I make a lot of marks.
I'm good at making marks.
On paper.
On canvas.
On my skin.
I'm one of those people that folds the pages of a book.
(I hate those people too)
I searched for my place in this world
but it only confused me further.
So I decided to etch my own place.
Luckily,
I'm good at making marks.
I've made a lot of marks.

I have walked many miles been invisible to others and ran circles around those who never knew a fool can find more luck without trying than some pompous *** with a degree.

The surrounding clocks all kept perfect time the old man always made sure of that.
Why did he care what did it truly matter .
Once he worked in a repair shop the clocks there always were slow .
Time dragged on where now the day was gone far to fast now
time was his and his days were short.

Nobody can cling to anything worth while so leave it empty .
Your heart .
Your thoughts  
Your very soul should remain vacant so none will ever want a single thing from you.

I am empty in all but my own words and I simply give those away before they are erased by time.

We think to much when were young .
Then speak far to less believing we are no longer worth the time.

Three clocks were in the room he died in.
They kept perfect time .

How those pages will be filled with or what...will be interesting!
The excitement is that "Uncertainty" is not becoming a fear!
I am behaving like a dummy...ignoring urges of getting answers!
getting emotions in return!
Feelings are standing on the corner of Uncertainty, questioning the path it taking!
Questioning who is there in the road, they will meet!
Questioning why they were revived after ages of sleeping in silence!
If I love...Do I have to be Lost!
Those are my pages to you!

I existed in night chasing those hours until the dawn.
Embraced in the depths of insanity the plague breaths a harsh
taste left bitter in the wind .

Tortured by days we follow what asks nothing.
She moved a haunting scene in the chaos .
How often we desire what will destroy us so very easily.

Frost to the rose a death in the spite of life
Often we consume with no care to the aftermath .
Do the ignorant see more only to turn a blind eye than those who yearn?

And you can trace my steps but never walk the same path.
As I simply never desired to know another's it will only be a moment but the scars remain.


Its never a test for the game was ******* to begin with .
They will never grasp the life beyond the sunset can we simply part
and pretend.

Understanding is sympathy I do not need.
This ride alone is beyond its view and something far more toxic
then I ever care to share .

The dawn is almost here so I bid you farewell.
This is my existence a shipwreck somewhere invisible  from the shores view .

You cannot play with the page for it cares for none and asks all .
A ***** for the thoughts it leaves just the same .

Perfectly vacant was the sunsets view .

Some moments can be felt
as though they are written
into a chapter of your life.
The intensity of an event piercing
through the thin paper of your being,
bleeding onto several following pages.
Pull out a book and write
in the margins,
the words only matter if you
ponder them,
and let their meaning drip
from your mind.

Every memory lingers under the patches I made to the wall
Every wound hides under the new layer of skin
Every heartache I ever felt is inside this tiny box
Every tear fills this river that I’m swimming in
And if you know me well, you know that I can’t swim
So I just wade around a while, trying to keep to where I can touch
Screaming for help
Choking on the water
Gasping for air
You are nowhere to be found
“Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?”
Nothing…
The sun is shining and the birds are singing, but the sky is grey and silent
The water tosses me into the rocks
What’s a few more scars between friends?
And hell, what’s a pint of blood between enemies?
Anything for you my dear, anything for you
You smile that smile
The one that makes me weak
And under I go
My little box in hand
Together we sink, until we hit bottom
Bottom was a long way down
But after preparing for it for a while now, we’re finally here
What a dump
So this is home?
This is all that’s left?
This is what I get?
Things were always better when you were around
But since you’re gone I guess I’d better get used to it
Being alone that is…
I wonder if there’s any room left in that box for me…