The Art of Anxiety

Anxiety breaths
in fear
and exhales
doubt.
He is married
to the art of
apprehension.

His mind
is a chaotic
disaster
of colliding
ideas,
crossing through
screams that could
drown out
the yelling
of time.

He hides
his eyes
behind his hair
(the kind of hair
that is the product
of the quick clipping
of shaky hands
and kitchen scissors)
and nervously
runs his paintbrush
through the mass
of not so timid colors.

His stress
stains the canvas,
leaving behind
restless splattered
words.

"I wish I could paint the world in beauty."
he whispers,
but his insides
are already speckled
with the dark colors
of suspense
and lost time.

Human Minds

We mutate our memories
and mix them
with moments
of the moon's grin.

Is there really
such thing as growth
when it only regenerates
the distruction
of our disappointments?

We capture moments
only to sever them
from the minds
of our children-

As this
broken-down globe
collects dust
in the corner
forgotten
amongst
our lust for life
and the collection
of lies
we continue
to count.

Some Words Are Not Ment To Be Whispered

Now,
each night he dreams
of her.

The same way
I had spent my nights
dreaming
the betrayal
of the one-winged angel.

I understand.
Sometimes peace
is the color of blood,
and not all betrayals
come from tinted minds.

I'm conjuring
countless memories,
only to constantly
shove them away

The world told me:
"We must forgive
the things we cant forget"

But what if
I want to forget
how to forgive?

I'm tired of living in loopholes.
Can't we just hunt monsters tonight,
and tell the wind to stop whispering his words?

Dear Enemy

I'm burying the truth,
so that i can
believe
in dignity.
In questions
and revolution
and ...
What's next?
Being lost with in the turbulence
is the real cost of time.
Listen.
Imagine the the world
at a glance
where good intentions
are hurting-
Tomorrow,
I'm praying for
limitless blue halos
scattered through out the mind
of a child.
I'm going to design
the sky
to fit into the confines of your hand,
so that you can tell the world
that each breath
brings clouds to their knees.
Dear Enemy,
I hope your fingers
brush the wings
of angels,
where
they can
finally
teach peace.

Lycan

I am nothing but a monster
Smiling through glazed eyes
and a human heart.
The moon's golden-blue gaze
struggles
within my hateful grasp.
Plummeting towards hell
I scream
I am death through the eyes of the killer
Life in the hands of Lucifer
Let the icy rain pour down from the sky,
Please wash away my terrible blood laced tears.
Did you know
that acceptance and hatred
are forms of the same poison?
Someday
I will burn before the gods who created me,
Kneel before the lives of mortals,
And beg
...forgive me

Languages of Metallic Love

It’s responsible
for that trip
to the hospital.

The fury of the fist
through the window
of the first floor.

Let the blade
kiss your lips,
See the beauty
in the blood.

Heaven is merely
that moment
in the photograph.

The heart
imprinted
upon the sidewalk.

What happens
when you fall in love
with the beating
of a still heart?

Angels
whisper only lies,
In languages
of metallic
love.

Slice

The knife lies in the corner,
Taunting me
Daring me to stab it into my cold flesh,
and feel the warmth of my blood
Flowing out of the wound…
Soaking into my soul...
My hands stained with fear I clutch the knife desperately to my chest
Silently I choke back a mangled sob
“Please —
don’t hate me.”
I press the blade hard against my skin,
waiting for the glimmer of crimson red blood
“Cutter.” She cries
I slice.
My soul abandoned in shredded tatters
from this hollow-hearted attempt at righteousness
I collapse onto the ground
The only proof of my existence
left behind in fading scars.

Nightmares

Why are you crying my dear?
Your sobs so loud and broken,
Was it dreams of him again?
Maybe it's the monsters of greed and selfishness that haunt your thoughts.
I long to protect you.
Use me to muffle your screams,
I wont mind.
I promace not to leave you like he did,
Cold and alone.
I'll cradle you softly until the damage fades away,
because only your pillows know the weakness of your tears.

Why?...

Everything's black,
but the world still spins in dizzying circles.
As tears cold enough put liquid hydrogen to shame
pour stubbornly down my face.
I try not to make a sound
as my sobbs become louder and more violent.
Pounding out against my chest,
they strike.
Again and again.
My mind rages war against my unwilling body,
And my heart is sucked deep into an exploding supernova of thoughts.
Why?...

I Am From Poem

I Am From…

I am from sharpie marks and ink stains, and finger prints from long ago left as tiny reminders that we were there.

I am from random surprise attack hugs that knock the breath out of you and leave you laughing until you can no longer stand.

From adrenaline and learning to fly off the edges of sanity.

I am from dark hallways filled with endless doors leading into my mind.

From splatter paint and building club houses out of sheets.

I am from secret smiles, carefully hidden away so that only we can find them.

From moments of impulse that you can never forget.

I am from scars and stains left in blood, and lies so that they won’t worry.

From insomnia and Mountain Dew and running around in circles just for the hell of it at 4 a.m.

I am from the barks and yips of wolf pups and the sound of the moon singing.

I am from pretending to be Batman and dancing to theme songs we made in our heads.

I am from nightmares and waking up sobbing.

From forests with hidden waterfalls.

I am from doodling on Converse and writing lyrics on the walls of my mind.

I am from a jagged pen and quick cuts to take away the pain.

From using you as a shield against craziness, flying food, and whatever else the world decides to throw at us.

I am from … forever.