found something in life that helps me express my feelings.
This is my escape from the world, writing my thoughts down on paper.
TORMENT OF A FATHER
loves no one,
anger is now gone.
all the pain was gone . . .
HAVE NO MEANING TO EVERYONE
of the distant past,
Littered with the debris of war,
The bodies of dead decayed warriors amass,
In the blood-stained fields ~
Amidst the chaos that
plagues the land,
Two massive, black-hearted warlords,
Are fastened in combat Ė
hand to hand.
Their ravaged troops
watch with scorn ~
From the clanking sounds
of this dispute,
One will emerge as the monarch,
Claiming the world as his tribute.
And the cloud-filled sky
will grow dark ~
isnít the way itís supposed to be!
Is it just a feeling?
Me, being all alone.
Friends are around,
surrounding me at all times.
If they are all here,
why is there still this empty space within?
My heart is filled with love,
yet missing the love of another.
Is it this hard to find another?
Apparently it is harder then I had imagined!
But, maybe he doesnít exist!
Could it just be a feeling?
Even though it is something that keeps
me up many a night.
Who is he that holds the key to my heart?
Does this perfect boy exist in this world
that is so imperfect?
One day I hope to find him!
Though I do not know exactly how he will be,
I hope he will be happy with just little old me.
As darkness swirls through the pockets of her mind,
A feeling of relaxation fills her once empty body.
As visions of her own tragic death flash before her eyes.
All the great problems of the world become as meaningless
as a gibberish word spoken by an unenlightened outcast.
Society's intellectual classes are packed with beings of
They are in reality, at the bottom of the pool, drowning in
their own selfishness.
They are insecure, while shocked, and bewildered
onlookers feel nauseated by the careless display of low
Their self-destruction shown by this girl who now lies, in a
flowing sea of blood.
This blood upon the cold worn floor of a public restroom.
After the boom of the gun that's clasped in her pale hand.
That was once held firmly towards herself,
She was a small innocent teen, without the love and
nurturing of another.
Truth About Love
Love is like the thunder,
the rain is the beat.
Steady but rocky,
through passionsí defeat.
Pain is like sunrise,
with clouds passing by.
Sunrise renewal . . . .
The heart starts to die.
We are the flowers,
when stems break apart.
The petals descend,
And whatís left is a heart.
|IM A KILLER
I sense the tension as I leave the building
Vicious protesters queue along the wall,
Carrying signs plastered with miniature coffins.
I understand their positions
Harsh curses amplify their violent animosity -
Their chants echo in my head.
Unexpectedly, my head lowers with shame.
I didn't think this act would really affect
the rest of my life, but I don't regret it!