GREAT WHITE MOONI am the one who keeps awake to watchClouds drift across the great white moonThe sandman often withholds from meBeads from which dreams are sewnMy memories of love haunt meStill pure--like a new born doveGreat white moon with me tonightSpeak to me from the skies aboveFor so long I have been suffocatedBy the loneliness I cannot breatheI open the window to let in air, butThe night stares blindly back at meHis ghost stands in the dusty curtainsThen disappears without a traceLike clouds across a pool, I readHis thoughts across his ghostly faceI know him well, I remember himHis eyes I once thought divineOnce when I prayed for his heartBelieving it could be mineStaring at the ghost fondly thusWhat vision should I see?None, but my own pale yellow faceThat grins and mimics meClouds shift across the great white moonI listen to the ticking of the clockThe calendar says a year has passedChanged only is the door's lockSleep finally comes to close my eyesAsleep, in t
In My Fight For My Rights...I traded one prison for another
SanctuaryThere is no music playing for this soul to tapEverything I've learned seems like a long thread that will snapMy discontentment, my loneliness deepensWith the brightness of the advancing springSince I am no longer a part of it's joy,Or the warmth that sunshine ought bringEvery affection is like an aching nerveWhich music has always tended to servePassionate cries of imprisoned spiritssend tortured vibrations through meBooks are now barren source of comfortThis empty soul needs more to be freeIn stories I search for what reality wont perceiveThat there is some truth to the make believeI can make dream worlds of my ownBut no dream shall satisfy me nowI want the answers to the questions of lifeOnly that will pacify me nowThus I yearn for wisdom, thus I in turn despiseA certain mirage that would now and then riseWhat is real learning and true wisdom ?Such as great men of wars and art learned-The secret of life, by only the deepestOf hearts is such understanding earned
Walk AloneFrom the day I was born-have I not been-Committed to dreams and committed to kinThe others-they laughed, they sang and they playedI watched them from a corner- lonesome, dismayedI passionately yearned for the beautiful-the gladBut I felt locked in a chamber- so silent, so sadLike a weed in a garden, born from a dormant seedI continued to watch them- thirsty with needMy wondering mind kept looking to the skyLike a rose in winter- it would whither and dieThe others- they found that dreams do come trueMe? I found demons-always blocking my viewSinging my song in a different toneI walk your road-but I walk alone
Love IncompletelySometimes when I come back I'll be here waiting for youImagining your lovely voiceTouching more of me than eyes could see.And when you do come back you are my breathless darlingMy sweet sleepyhead, lying on top of meSoft pools of lust at my feet.So as I am looking into the river of love in your eyesI know I probably will be waiting for you again impatientlyLike a flower waiting for the sun to rise at night, incompletely.
LifeA fleetingmomentof indefiniteconsciousness
Human After AllDear inner consciousness, I'm not sure this will work, but it's worth a try.I know it's hard on you. Doing what's morally right, not doing what you want, whenever you want. I'd rather procrastinate and laze my life away instead of trying these horrifically productive activities that you force me into. I'd rather throw all my responsibilities into the trash, instead of being bound by endless promises.Then I know that you get tired sometimes, restraining my wild emotions and my tendency to run into walls. (Which I'm told comes to everyone at some point in their lives) We've all heard the cliché, "I'm trying to discover myself," but broken tape or not, there's a reason why it's cliché. I get a little depressed here and there, jealous of "that girl next door," and feeling very insignificant to the universe. Then again, there are moments where my head inflates bigger than a hot air balloon, so it bala
NagasakiWas that a trembling of the ground?And did I hear the tell of guns?If so it were a single roundOf magnitude, oh what a sound!To break the Nagasaki airAnd now the rush of summer rains?What evil shakes my windowpanes?What thunder, what fighting?What battles and lightning?Why the flash in Japan's skies?Where the roof and how such heat?Why a blindness in my eyes?And why the stink of searing meat?
Razor Blade Symphony: Ch. 13"What the hell were you thinking last night?" Clary cried.We sat in my room. She paced the floor and threw her arms in the air dramatically. I sat on the bed with my hands folded between my legs. I felt like a little girl getting yelled at by my mother.She sighed. "What exactly did you do last night?""I don't remember," I shrugged. I felt terrible about lying to her but I didn't want to get yelled at anymore. I had enough guilt without her weighing me down more.She grunted and turned away from me. "How do you not remember?""Alcohol?" I was getting annoyed."I turned around and you and Andy were gone!" She continued. "I looked for you and all I can find was Andy's door locked."I didn't remember the doorknob moving after Andy locked it. I shrugged. "I'm sorry, I don't remember anything.""Promise?" Clary looked me straight in the eye for the first time for more than a couple of seconds since we locked ourselves in my room. "I would like to know if something happened. I am not going
Seeds.Holding onto memories of those terrible nights within your grasp is beginning engrave words in your skin and in your thoughts. You can let it all follow around you in the clouds you inhale and the stomach acid you release after those long secluded nights because after all everything is a memory someday. Holding onto your deteriorating past denies it the chance to decay and bloom from the remnants that are leftover. Your hands don't seem quite so soft and your fears not so subtle. They're rising to the surface along with all the other baggage you deny holding because you're terrified to let it out. Its scratching at your skin from the inside, tearing apart your soul and dancing through your veins. It's tearing up your heart with the claws you just let grow and its holding onto your lungs tightly until there isn't enough room for a last breath.This could have meant something special and delicate. Like the feeling of skin on skin and when you can hear their heartbeat as your h
8. Truth is... somethingpeople don't needthey live easier without itbut not better