When shall I get out of this rut?
Counting down the hours until I can go
Only five and a half now, but
I'll be back next weekend, I know.

And only thirty dollar bills a day, for what?
To get hit and kicked and yelled at
I'd rather get payed for selling my body like a ****
Or maybe I'll be a professional eater and become professionally fat.

Pure disgust is all I have to say
Until next time, dreadful day.

For the life of me
I cannot understand the monotony
Chasing tails up and down stairwells
Ludicrous!
How can you call this excitement?
I cannot remember the last 5 minutes!
This dreadful spinning
Responsibility is heavy
Calling all my friends and family
Government mandatory
Legalized this circus
There is no way around it
you must have insurance!!!
Now they will label me
Certainly the wolf at the door
Stacking up bills
You can't afford to ignore
So maybe one day
IF you qualify
You can give someone money
When you die

I know i'm not really myself
when i'm doing this
I'm not quite myself very often
to be honest
but I regret
every single time I wasn't there myself.
I hate this disease
i hate this disorder
and the things it makes me do
when I'm in an island
far away from myself
living in a reality
where stolen things are quite better
than my own
and the moon shines, bitter & anguished
because I stole its shine away
and put it on the star
that lingers in my stolen
rag heart.

the depth unfathomed deeper than death
swallowed my fragile heart
puked me out its putrid stomach
licked me up like a dog eats its sicked up meal
again and again for centuries
dripping saliva slobbering all over dreams
I was dissolved in deaths final say
and this is where we will finally be united
a silent scream into the depths of hell.
the experience of the dark night of the soul.

What's a story without purpose.
My heart flutters uneasy when I think about my final draft.
I stapled my soul to another page not knowing what happens when both pages rip apart.
There are two tiny holes eternalized.
Forever missing those fragments.
Forever just a little empty inside.
The first page needs a new staple.
The ending needs to be rewritten -trash the other page, staple another.
What will be the new ending to my story?
What do I write on the next blank page?
I have no ******* clue.
Honestly, I'm still stuck on the first draft.
Naive enough to get attached, I thought it was absolutely perfectly dreadfully uncensored.

Life has a cruel joke.
Giving you the right person,
at a dreadful time.

Fonding the warm touch of the light,
faces around had a smile so bright.
It was a day to have a good write,
for the whole lot seemed right.

But the fine day turned into a dreadful state;
where everyone has gone and there was no mate.
Unpleasant things happened 'til it's late.
It was clear, fright became so great.

Every thing around was howling.
Terrified, you know your faith was shaking.
Thirst for the time of surviving,
you wailed and started praying.

Millions of seconds passed.
You're still alone, feeling outcast.
Not a thing to do, but remembering the past.
Helpless, wondering, "Is this going to last?"

You shouted help, but no one came.
You were puzzling if these were all just a game.
Hopeless, you tried to curse and blame.
A heart shattered and a soul lost its flame.

All is lost in the middle of the sea.
You tried to drown yourself to be free.
The minute you fled, there's hand you see,
Reaching you out, giving a new story.

*-Steph Dionisio, July 15, 2015

Why you recall the grief and falling word,
Forget what they thought and said,  
Which restraint your spirit and rush scorch,
Retain the best and beautiful moment with people and nature
Smile and fly as butterfly did!

There’s a burning in her eyes,
High reaching lace like a poison choker,
Hands around a swan’s throat,
She’s the type who would ****** the world,
Then break its neck,
But even then, she still spits poetry every time she speaks,
Everyone has their curses,
She hides hers in the darkness.