine.

Some say they can't remember
    the details of their dream.
I think I can.
They might be wrong
    and fuzzy
    and a little plotless.
But I adore them.

They are what my mind
doesn't think
    in waking times.
    They are strange.

They are so beautifully strange.

Quickly cunning,
armed with a witted tounge.
Eyes of a murderer,
    with the rope already strung.
Coat of copper,
lying sweetly as it promises,
the appearance of a dog.

The fox feeds once again.

He runs through the brambles,
reminiscent of an open door.
Eats all the farmer's poultry.
His mouth waters no more.

As quickly as he came,
the bushes he now does part.
He has stolen a living.
He has stolen my heart.