with no pockets full of answer,
no stanzas to flow on,
ive got nothing else to say

It’s the inimitable nature
Of a hand that is extended in love
To the one who walks with their thoughts  
As if an immeasurable weight rests on their shoulders

it’s the precise curvature of the smile
That an unfamiliar face gives
To the one whose heart pounds against their chest
After their voice projects into the open
When it's always just a whisper  

It’s the bed of relief that lies on the shoulder
Of a friend that offers it in goodness
To the one who never asks and always  listens

It is the heart of the outcast
That blooms into gardens
When they meet a soul
That takes them under their wing
So they too can fly
Without feeling the fall

mount despair,
beaten down, stumbling,
compassion for wasted beauty,
speaking for beauty of a generation,
loner

When lonely, I wish for solitude
For I am alone most when with others.
The others with their wicked smiles and bloodied teeth-
The hidden malice underneath,
My friend has left for wild wolves
And I am the one to be culled.
Let me retreat to the outside,
Where silence pervades and my mind quiets.
Let me find solace in the wreckage of begotten riots
Riots against the carnivorous pack-
The midnight shadows residing in the back.
Leave me to be human in the dark
Leave me to hunt with you, though far apart.
Leave me to be alone
Let me dispel the lonely feast
Upon my tender demeanor, ever sweet
Consumed by the malicious extroverted beast.

More than quiet trips to the library
More than a cup of delicious iced coffee
More than canceling Friday night plans
More than Tumblr and Pinterest
More than a new book that hasn’t been opened yet
More than the old bookstore smell
More than the coffee shop no one knows about so I’m the only one in it
More than finishing my homework early
More than writing a new page of my book

I know I'm home and I'm not alone
sick inside cuz the wounds at the bone my friend
such a strange feeling getting to me
I contradict every thought that I have

A special friend blending words in my head
Secret to the trend is make everything feel threatening
Driving through the fog with my brights on
As the lights pass by I get mystified

I'm too big for the room I'm in
Am I wrong or maybe it's actually my skin
I'm going to rip apart this reality
and peel back the shades that have came to cover me

Staring out like I'm in a cell
In and out like a raging swell
I can say that I'm happy with the ones I love
Though I'm scared to go outside and lose comfort in the shelter

Why do words look better on a sheet,
When, from my mouth, they seem incomplete?
How is it they flow so well with ink?
If I try to speak them, I cannot think.
Will they transform, someday? From noise to sound?
If I voice words out there, will they be found?