CravingHis scentHis touchHis love
The VoicesSpeak to meCall me namesTell me to do thingsI don't want to doBut somehowSomewayFor some reasonI listen to themAnd I hate itI want to do what I want to doHow often do these voices speak to you?A lotAlmost everydayAnd how does that make you feel?You did not just ask me that questionOk...I makes me feel like I'm not in control of my lifeWhat do they say to you?(Please be an easy case)(Don't already be a criminal)"Think about the consequences""Don't cut yourself""Don't eat that last cookie"Oh?YesIt doesn't seem like you have a problemBut I doIt's these damn voicesBut they're good voicesYou're lying to meWhy are you lying to me?I'm not I just think you don't need and medicine for your "problem"You are supposed to help meBut you don't have a problemFineNow I have another problem then<i>
Dibs.Odd number of scones. Two people.
Wake Uprealize that you love me too
InfidelitySecretShe cheatedHe doesn't know
001. ClickClickThe lights turn onIt sits in the middle of the roomIt stares into the darknessIt closes its eyesIt covers its faceClickThe lights turn off
I'm here for youI know it hurts for I've felt your painYou want to give upand let the enemies erase youSo I'm telling you nowThat your life isn't overThere's still a chance to find happinessand to have a smileThere's many who feel the same as you doand I'm sure you know that is trueBut did you know that I'm one of those peoplewho wishes they'd disappear?I plaster a smile on my face around youand everyone elseBut inside it's cold and darkand taken over by miserySo I'm telling you nowthat all my words are trueI want to be the oneyou run to when you're scaredI want to be the shoulder to cry onwhen your broken down and aloneI'm always there for you with arms opened wideplease don't over look me nowI'll gladly push all my pain far awayif it would help you recoverAnd if all you need is a hugthen I'll hug you tight and not say a wordAll I'm saying is you're not aloneI'm right here for you whenever you need mebecauseI'm your friend
Purpose.Purpose.What would a story be?If there was no one there to read it.What would dreams be?If there was no one there to conceive it.What would a picture be?If there was no one there to see it.What would a secret be?If there was no one there to keep it.What would love be?If there was no one there to feel it.What would a song be?If there was no one there to sing it.What would the truth be?If there was no one there to admit it.What would advice be?If there was no one there to give it.What would life be?If there was no one there to live it.Kela Lewis-Morin
Math and PoetryShe used to tell meof math and poetryby the length of her armand rhythm of her heartcondensing verse and fractionwith form following the functionof communist theoriesand greek philosophies.she beat out aestheticswith a perfect symmetry.because no one understandsthe relationship betweenseafoam and shorelinethe way she does[swimming in saltwater sorrows]reimagining time in an hourglass,she shot up infinities with a glanceand left me moondrunk in the night.she emits sparks throughout my systembreaking and entering--my kingdom under siege.her name was an amalgam of numbers1.61803399 . . . .and I loved her by design.
MoonlessThe moonless eveningturns its back against the skyand leaves it empty.Perhaps the morningwill come back with its hands full,holding up the sun.
queen of nothing.what I've learned:I still remember singing in my room when I was six, and having my mother come down the hall and slam the door so hard that the windows shook.Her nails hurt when she scraped the tears off my face. "It doesn't matter what you want," she'd always tell me.Like, when that drunk driver swerved and hit her car I didn't want her to leave me, and it didn't matter.Once on vacation I bought a pair of fuzzy leather heels for two hundred dollars, and when I wore them to dinner, I found out that1. "Suede" is a fancy word for "fuzzy leather."And 2. Good things don't last: That night my cousin told me that she thought 135 pounds was a little too big for five foot eight. So I tore my tights up to the thigh and threw those new suede heels in the garbage.It felt good later, to know that they couldn't hate me more than I hate myself.My six-word story from ninth grade reads, "If I don't laugh, I'll cry."When I read that treating people like trash to gets them to nee
HubrisThe world is not a skeleton. It does not ache bone-deep with our atrocities, nor is it fragile and ready for the breaking. It knows nothing so human, except perhaps to forgive our pride. Let me explain:Young, I am a bright star with small, pudgy hands for guiltless flower-crushing. Before even that, I am a wispy squall for food, unused to knowing anything but myself, and warmth, and hunger.The concept of a hero is a natural progression from understanding speech. I am Me. I am the one all the stories talk about, born special, to whom both innocence and wisdom are possible. I am so great a part of my own self that I do not know it can be detached.I am eleven, narrow-boned and alone in the red earth, when I first feel it.A seagull slews out of the bright sky and pegs its beak to the stones, draws it up wriggling. I watch its gullet bob. My hand floats up to mirror the lines of its head against the air. There is a cry, and its eye is a pond of yellow fire staring at me, the air a storm
i have you bookmarked -vii. Sometimes breakfast, lunch and dinner were like art; food was flung from each corner, creating a futile canvas on every wall. I played a scale of musical doors as they slammed one by one. I'm sure I broke a few vocal chords too. He was always right beside me, yet so far.But we mingled together. When his hand gripped mine with his feathery touch, it seemed okay to pretend. Maybe my mind still needed to develop, needed watering. Or maybe together we just made feelings obsolete.iv. And we did.We sat on park benches blowing smoke kisses and watched movies, that only seemed good because everything else on TV was crap.Bubblegum. Pot. Gallons of ice-cream. We fed two pigeons and named them Ben and Jerry. We danced to Genesis, even though we both knew that they were possibly the most overplayed band in the world-universe-all-shopping-centers-in-London-ever.At night we slipped between the park gates and sat by the lake. It felt like the moon was right ne
The Death Within LifeRaging SeasDark skiesEndless tearsCold firesThat is what life is.No fairy godmothersor knights in shining armor.Only witches and cauldronsrecipes for disaster.There are no three wishesor steeds that fly.No hero, no powers,certainly no rewinds.Life is but timeflowing forward.Spent by little momentswe call ours.It is never enough,not once.Fragments engravedthey're left to remain.Not even our mind, our knowledgecan prolong our hours.To live them as they comeseconds remembered, never forgotten.To let them passby our envy and our pride.No wonder we are foolsboth then and now.Not one of usnot knowsof painof hurt.Making us relish,bathe in the honorof joyof loveOf life.There was never a vowof an easy way out.Forever there will be worknever will it be clean.Evil, never in absencebut nor will light and hope.Perhaps all we can dois to fight, to fall.To live and dieThat's all.
AspireThe ground of celestial perfection is infinity away from the tallest tower.