Welcome to a rather dark place, ladies and gents.

Everyone gets sad or angry, and everyone deals with it in their own way. Some people cry, some eat, some torture those around them psychologically, I write somewhat depressing and/or dark poetry. Much of it is confusing. Very few rhyme. Some aren't even poems, just random strings of concious thought.

It's not good, but it is, for the most part, coherant. And it's me.

Enjoy.

If you like anything here, don't post a response, just drop me a message. Random messages make me happy.

Love is blind.
Blindfolded truth.
Justice is blind.
Blinded by the light.
With all the blind eyes in the world,
I guess I can see why
You can't see me.

Bubble World

What? I ask,
Tilting my head slightly.
Are you happy in your little bubble?
She asks again.
Completely free of the world
And its troubles?
I blink once, twice.
I'm not stupid, I tell her.
She sighs, shaking her head.
Just go home, she says.
Go home, sit in your bubble,
Ignore the world, I don't care.
I don't ignore the world, I say.
Of course you don't. she replies.
You just live in one of your own,
Free of violence, anger, drugs, war…
Her voice trails off, then she asks,
Would you mind if I join you?

By Any Other Name

A rose by any other name,
Will still wither with age.
Wilting, dying, crumbling.
Away to nothingness.
But is it truly gone?
No, if the root is still there,
The rose will grow anew.
Replacing the fallen bud of its senior.
It will be another rose, by another name,
And it too will someday crumble to dust.

A Poem, But Not Really

My mind skips.
Philosophy in a teacup.
An endless river of dreams.
A never-ending story, coming to a close.
Unstable emotions.
Laughable kisses.
A detached love.
An unrestrained passion.
A senseless conflict.
One last bullet.
My dreams are gone.

Confessions of a Heartbreaker

"I love you"
Three simple words.
Aishiteru.
J'taime.
They're the same thing, aren't they?
But neither aishiteru,
Nor j'taime,
Fell from your lips.
Just three simple words.
I
Love
You.
And I ran.
And you wept.
But I never went back.
Are you still waiting for me?

Empty

A single,
Sultry glance,
Shot over
An empty wine glass.
A sizzle of passion
Ignites the air.
Bits and pieces
Of memory cometh
Upon finding
My empty
Bed.

"I Am" Poem

I am a murderer.
I am cold and precise.
I wonder if I should feel guilty about this.
I hear the anguished cries of my victims.
I see their bodies mangled on the ground.
I want redemption for my sins.
I am an assassin.

I pretend to lead a normal life.
I feel blood, coursing hotly over my hands.
I touch my family with these bloodstained hands.
I worry that they might be dragged into this some day.
I cry for no one.
I am a killer.

I understand the consequences of my actions.
I say, to hell with them all.
I dream of a purer life.
I try to keep my loved ones safe.
I hope they never see the other side of me.
I am a murderer.

My Grey Heart

My unloved heart is dying.
The blood is slowing
The air is fading.
My poor grey heart
Is turning black.

No Such Thing as 'True Romance'

There's no such thing as true romance,
There's no such thing as love.
There's no such thing as loneliness,
There's no such thing as hope.
Feelings are an illusion,
Emotions are a lie.
There's no such thing as true romance,
So remember that as you cry.

Our Dying Earth

I sit and look around my world.
I see nothing but pain.
I hear seductive lies whispered by the governments forked tongue.
I can feel my world dying as I stand upon its marred flesh.
I see the pockmarked effects of war upon my planets skin, borne by the cancerous creatures called mankind.
I see the plastic smiles and synthetic bodies worn by societies ‘elite’.
I smell their fear of being found imperfect.
I need to know where our world went wrong.
At which point did we begin to care more for ourselves than our beloved home?
Our beloved, life-giving Earth?
I want to know when we will start caring again.
See, hear, want, need, but cannot say a word.

Side-View Mirror

I stare out the car window,
Side-view mirror makes me sad.
What the hell did I do
To make you hate me so bad?
The words on the mirror
Have changed, I fear.
"Objects in mirror
Are closer to tears than they appear."

A cold wind, blowing through the leaves of forever-green trees,
Rustling in anger at being chilled, being disturbed.
Trash-laden ground beneath my feet,
Dead leaves, scattered across exposed roots and dying bushes.
A murmur of complaint from the palms, the ivy on them swaying in the breeze.
Ferns and more struggling for life among the fallen leaves and red wood they inhabit, begging for an end to the cold and the beginning of rain.
The roots of a shuddering oak try to trip me, angered that I dare to walk upon them.
Poor little faux-field, you have my sympathies.
False nature surrounded by white walls and red doors,
And crushed by the old gazebo, made of what you once were.
There is no room in this sad place for beautiful things and so, if only for a short while longer, you must suffer,
My poor field that might have been.

Sticks and Stones

Sticks and stones may break your bones,
But words are much worse.
Words can break your heart.
A false ‘I love you’ is more painful than all the stones in the world.
Words can shatter the soul.
‘I’m sorry, there’s nothing we can do’
Is worse than a bat to the skull.
Words can’t hurt your body,
But they can kill the rest of you.
If sticks and stones can break your bones,
And words can break your heart and shatter your soul,
I’d rather have the sticks and stones.

Sorrow

Tears.
Stupid, useless things.
Come when you don’t need them,
Stay when you do.
Have you ever been in a situation,
Where you need to cry, but can’t?
I have
Have you ever tried SO hard to be brave,
Only to find yourself sobbing?
I have.
Have you ever tried to laugh,
And find yourself crying instead?
I have.
Do you hate so hard that you cannot love?
I do.
Have you ever fallen in love?
I have.
Have you ever been hurt by love?
I have.
It makes you feel like you can fly,
Only to be shot out of the sky by cupid’s arrow.
Can you move on after you’ve been hurt?
I can’t. I never will.

The Lament of Lord Morpheus

O siblings how I mourn for you!
Young Delight, turned so suddenly to Delirium.
Sister Death given life, only to have it snatched away.
My brother, Destruction, abandoning our family in favor of a mortal existence.
Desire, who so foolishly succumbed to passion.
And you, Destiny, my eldest brother, having to stoically watch it all, never interfering.
Only you, my sister Despair, twin of Desire, only you remain unchanged.
You have gained the world from the sadness of our brethren.
But to what cost?
To have a piece of mind that none of our siblings can overpower you?
You have taken nothing from me.
Over the countless centuries, I have found that I have nothing more to lose.

Musings of the Endless

Said Rage unto her masters,
“If I did not exist, would there still be anger?
If Desire did not exist, would we still lust for those we cannot have?
If Dream did not exist, would our sleep be a blank void?
If Death did not exist, would we still die?
If Despair was gone, would we feel sadness?
Would there still be drunks without Delirium to guide them?
Would there still be war without Destruction?
Do the Endless exist to conform to the will of humans?
Or perhaps, humans exist to conform to our will.
My brethren, we control their fates as well as ours.
Tell me, O beloved siblings,
If Destiny had never been, would life cease to be?”

Existence

Life.
A meaningless existence.
A worthless excuse for being
Pathetic days of enslavement.
To live, only to die.
Death.
Eternal release.
Peace of mind and body.
The final stage of pain.
Freedom at last.

Life of a Sinner/Saint

Why am I here? Why do I exist?
I'm here to be witty and sarcastic in situations that don't warrant it,
To laugh at funerals,
To annoy the hell out of everyone I meet,
Yet still have them come back every time.
I exist because whatever almighty being that everyone seems to believe in
needed a good laugh.
I'm here to write the great American novel, then tear the manuscript to shreds.
I'm here to sing the perfect song, then erase the tape.
I'm here to create; yet I exist to destroy.
I'm here to love; yet I was born to hate.
I'm here because I'm needed; yet I exist to help no one.
I was born to be an enigma, yet I exist as a paradox.
I am here to be whatever you want me to be, but I will never take an order.
No one can chain me down.
I am here to be free.

Pain

Pain.
What is this feeling we call pain?
Is it the soul-searing hurt associated with loneliness?
The empty feeling of heartbreak?
Is pain the euphoria of being freed from a cell?
The wonder of shedding tears of mirth?
Or is pain simply how we express our anger?
To hurt others in order to save our own hearts.
To me, pain is a feeling as vast as space, spiraling off into nothingness.
Falling and hurting, while trying to escape a bleak existence.
A world of hurt.
When it hurts so much that you want to laugh and cry and scream, all at once.
And then it stops, disappears as if it never existed.
Only leaving behind the memory of the anguish felt, and nothing more.
Leaving you frightened and anticipating, until your own personal hell returns.

On Angels Wings

I want to fly with you.
Please, God, don’t lock me out.
To dance through the air,
To sing with the clouds.
I want to fly on an angels wings
Just to be with you.
Please, O Lord, release me from my prison.
Let me fly free.
Let me be alive.
I want to soar with angel’s wings.
Soar with you through the sky.
For should I be without angels wings,
I shall surely die.

I want to stop loving you.
You broke my heart, broke my fucking heart,
But I can't bring myself to let you go.
I tell myself to be happy with who I am now,
Who I have now.
To stop pining away for something I can never have again.
But if you don't want me anymore,
Why send someone to spy on me?
Why write to me?
When looking for someone new,
Why look for someone just like me?
I should hate you.
You used me, tried to change me, and for what?
Nothing.
I have someone who loves me for who I am, now.
And I love him.
Like I could never love you.
He doesn't make me cry.
Why is it, even now, the thought of you makes me cry?
I hate you.
But try as I might,
I can't stop loving you.

We were never together,
Because we never had the chance.
But whenever one of us would have our heart broken,
We would run to each other.
You're my rock, my port in the storm.
I like to think that I am yours as well.
People that don't know us think that we're together.
People that do know us think that we should be together.
But we're not.
I have someone that I love,
While you're looking for your next heartbreak.
I know it's wrong to say that, but you only ever choose people that will hurt you.
It's a self-destructve process.
It's why we could never be together.
I would hurt you the worst of all.

WHATSIT

I was once a child, running screaming throught the night.
With a tattered, holey dress and a dirt-streaked face, I was the one no one wanted.
I caused other children to scurry away in alarm, my fearsome mannerisms scaring the bravest of my peers.
I was alone and unwanted, but I wasn't lonely.
No matter what happened, no matter where I went, the Whatsits would find me and put me at ease.
They soothed my tears, quieted my screams.
They'd become a giant pair of arms, holding me close.
The Whatsits were intangible, yet real.
They had no true form, but I could hold them in my hands, nuzzle one with my cheek.
My Whatsits would never abandon me.
Then the years started passing, and I started growing up.
I stopped running, stopped screaming.
I traded my dress for faded jeans, cleaned my face, and smiled.
Slowly, others came to notice, even appreciate my presence.
I was no longer alone, and yet the Whatsits still stayed by my side, no matter what.
I loved them, and they loved me.
And then, all at once, they were gone.
My Whatsits vanished, and He appeared.
He was the missing half of my soul, the one I'd always been searching for.
He had large, warm, comforting arms, the same arms I'd known all my life, and when He held me, I knew that I'd never been alone, would never be alone again, because He had been with me all along, and with me He would stay.
My lovely, warm, wonderful Whatsit boy.

Artistic Expression

I want to draw you.
I want to draw the subtle lines of your face,
The way the tendons in your neck meet your shoulder,
The wide planes of your back.
I want to draw your hands, so much more graceful than my own,
The thin, tanned arms that are so much stronger than mine could ever hope to be.
I want to draw you alone, floating on the page.
I want to draw you as you sleep in school, your arms covering your face as you hunch over your desk.
I want to draw you in a way that reveals your true self, that shows the world who you really are.
I want to discover you, know you better than anyone else.
I want to draw you so that when you eventually leave,
(like everyone always does)
I'll have something that is real to remind me.