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No one understands him,

So he writes.

And he writes.

And then he writes some more.

He writes to remind himself who he is,

And why he still tries.

He writes to keep himself going,

When the weight of the world would rather keep him down.

He writes in the middle of the day,

Or maybe at the moons crest.

But still, he writes.

In place of the luring blade,

He finds his pen.

His lifeline.

He finds a blank page,

And digs deep within himself,

Attempting to take the mess inside,

And work it into a beautiful set of words.

When people look at him weird,

He writes to say what he feels.

When society tells him not to express the darkness,

He writes the shadows within.

Even as the sky would fall,

Still he would write.

The world in flames,

Ink will spread.



And so he writes. And writes more.

And onward, he writes.

COMMENTS

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Hesperus
05:27 Feb 17 2011

This is my favorite poem of yours so far, baby <3

Absolutely brilliant and beautiful, just like you ^_^

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Violently... I release the screams into my arms.

Silently... I feel the tears slip down my face.

This corner is my best friend,

The water over there could be a dull release.

I watch my life slip away,

The stitches holding my heart together,

Failing, and tearing open.

Each thought,

Is like cutting another artery out.

Soon,

I'll bleed no more.

Just like that,

My light flickers,

Then fades.



The blood seeps out,

Symbolicly, and sarcastically,

Telling me everythings leaving.

It sneers at me.

But what does it know?



These seven letters are etched.



PERFECT...

COMMENTS

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Muffin15
03:52 Feb 07 2011

wow -hugs-

your an amazing poet cupcake.

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POST COMMENT

And then I wonder,

Who am I?

And where are you?

And why do I do this?

And what lies around the corner?

And I wonder when this life will end?