Saturday, November 12, 2011

the music scene

Beginning in dull and lingering dark
Shades of blue leave figures stark
Entertainment seeps into machines
And from that power the screen gleams

Spawning forms from within itself
Human matter emerging wealth
Interference runs as nature sees
Animals come then hide in trees

Explosions of colour as they are exposed
Victory over beasts is now supposed
As they’re stripped they form one stream
Moving in one hallucinogenic dream

Overcome with force to their roots
Racing to place as vibrancy shoots
Meshed in tight to rebuild strength
Consistency of the right length

Harvested to recreate human cases
Creatures lay dormant with ribbon bases
Reconstructed as man by media’s power
The ribbon it wound is there to devour

Building the scene for them to remain
Displaying what they must obtain
Feeding of knowledge through the apple
Hoarding the minds machines aim to grapple

Equipment unites as one to avoid weather
Destroying all humans to make one better
Bursts pop and coil from their minds
Vivid colours thread new lines

Combined in whole they sit still
Content until the beasts come shrill
Fed to strong the bond must break
And animals find whats theirs to take

Competition struggles between the two
Then a machine is produced of the new
But when demands climb too high
Unsustainable, the fetus will die

And death brings aid for other life
The beasts will rest without strife

Friday, June 17, 2011


This is it.
will affect the rest of your
This one choice
you make
On your own.

With success,
Opportunity shines
to be taken.
Risks need
To become obstacles to overpower,
turn out

outside influences. Try
to change
your determination,
and will
make you question
your passion
your goals,
whatever you pick,
will be

one decision
leads to
For others, as well as you.

now read backwards

Tuesday, November 30, 2010


I don't want to live in my Dreams,
Where nothings as it seems.
I don't want to live in my Dreams,
When I don't know what it means.
I can't see through these lies,
Surfacing inside me as spies,
Creating a clever disguise,
Cloaking the Worlds within my eyes.
I wish that I could distinguish,
What I want from what I see,
So I could extinguish,
The bad Dreams inside of me.

Confusion about what's real,
As thought and mind fight,
I don't know what to feel,
Even with everything in sight.
My Dreams play with fire,
My mind is a liar,
My thoughts are placed higher,
Which do I desire?
I want to live in my Dreams,
Where nothings as it seems.
I want to live in my Dreams,
To find out what it means.

Monday, June 7, 2010


Forces strain the whole way down
drips pushed into the ground
eyes are heavy, crushed by lids
lips turn down among the kids
skin droops like aging stress
volume escapes in every breath
gravity is clasping down on me
if eyes could open, they would see

Skeleton in me

White cage, dry and composed of dust,
protruding out through my bust.
Constructed larger then one needs,
these pale structures are my seeds.
Told I would grow around them all,
but I never could get that tall.
Everything I am made to do,
I can't, for nothing else grew.

Saturday, December 26, 2009


I am a perfectionist.
I haven't noticed before,
that I crave for perfection,
to wait behind every door.
Hidden from glances,
protected between stares,
my longing is not apparent,
unseen by judging glares.
My dirty gross secret
is covered with my eyes,
used to portray false feelings.
But it leaks out through my lies.
My actions don't show me aiming for perfection,
but I am, just striving for my own conception.

Monday, November 30, 2009

Stroll through mortality

Rushing though sparse hallways; Rushing to not be late
Noticing nothing, As I hurry to my fate
Routine displays its boredom, expressed in my apathetic ways
I'll be back to race this path, in just six short days
There is no thought as I move, I'm driven by the familiar surrounding
Reaching the room, I sit and wait, No emotion abounding

On the way out, I slow my pace,
With this I'm forced to notice each passing face,
Stained with Sadness, Cursed with Wonder, Stressed with Pain.
Their tears burst through; there's never a face kept sane
Perspective swarms into me, as I view their malaise.
How lucky am I? To know, in time, my sickness will phase.

Sunday, October 4, 2009

The Study

With a steady shriek, the elaborately carved, wooden door began to glide shut. In front of it stood a young boy, intently staring back at the closing passage from which he came. His red hair was tightly combed and gelled back against his head. His light, almost translucent blue eyes were penetrating the door, unable to break contact. Ghostly ivory skin, contrasted by the dull red hair, laminated the boy's face, showing few solemn red freckles which decorated his face. He was wearing all black, dressed up, like he was going to a formal event.
The slow, whining door finally clicked completely shut, and the boy began ruffling his hair, and disheveling his clothes. Seeming satisfied with his new look, the boy gazed around the room. With his eyes now much softer, he swiveled his head to observe old fashioned surroundings. Centred in the rather large, relatively empty room, a turquoise, curvy chair had been placed on dusty hardwood floors, its gold snaps aligning the fabric with the wooden frame. Across from this sat a book shelf, not impressive in size, nor its collection, yet adequate.
Walking over to the book shelf, the boy that once looked so formal and professional, now seemed like any other kid just bopping along. He examined the books, scanning through the sideways titles. As he searched, his posture tightened and his red ruffled hair began to fall flat due to the weight of the gel. When he finally picked one, he placed his finger on it and froze. Appearing in deep thought, perhaps about his next action, he suddenly broke concentration and grabbed the book as his hand slid off the shelf and crashed down to his side. Ruffling his hair once more with his other hand, he rashly made his way to the chair.
As the boy was reading, his forced relaxed posture became more natural, and once in awhile, a slight smile would crack upon on his face. The pages floated to turnover for him, as his hand gently prompted them; he was eager, yet not rushing to the end. Radiating a feeling of completion, the book crisply shut, and was delivered back to the shelf. Almost the instant the book was pushed into place, a loud, shrill sound broke into this temporarily shut off mind.
“Lewis!” The boy sharply spun around. The shrill voice seemed to snap him into hysterics, and he quickly marched out of the room. Pulling the door closed, and then slowing it and turning the knob so it didn't make a sound as it shut completely, the boy vacated his realm of relaxation. His posture stiffened, he tucked in his shirt, and attempted to flatten his hair. His eyes turned vacant and hard, as they were before.
“Lewis? Where were you? They were looking worried.” The shrill voice now took a quieter tone, though still hard, cold and somewhat annoyed. Lewis looked at his sister, as though it was obvious and she just wasn't cluing in. His stare was met by an indignant look from his sister, as if he had been rude. “Well? Where were you? That silly stare isn't going to let me know.” She rolled her eyes. Changing his gaze from a failure of communication to a stare down. “Just don't worry 'bout it.” he replied, and pushed past her in the narrow hall.
“Well, dinner's ready and Mother won't like that attitude!” she exclaimed after him, regaining her balance. But by this time he was aways down the red carpet lined hallways approaching the stairs. Grasping a fancy, iron rod banister, he slowly and gracefully made his way down the stairs, his face stripped of emotion.
The dark, wooden oval table took up the majority of the sizable dining room. Decorated with a gold cloth covering the entirety, with a thin, red runner streaming along on top. Around the table sat three people; Lewis, Mother, and Father. All of them were spaced a few feet apart, and there was an empty chair across from Lewis. Perhaps the chair was for his sister, or just for aesthetic balance in the seating arrangement. Not much conversation occurred; just the clattering of knives and forks, along with the occasional throat clearing from Father, a sign to straighten up.
“Son, what have you been doing?” Lewis's father looked uneasy, as if he was nervous, or even scared to address Lewis. Lewis seemed surprised that his father bothered to make conversation, and nervous at this rare occurrence. He was tempted to lie to keep his secret, but given this uncommon interest shown, he decided to respond accordingly. “Reading in my study.” Lewis's father, growing more uncomfortable, made eye contact wearily with his wife, who jumped in with “You don't have a study honey, don't lie to us.”
Lewis nodded. As if they had confirmed his belief that they just didn't ever believe him. His expressionless face contradicting the confused, concealed expressions around him.

“I'm worried.” Said the mother, her voice laced with panic and dread. “He's been lying more lately, and he disappears a lot.” The room was spacious and grand, containing a king-sized bed and high-end furniture. “He'll be fine,” grunted the father. “He can't be doing anything harmful.” he hastily added on, not so confident. Clearly uncomfortable with the topic at hand, he tried to make a break out the door. “You can't just ignore it! Your son has a problem, and the least we can do is maybe pay him some attention.” she cried out. The father left the room, mumbling “We don't know that.”
Back upstairs, Lewis had another encounter with his little sister in the hallway. She smiled at him, in that way that you can tell something supposedly clever is about to emerge from it. “Off to read in your study?” pursing her lips to keep from laughter. Lewis pushed by, and she called after him, “You know, they think you're crazy.”
With this Lewis swung back around, “Well why aren't you crazy? Everything always has to be perfect, I can't have any time to just relax! Everyday there's so much to do, and there's never time to do it all! So why even try? Go do what you want to do! Find your own study!” by the end of his little ramble he was near shouting. His sister was taken a back, “ you are crazy.” And with that she seemed to just disappear.
Angry, Lewis marched back to the door that lay before his study. His pace quickened. He, once again, ruffled his hair and disheveled his shirt, preparing to enter his retreat. Wasting no time with trying to conceal it as a secret, he shoved open the door. As he did so, papers flew up from the floor and scattered into new disorganized messes.
Frantically, Lewis swiveled his head, searching for the chair; the books. But they were all gone. Replaced by stacks upon stacks of endless papers, toppling over on each other and mixing. Lewis did not understand. He raced into the room, as if not believing the objects there just before dinner were gone. Then on the floor, he saw a familiar page. A page right out of the book he had just been reading that morning.
His sister then entered the room. The confused expression on his face urged her to ask him the questions he had been struggling with. “Is this your study?” she asked. “It was.” he replied, still in shock. “Well what happened to it?” she pressed. “I don't know. It's like it just... started to go away... everything is scattered.” He answered in confusion. “Isn't that the point of this place? To not be so organized and uptight?” she smiled. “Huh?” Lewis stuttered.

Just then he noticed his parents standing beside him. “Why are you in this empty room?” His mother questioned, her voice trembling, “Oh, is this your study?” she concluded on her own. Confused as to why she called his messy study 'empty,' he turned back to his sister. “Do you think the room's empty?” he demanded.
A deep, worried voice came from his father, “Who are you talking to, Son?”

Friday, September 4, 2009

Mess Up

A stroke is taken, the canvas is stained.
All this paint used; with nothing gained.
Intending to fix, only to worsen,
what was already perfect to certain eyes.
As the stroke is taken,
the artist sees the ways of this demise.

The project was done; and already quite great,
but the artist felt it wasn't all he could demonstrate.
With a second look back at his work, it seemed worse.
He found that there were flaws; undiagnosed.
In frustration of ignorance he hurried,
and in the stroke of thick paint, the masterpiece was engrossed.

Saturday, August 22, 2009


Pressure is rising.
You can feel it in your head, the air is so thick it hurts.
The clouds above drape the entire sky in dark, heavy silence.
Your mind goes someplace else, escaping it's throbbing enclosure.
Decisions aren't thought, actions aren't made, nothing is done.
The blanket overhead separates us all.
nothing out of mouths is right,
nothing seen from eyes is trusted,
everything heard in ears ring,
all that is smelt is rain.

Further away, you see the drapes falling,
you see the dark leaking, the weight stretching through.
It's like the blanket is blending downwards,
reaching to touch ground.
The smell is overwhelming, the distant rain is sweet.
Then a jolt of lightening threads it's way down,
lighting the canvas of deep grays.
A smash of thunder tears the barriers
that were maintaining the pressure, and holding the rain.
Rain rushes down, covering everything with a glistening tint.
The pressure is lifted, and the rain is healing; comforting.
The worst has past; the storm is here.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Caught up

Galloping without control.
The feeling is good; free.
Wind playing violent games with your hair,
Blurs of colours passing; barely in sight.
Hearts are heard racing off the grounds,
Thuds of hooves are felt demanding dirt to fly from the ground,
Breathes come often, as if reaching to hold their place.
Out in front is what's desired,
If not obtained, all will race.
To be the first to encounter unknown.
To hop a tree fallen;
Across a creek;
Then higher and further,
Faster and harder,
Growing near the end.

Everyone skids to a halt.
Realization covers all faces,
As a cliff is reached, with no way down.
No way around, no way at all,
except over.

Recollection of the race enters all minds.
The wind stinging tearful eyes,
Wonders of colour, unseen.
Hearts striving in pain,
Sounds drowned by goals,
Breathes getting knocked away.
Everything was rushed,
Nothing was appreciated.
Now it's all gone.
This feeling is bad; empty.
We've galloped without control.


Something must not be right.
I can never sleep at night.
I'm kept awake with thought.
No matter how hard it is fought.
People come with pictures;
self portraits, what they like,
Something that's theirs.
It is completed as they live.
There are blueprints in place,
but the lines always give.
The lines can appear with perfection.
As long as the life drawn is happy,
but once filled with rejection,
The line will swerve a bit.
To mess everything up,
to show something doesn't fit.

Mine is traced with many swerves.
When I focus back I am not very happy,
I wonder what all these mistakes serve.
Every disappointment throws the line off,
Am I messing up my life completely?
The blue marks once seen are no where.
Am I too offtrack to fix it?
I think so,
Too bad there's no one to care.

Sunday, July 26, 2009


Memories aren't erasable from my mind;
they're gripped and locked with
all my desperation.
Canned and placed on my shelf;
like condensed, untouched spam.
Only peeled open for desperate times,
when I'm too sad to live through
new memories.

I wish sunshine wasn't stranded on a mountain.
I wish happiness could be plentiful;
with no need to be kept like spam.


Two perspectives, contradicting in one mind,
both blurred in speed.
One brain processing both sights,
both of which it must heed.
Split emotions,
half to match each view.
Complete opposites,
like a right and left shoe.
Slicing the mind in half;
visions never do merge.
Battling for comprehension;
before its body's surge.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009


White is like air.
It can display big, loud cities.
Or add pigment to a bird.
It's used to create vacant skies.
"Everywhere" whispers the artist, painting.

Road Rage

The stress of being late fills me with anger.
The dumbasses that surround me can't drive.
Frustrated dominates, though from other things it derived.
My patience is thin, time to render these fools.
They should be informed they'll be burned, to feel the anxiety I feel.

Misread Lines

Look up.
In the sky is a stinging brightness,
not like the sun’s blinding, dull light,
but more painful.
Like a mirror, showing light forms,
it’s like a rainbow of colours,
flooding out of a prism;
escaping the binding white light.
It's hard to tear your eyes away,
captured by overwhelming sparkles.
Notice it soars; traveling.
Think of what it is,
and of what it might do.

As this object moves,
the shine changes shape,
the sparkles shift to gray.
Wonder why.
Look up.
There's that glistening sun,
parallel to the ceasing sight.
The airplane is revealed,
boring and ordinary.
The airplane reflected the sun,
claiming nature's false glory.
Turns out it wasn't the machine,
but the nature, creating the story.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009


There's a sudden change;
I feel discomfort here.
This is too strange,
you're reason is not clear

I've been using you for a while,
this is the first irritation.
It's like I'm on trial,
for using you as a foundation.

You were working out great,
but now there's pain when we meet.
You're not carrying your weight,
and now there's blisters on my feet.

Friday, July 17, 2009


When I'm the last one awake,
When I'm the only one to shake,
You make it all better,
By just spending time together.

At the last moment I have,
In the breakdown where I melt,
Someone could pull me through,
How strange that it is you.

I love that you'll be there,
I love that you care,
But we're not all that close,
That's what I love the most.

You're not always there,
You're not always aware,
Just a nice friend,
With some time to lend.

Or can be if needed,
If I feel so defeated.

Although we're not terribly close,
Sometimes I feel you care the most,
You make me feel like your best friend,
Right until our time together must end.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Catch and Release

You're trying your best,
While doing what you please,
You get put to the test,
You're trying your best.
You spare the little pest,
Who's life you do seize.
You're trying your best,
While doing what you please.

They're caught in your action,
Building up your silly pride.
Reeled in to your satisfaction,
They're caught in your action,
But they are one subtraction,
That you will not easily hide.
They're caught in your action,
Building up your silly pride.

You think you're being kind,
Your thoughts have it wrong.
Games play over in your mind,
You think you're being kind,
By releasing your weary find.
And even though all along,
You think you're being kind,
Your thoughts have it wrong.

You always catch and release,
Freeing what's yours to free.
Your motivations keep peace,
You always catch and release,
But the hearts then do cease,
Shocked with what they see.
You always catch and release,
Freeing what's yours to free.

Monday, June 15, 2009

Twenty-Three Years

Together over twenty-three years,
Together for all the cheers,
Together shared tears.

Happy times come often,
When you marry wise.
I guess they got lucky,
To share views in each others eyes.

Futures are planned early,
But take spontaneous shifts.
I guess they got lucky,
To share in both these gifts.

Pressures come up quickly,
Causing situations that go amiss.
I guess they got lucky,
That they can get past this.

Growing together is both their goals,
Standing as trees, side by side,
Reaching through rooftops to extend souls.
Showing what they were once forced to hide,
By tree-tops up high in front of the sky,
Blocking the sun that's aspired to.
But you've seemed to make it by,
Despite tree-tops smothering you two.
I guess you two got lucky.

Stop it

I can see in your eyes,
That you view only flaws.
Plotting my demise,
Shredding me with your claws.

You never know everything,
You conceive it all on the spot.
You tell them anything,
It all adds to your fearsome plot.

I have to cover all in whit,
One flaw can determine it all.
If you see it, you'll expose it,
Pick it 'til it creates my fall.

Of all I'm ashamed you enhance,
It makes you laugh and smile.
But it also gives me no chance,
So maybe you can stop it for awhile.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009


This feeling might feel like a tease,
Probably because it's coming with ease.
When I get in to go, I simply turn the keys,
Then I hit down with my foot with please.
It's a bit of freedom of which to seize.

To go where I desire,
Meet who I admire.
Burn with my fire,
Which I'll never tire.
To gain what I acquire.

The pleasure of freedom grows,
As do responsibilities pose.
I'm not all there at the shows,
I can't make it to the final close.
But I can write opening prose.

Get it

This bad causes good,
This negativity brings light,
This trouble leads to happiness,
This means it's time to fight.

Go for the desired,
It can be acquired,
Just get inspired,
And act while it's fired.

Fight with the bad,
It might cause some good,
Even if it goes unseen,
You'll eventually find what you should.

The bad will always come,
But it's not forever evil.
Because out it can be twisted,
Though the hidden good isn't clearly listed.

Fight with the negativity,
It'll bring you to the light,
First go get lost in the dark,
Then discover the lighting that's right.

Bring your anger, bring your spite,
Her and now, with all your might.
These raves will lead you,
And make up actions to do.

Fight causing trouble,
It will lead to your goal,
You'll suffer greatly for this,
But the sacrifice will help your soul.

Give up a bit, give up much,
Find your sacrificial touch.
If your desires get you motivated,
By them you should be cultivated.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Faking Ignorance

I know exactly what I'm doing here
Though I'm pretending that I don't at all
I'm faking my way through this life with cheer
In front of you I fake and then I fall
If maybe I can let you know I know
That ignorance I show hides lies that call
For me to go be on some other show
What I know of me I choose not to share
I fear I know all of unpleasant truths
Of which I do not want to let you care
My mystery is for protecting youths
I cannot let you come to look inside
My memory lives but it fails to sooth
For all my lies give me reasons to hide

Fight to Prevent

Fighting is prevention.
That's when it's right.

When you end it before it begins,
That's a reason to start a fight.

Once it has started, then it becomes pointless,
Defense is contradictory, like a flower in constant night.

You fight back for peace, destroy to stop destruction,
Doesn't that sound wrong? Like an owl in the light.

When war is declared
All are scared
We become impaired
Without the thoughts we shared
Even though we once cared
Since we feel scared
We leave prepared
To fix what teared
By fighting others' who are scared?

Or maybe we're angry,
But that's just just to hide.

Hide our reasons,
And our fear inside.

If we fight to prevent, before anything even starts,
It might be over quick, though our actions won't be justified.

Taking full control, creating all tension as our own,
Like a rope pulled tight, we'll decide when it gets cut and tied.


Everywhere you go,
There is violence.
It just goes to show,
Our level of compliance.

It'll never stop,
No matter how hard we try.
We need to first be on top,
Then our efforts wouldn't turn shy.

We're all so small,
Maybe someone important and big,
Who should we call,
To fix this rig?

Which god can do it?
Whose is the best?
We must find this fit,
It will become our quest.

First we must agree,
Who rules over us.
But no one will see,
Anyone else's thesis.

We're doomed to keep debating,
As the times get worse.
All that will work is waiting,
Surviving through this curse.

It's just the cycle of behavior,
It's will turn with the earth.
When we decide on a savior,
We'll discover how little we're worth.

Violence will pass the times,
It just goes to show,
Cycles have mimes,
Everywhere you go.


Laying here awake.
Restless and absent minded.
Waiting for sleep to overtake.
Laying here awake.
Then my mind is what will suddenly wake.
Once the idea of sleep is blinded.
And ideas will morph into ones that make me shake.
And it my body in the sheets that will become binded.

Thoughts will race like flickering of light.
As the filter on my mind vanishes to candle is lit.
That then displays the shadows hidden in the night.
Thoughts will race like flickering of light.
The candle newly lit shines so bright.
As the exposed shadows turn my stomachs pit.
These flickering thoughts generate fright.
To the dancing shadow they are a fit.

Motionless I'll stay until I fall.
There's no alternative, I have no choice.
Asleep or death are the states that call.
Motionless I'll stay until I fall.
These shadows might just steal it all.
As I fall I discover there is a voice.
Coming from the shadows reflected on the wall.
Either state I'm drifting to I won't rejoice.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009


There's a reason what's ideal isn't real.

What's ideal is simply an opinion,
It changes with each mind.
If everyone got their ideal,
It's chaos we would find.
No happy solutions,
No end to all wrong,
Not everyone does what's right,
Everyone hums a different song.
For those who claim to know it all,
They really believe they're right,
Don't blame them for their final solutions,
Because what they don't understand ,
Is what's right by others,
Can be as different as oppositions of a fight.
Everyone thinks their way will work,
They'll fix everything in the world,
This crazy and corrupt place?
Opinions are swirled.
We can try for ideals,
It will result in many defeats,
Now let's realize what I'm preeching,
Before history repeats.
Just go with the flow,
Don't push to far,
You can fight for what you believe,
But don't make it bizarre.
Because you can't change the world,
Everything is fine,
We have problems all over,
But this is the cycle that continues to wind.
Ideal is impossible,
To achieve as real,
Just float with the breeze.
Is it twisted that this is my ideal?

Sunday, April 19, 2009

Competition [villanelle poem]

Life these days is way too competitive,
There is never room to loosen up and let it flow,
This competition is making lives so repetitive.

This competition is making lives so repetitive,
Practice makes perfect, perfection wins a show,
Life these days is way too competitive.

Life these days is way too competitive,
Intelligence isn't measured by what you know,
This competition is making lives so repetitive.

This competition is making lives so repetitive,
Everything's measured by memorization for a show,
Life these days is way too competitive.

Life these days is way too competitive,
It's too easy to get behind and below,
This competition is making lives so repetitive.

All these competition judges need to take a sedative,
And those competitors just need to let go,
Life these days is way too competitive,
This competition is making lives so repetitive.

Saturday, April 11, 2009

Every Child

Every child is born with a different talent,
Depending on how the child's raised it will develop.
Some grow and improve at a healthy rate,
But some get lost in their parents tyranny.

I've explored all my options,
Maxed out all possibilities,
Every attempt was shot down,
I exploited my failures trying to uncover my talent,
But I've learned,
I have no talent.

My parents are no tyranny,
They never beat me, or anything close,
They've always supported me, helped me, and loved me,
So it must be me,
I must not of started with a talent.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009


It proves to be hereditary
Not my problem, I don't suffer alone
My family is clumsy as well
It is accidents to which we are prone
Tripping and falling leaves cuts and bruises
Bumps and break, it's a wonder we're already dead
With every step and slip our family loses
We're no taken yet though, we're not who fate chooses
If we die, it's our accident that fate uses
It's are healing power that tempting fate abuses


You're living in a delusion.
Everything's contorted in this fusion,
All of it comes to form this allusion,
Here to give you this illusion.
Will real life come be an intrusion?
Will the impact cause a contusion?
It might seem to be an awful protrusion,
Pretend your world's making an extrusion,
But you do have to make this diffusion,
In order to make it to the conclusion,
Though pulled fresh from your world of delusion,
You're sure to be subject to massive confusion.

Mad World

All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for their daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
And their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow
And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you
'Cos I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It's a very, very
Mad World
Children waiting for the day they feel good
Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday
Made to feel the way that every child should
Sit and listen, sit and listen
Went to school and I was very nervous
No one knew me, no one knew me
Hello teacher tell me what's my lesson
Look right through me, look right through me

--Gary Jules
--Tears For Fears

Monday, April 6, 2009


I can't help but wonder what I would have been like,
If this didn't weigh me down, like I've always believed.
How great could I be? Or do I need this as my crutch?
To which I blame my failures on, and blame how I'm perceived?

I often wonder what I would have been like,
If this didn't give my failures repetition.
Would I be better? Whoever could I beat?
Because now I'm at the bottom of every competition.

If I was born under different blood,
Would I not have this burden?
I imagine that would be nice,
But would I be a complete different person?

Or is it something I did, something I caused,
An accident? A fall? Or a developmental lapse?
Doctor's can't tell, they lose credibility,
Or was something done in my head during one of my naps.

Would it even make a difference? Would I be better without it?
Was I destined for this so I'd have a chance?
Is it my savior from myself in disguise?
Or is it just the reason that I can't dance?

Wish to Sleep

Back and forth, here and there,
I just can't stop bouncing everywhere.

Like an pinball game I never stop,
Ricocheting off walls to the top.

Reflected and refracted, I'm not in control,
I keep getting pushed by some other soul.

I never stop, I can't be put to rest,
I always wish to sleep, it'd be the best.

I'm in constant movement, like a rubber ball,
I'm getting motion sickness, I'm ready to fall.

Human Interaction

You need some human interaction,
Stop straying all alone,
You need to talk to someone,
Pick up a phone.

You're always the same,
Always by yourself,
No one to place the blame,
Find others to share your shame.

There's no one you see,
Just your reflection,
So that's whose blamed,
If you don't get perfection.

No one's ever around,
Just your shadow,
Following down on the ground,
Stalking without a sound.

You need to relax,
You take on too much,
Find a friend,
Or someone to use as a crutch.

Look in the mirror,
You aren't being healthy,
Look back at the mirror,
Do you see me clearer?

I am your reflection,
Staring back at you,
This is what I see,
I believe this is your issue.

Not to be a social attraction,
Or to give you perspective,
But to keep your own traction,
You need some human interaction.

Saturday, April 4, 2009


I love the way you make me feel; cooped up, sheltered; safe from you,
I hate the way you keep me here; restricted, imprisoned; away from you.
I love the booming power you display,
I hate the threat in everything you say.
I love your element of surprise,
I hate when you're unpredictable with lies.
I love the roaring voice you use,
I hate the thoughts it makes me lose.
I love this feeling when I hate you,
Maybe that's why I'm ceased to fear you.

picture found on deviantart, by =00AngelicDevil00

Monday, March 30, 2009

Forced Masochism

I'm interested in the masochist type,
They wouldn't be the blissed type.

I'm bored of what surrounds me here,
And what's here is the pacifist type.

I'm sick of being watched and judged,
And annoyed by the analyst type.

I'm wondering who wouldn't care,
Somewhat of a dismissed type.

I'm questioning just what it'd take,
To be with the apathist type

I'm wanting to understand emotions,
Especially the pissed type.

I'm ready to witness pain,
And not only the fist type.

I'm needing to see less plans,
Should just leave the list type.

I'm guessing how and why,
Certain people aren't the kissed type.

I need to meet someone new,
So Carolyn can be the missed type.


This is my pokerface.
I put it on everyday,
To hide emotion, to conceal any trace.
When i'm hurt, when i'm sad,
When i'm happy or mad.
If I feel it will stream out too much,
As if it's a natural disaster I can't control,
Rather than the preachings of my very soul.

My eyes get all dazed,
When I want to be someone else,
And I'll get distant and phased.
Like a volcano, envy and sadness will flow,
Sadly, my true thoughts it will show,
I'll become a spewing mound of truth and despair,
Erupting strong and slowly dispersing,
Engulfing every by stander with my cursing.

Sometimes I like to keep it quiet,
When I get too happy or hopeful,
I avoid the starting of a riot.
But then it pops open to avoid imploding,
Like champagne, uncorked and exploding
Then fizzing up, right over the top,
My excitement never can just sit,
Though I'd rather keep it private.

But with my pokerface,
I can filter my expressions
It's my idea of grace,
It can stop the volcano's eruptions,
Mute all of it's corruptions,
'Cuz sometimes they need to hide,
Like all my excited joyous notions,
In my corked bursting bottle of emotions.

When I need to focus,
I try to dispatch my thoughts,
But flash floods of feelings own us,
Emotions power is universal,
Controlling us in one big rehearsal,
Drowning all with random thoughts,
Feelings that overcome and pour out,
Maybe in happiness, or in times of doubt.

Feelings are personal,
Keep them close and contained,
Emotions aren't merciful.
They will show it all,
With no cushion for when you fall,
Don't bottle them up, just keep them reserved,
For expressing there's a time and place,
but for now, go put on your pokerface.


I am a thorn,
No beauty intended,
Prickly and cold,
Staying away is recommended.

I can't be pretty,
My pain can be pinching,
Get to close,
And you'll need no convincing.

My job is simple,
I'm the obstacle to get by,
I protect the better,
Now I'm questioning why.

Reason one would stop at the thorn,
I do not know,
But on the way up to the top,
Some do stop before they go.

In the last while,
I've learned to accept my position,
Sure, it makes me cry,
But I see no quick transition.

I know I really shouldn't,
And I haven't up until now,
but why should I pretend,
I have no 'wow.'

I have nothing in fact,
That's what separates me from above,
That's why I get left behind,
When we test the love.

Those budded above, they like me,
They give me my pride,
For the overall effect they need me; why?
Of course; the protection I provide.

They get all the attention,
I'm just a prop,
That they throw around,
To harvest their crop.

I'm just a thorn,
prickly and cold,
no beauty intended,
not delicate, but bold.

But why complain?
There are lots of us,
Those who lead up to others,
For us there's no fuss.

I'm not the only one who feels like this,
I know there are more,
Am I any different?
Or are we all an equal bore.

No Destiny

There is no destiny; no one is controlling your traction,
No apparition determines your life like a fraction.
Blame can't be shared for any eternal dissatisfaction,
No fate can decide your course of action.
Rolling continuously as a wheel; with no preplanned direction,
If you spin aimlessly now, mistakes will fill your collection.
But you should never turn back to make a correction,
No one should achieve that unearthly perfection.
Don't even attempt, because you'll surely spin out trying,
Your mistake is your choice, so it's yourself you'll be denying.
If you turn back and retry; there's fear of self you'll be implying,
You can try to mask the fear, but your conscious can tell if you're lying.
And will turn afraid of that mistake, so much that it can't learn,
Mistakes will flourish, and mislead your consciences' next turn,
As it fails, it will give up hope, your acceptance it has to earn,
So fed up and sick of it all, that your conscience will lack your concern.


another written in reply to Carlie

You may be falling with the fascists,

Ready to give up everything we have?

I can't let you go,

Can't let you take the risk,

I can't let you go.

You know it's not right, Give up the fight,

Against everyone who ever cared,

Everyone who ever loved you, ever given you a chance.

The world's not making a mistake,

At worst a sacrifice,

Willing to be the one to fight,

For you.

You're always so miserable,

You know you don't have to be,

We aren't all that way.

We can choose happiness; create it.

But you don't believe that,

Do you?

Always so hostile.

You are falling for the fascists,

Ready to leave me behind,

No- determined to leave me behind.

This is not what you deserve,

This is not what I deserve,

Time to check your heart; you've come askew,

I'll always be ready, to fight for you.


this was written in response to Carlie's beastly poem

I've heard you got this sickness,

Attacking you like a plague,

Your heart is gone, turned to black,

Like the shadows in the moonlit night,

As time graduates from the day.

I've heard you got this sickness,

Churning through you like a snake,

Dirtying your blood with it's venom,

There's no way it can be contained.

I wish I was there, I've got the cure,

To whichever needs fixing.

I'll stop the pain, the throbbing, and the nausea,

I'll be your relief from the constant burning of skin.

There's no need to worry, I'm coming in a hurry,

To whisk you away to my unearthly place.

And when I snatch you away, you will be missed,

But you just can't stay, no hospital can treat this.