Dignified
A generic question
You're all right
Stop this misdirection

So defined
Now that the past is over
The simplest mistakes
About to ******* over

Nothing's real
What's the strength of reason
You aren't real
There's nothing left to ground you

So ill defined in your heinous head start
Ill fitting precedence, tear me apart
Providence save me, i need your autonomy
I need your everything, what will you save for me

Take what is mine, a good enough start
Betting it all on this myopic part
I don't need your foresight
Don't need your "told you so"
All I can hope for
In this, just my clarity

I'm sitting at my desk after a math test
And on my math test, I really tried my best,
But now, thank god, I get to rest
And play with my colored pencils.

I feel like it's been so much time
since I've written in colored pencil rhyme,
But I find, it really is sublime
Writing in something other than monochrome grey.

As I sit and gaze at my pencil collection,
I am realizing that it has turned to obsession,
But there are twelve colored pencils for three stanza perfection,
So, for poetry's sake, I guess it's okay.

I can't seem to understand
What could be done to soothe this ache
Ripped from a broken rib cage
Measure up all my mistakes

Coloring the glass
Staining all my liquor red
Leave me buried in the past
Spent every last second

Draining the last drops
Strained through broken teeth
Working for the sound of
Something that's worth healing

Finally myself if
Only for the moment
My truth is that I'm lost
In this current, vacant motion

How'd I lose my way

A place unknown, to return again,
A criminal racked with guilt.
Shrouded in the light of sin,
His conscious stained with filth.

He wraps himself in linen hold,
He steals a loaf of bread.
The owner of the cloths gone cold,
And the baker's all but dead.

No cheating, nor chasing, nor any rigged racing
Can help a man's soul feel complete.
His feet may rest, but his mind still pacing
He ducks to an alley from street

He's had his fill of bread, but the outside worlds lacks depth
He finds a place to rest his head, decides to catch his breath

Hidden in sight, just another shadow waiting
Past the light, hanging on the wall, stagnating
Watching, loathing, holding on so tight
Chest constricting, as the night goes on

T o n i g h t

Steeling glances, repeat my selfish motives
Mantra's bloated, overtaking every motion
Sway in time, as the light begins to waver
So inspired
to make this mine

T o n i g h t

In this reality
Things are seldom what they seem
Your lights are fading
Soon you will see what I can see

You will see the whole of me

Can't you empathize with me?
Take another moment, of your mediocrity
As I envy your stagnation
Bloated mess of everything I
Have ever
wanted

T o n i g h t

You're wrong

You are so ******* wrong

In the mirror
Thing's are seldom what they seem
Your poor morality
Leads into a fever dream

The light's been wavering
Won't be long before I'm free
The sun is setting
In the night I will be

Everything

T o n i g h t

If everyone is trying to be different
Does that mean we are all a cliche?

I feel like writing
but what?
What is there left
to talk about?
Just about everything's
been said or done
at some point,
so what is there left to write.
And how can it be
that there are still
new combinations
for people to write.
So now what do I write?
Well,
I guess this will do.

right now would be a great time to write poetry
it’s past midnight, everyone is asleep
there is a pale blue light coming from the hallway bathroom
my thoughts are lingering in distant, buried places
recalling nightmares as dreams
drawing halos over the heads of humans
but i don’t want to
i am tired
and bored
and afraid my words will smell like stale clichés
maybe i can just dip my toes in reflective black holes
feel the coolness, the deadness
the other world i’m too afraid to fall into
like quicksand or riptides or working nine to five
maybe i can lean in, just enough, to get a glimpse
of what i do not want

i promise i don’t think of you.

I often wonder what I would do
if someone like you
asked me to ditched school.

I don't smoke cigarettes;
my eyes hold a perilous look when I look at them.
I stopped sneaking bottles of beers
after my mom caught me with two.

But perhaps, if it were you,
I wouldn't mind sharing a smoke
or drink a glass that you poured.

If I am being honest, however,
I'd prefer to not do those things.
Could I propose a suggestion? Possibly a few?
Ones more meaningful than what is common in this town.

We could guard the suicide bridge
from those who wish to part from this world.
Let's convince them that they have a place amongst the stars,
that their existence was not made to satisfy others
but to find a happiness within themselves.
We could become beautiful beings who protect
those from their sorrows.

Or maybe, we could disappear into the forest,
our existence vanished from reality.
You could lead me across rocky rivers with a smile
trying to convince me that we aren't numbing from the sensation
of society's pressure holding us in its grasp.

Perhaps, we could just talk.
Share ideas and thoughts never revealed
but repeated in our lonely minds.
Laughing when we realise how wonderful the world could be
since it brought us together.

But I will never know,
because someone like you
wouldn't ask me
to skip school with you.