I find myself here again,
I can't seem to get away.
No matter where I go
I always end up here again.

I tried to follow the lights,
I tried to get to the village,
but i'm still stuck here.
This **** forest won't let me go.

All i've accomplished
is lighting up the paths
that lead into nothingness,
the village always in sight,
but always out of reach.

Visitors come and go,
but I can never follow them
back home
as the paths seem to change
and lead me astray.

None of my actions matter,
I may change the forest
but in the end i'm still stuck here.
Am I cursed to roam these paths forever?

What kind of sick game is this?

I’m burning the candle
But not at both ends
No, for in fact I have five
The sharpest edge
Of a dying Star
Plain sick of being alive
Helping her and helping him
Ignoring myself for the sake of them
Some days I wonder
“Will I ever be true?”
When that day comes
Boy, will that feeling be new
It starts in my toes
Weary from walking
Igniting my fingers
Busy writing and talking
Then it gets to my head
As it makes its way down
Warming my heart
Burning my frown
I’m not saying that I want to die
But I’m spread so thin
I think “why shouldn’t I”

Hollow, floating just on the surface,
Follow the motes of dawn 'till they drown.
Plastic and pleasant: all that the earth is,
Spastic and present: rising, rising to fall back down.

Shaking
Shivering
Dry
Throat

Breathe me in
Eat me whole

I'm quivering
From your deep soul

Numb
Sensitive
Crooked
Tongue

I'm thirsty
Fill me with your water

You call me lovely
Like a daughter

Red
Screeching
Paranoid
Shooting
Brains

Tell me your words
Devour my mind

Please look into my eyes
And try to be kind

My backpack straps dig into my shoulders:
they burn with the weight.
I’m sick to my stomach,
and my throat still catches on thin air.
I just want things to ease up
or give me a break.

Mom comes with ginger ale;
we sit together in the car
and consider whether or not to
visit the doctor.

Illness
   And tragedy
      Have no words, and
         In love
            A sufferer
               R
                  u
                     n
                        s  dry.
                          Yet to others,
                   His pain,
          So crushing,
Is laughable.