Listen,
to you it may all be a game,
it's a laugh,
a joke,
which is something I like the most about you;
there's nothing serious plaguing your soul

but it's just got to be remembered,
i'm much too fragile to fall for it
whole-heartedly,
i refuse to see myself as anything
special to anyone
i'm much too destructive for that

so thanks and all
but i don't think i'm right for you
and ******* for that too.

You can either see
a glass half empty or half full
either way there's still something
what if there's nothing to be seen?

I am that empty glass
void of contents
no room for friends
no dreams for sympathy
incarcerated by cynics
locked by betrayal

I tried filling this empty glass with many shed tears;
yet that black hole keeps vacuuming
till all that remains
painful loneliness

I tried asking for Answers
Silence was the Answer
what sort of answer is silent?
I refuse this absurd paradox

I tried feeling this empty glass
with pathetic poetry
I got no appreciation
for each word i put every thought into.

These are the reasons
empty glass remain thus
clanging
in the midst of a noisy world

So label this glass fragile
only time will tell
this glass to break
there would be fiasco
I'll save you a front seat.

Willow came apart
Morning rose without a sun
Flushed pink

The corners of her lips
Yearned with decade old creases
And we all scraped bark from our mouths

There’s vengeance gnashing its teeth
The anger, blindfolded,  
Flagellates at my insides
Churning out a fresh helping
Of supine decay,
Feeding its crippled existence.

I shrink at the sight
Of fingers pointing at me
To then direct wobbly steps  
Of melting courage
To be able to peer at
The faces behind
The exclamations
Of accusations aimed at me.
Till I bump against a mirror,
That, I had thought to be a window.

My palms scramble for strength
Clamped on to the mirror
As I slip on to the floor
I hope the aches will
Numb me into sleep,
Till I wake up
To fidgeting arms and feet,
As the glass ceiling above shatters
To reveal in mockery
A mirrored ceiling right above,
Which I had thought to be the sky
Before I had entered the room.

I hate people who trivialize any sadness.
If they're suffering, why should they be mocked?
You answer for me.
Don't tell me they're implying
They're suffering is greater than others
Or that they're intensifying
The flighting emotion that need not be exaggerated
Because you don't known their pain,
Get an insight to their thought,
Accept their pain into yourself--
Yes you have suffered, none can deny that
But if you don't respect the man
Comparatively weaker, or sound
How can anyone respect your position?
You are a parasite,
Lost in the host
You feed off sadness
You know it's a drought
Yet you remain cynical
So simple in your name.
Your life is filled with hollow anguish
You'll never learn in time

And in my dread
I know you are me...