"I can't do this."
Claim in your [own] words
(weakness of the positive/negative)
Questions from the judge(andjury)
"And the court decides..."
The Suicide of the VirginAugust is the cruelest month, breeding
Cypress on the campus, mixing
Change and unfamiliarity, stirring
Poison into these drinks.
The promise of demise kept my heart warm, covering
Sorrow with plastered smiles, feeding
An insightful mind with rotting tubers.
Death came quickly, jumping from the highest building.
In that soft rain; I came to a halt on the concrete,
My memories of you in the sunlight, my last thoughts,
And how we sat in the stairwell, for hours talking.
Wie werden uns wiedersehen.
When I was young, staying with my grandfather,
Poor widower, he took me on a walk,
and I was happy. He said, Maria,
Maria, listen to me. And he told me never to fear death.
For it is inevitable, a part of life.
I went home and contemplated what it meant to die.
Why does this feeling clutch at my heart, why does it grow
from what was once full of love? I am but a daughter of man.
And I know not much more than the fact
that I am broken, an image of what has been.
And death merely gives the
WretchWretched soul, wretched soul.
The clock strikes four-
but never moves.
You look to the window,
for the ones you have lost
(begging for the pity of your womb).
Alone you'll perish;
Empty as a dusty cellar.
And although the fault lies with only you,
it is something you shall never understand.
:R a i n:The rain fell endlessly from the sky, each drop rhythmically hitting the old roof. It was especially audible from the attic in which I sat, watching the rain hit the lake from the singular, cracked window in the dusty room. Slowly, I traced nonsensical figures on the window, using the fog made from my damp breath as a form of paint. Staring at it for a moment, I suddenly became incredibly unhappy at my art and wiped it away with my jacket sleeve.
That was when I noticed a figure walking to the lake shore, small from where I sat but seemed like a girl in her late teens. Slowly, ever so slowly, she walked into the water, until she was waist deep. She looked to the sky, her now sopping wet hair sticking to her face. Thinking back, she seemed to gather some form of… Courage from whatever she found in that rainy sky, before she peacefully sank into the water. The villagers didn’t find her until it was much too late.
“That’s the fifth one this year,” I murmured
WinterThese oceans of blood,
consuming my soul.
Like sheep to the slaughter,
fear seeps into my bones.
I ponder the meaning of the few
seconds my life is
in the wake of these magnificent
my pockets are empty and my
mind is blank.
GrudgeMonsters crawl from the depths
of my soul.
I find my mind cannot take the horror
of years past,
while my heart pleads for silence
[that I can't find]
A step above the restLook down at me from above
(atop that towering plain) -
and wonder why all those ants
gnaw at you 'till you're falling like a
wave crashing to the shore
of some long-lost
my sun-bleached bones lay upon the
You are More. You are more than a number, statistic or fraction,
You are more than a stranger’s glance or reaction.
You are more than a puzzle piece or a missing link,
You are more than what the world may think.
You are more than a stigma or sign which you're labeled,
You are more than “special”, diseased, different, disabled.
You are more than a whisper, you are more than a name,
You are more than rejection, you are more than other's blame.
You are more than vibrations that torture your ears,
You are more than disorder that drives you to tears.
You are more than emotion you can't read or display,
You are more than the words you’re unable to say.
You are more than your bullies who push you down,
You are more than your teachers who won’t help you off the ground.
You are more than your doctors who gave up and quit,
You are more than society would care to admit.
You are more than progress which may be slow,
You are more than accomplishments wh
And in this dark harvest of season
My life has completely lost reason,
For which or against to decide.
All lost in a savage and endless, bleak tide
In sadness and in kindness
In light and in darkness.
In a boat made of hope
I shall sail to tomorrow,
In a winding hurricane
Made of treachery and sorrow.
There's a spear, endless, and colossal spear...
Piercing, slashing though my head.
Starting somewhere in heaven,
Ending somewhere in hell.
Fighting, burning, crying, crashing.
Are the armies within.
In my head they are all thrashing.
On the heaven's and hell's whim.
To be light or to be darkness.
A perpetual array.
It's not merely my choice,
But the choice of the way.
It's an option of the voice,
It's a thin line of gray.
Is it a choice forced by fate,
Is it a pre-set time and date?
Or a choice to which I myself sway?
But here's our story anyway .
"Nothing that I do will matter.
As all things will merely shatter!"
All my hopes thus darkness scatter,
As it shoves me a decree.
As it si
Is It Love?If I hugged you,
would you never let go?
If I kissed you,
would you cherish that moment?
If I reached for your hand,
would you take mine gently?
If I needed a shoulder,
would you let me cry on yours?
If I needed to talk,
would you really listen?
If I needed to scream,
would you do it with me?
If I needed to go,
would you come with me?
If I fell for you,
would you catch me?
or just let me hit the pavement?
I amarties tou patera souΟι αμαρτίες του πατέρα σου
Δεν είσαι ο πατέρας σου.
Δεν είσαι φονιάς επειδή ο πατέρας σου ήτανε φονιάς.
Δεν είσαι βασίλιάς επειδή ο πατέρας ήταν ένας σπουδαίος βασιλιάς.
Δεν πρέπει να τιμωρηθεί
The Devil Is Raging Inside Methe Devil kicked me
out of hell, said
to continue living,
cruel and bad, my ass
but what the hell do I know?
All I see are doors,
and I keep locking them
with pinholes to keep
those motherfuckers out,
this is my room,
I do what I want.
I think of youAs suns set afar and mountains flame
And eagles, turning, turn to fire
Ash cold, alone I lie
And think of you.
All Hallows EveThey say that on this night the witches ride,
that spirits walk and churchyards spew their dead.
It isn’t true.
It’s said the stench of hell infects the earth
and healths of heated blood are downed.
But Hamlet lied.
The dead know nothing, the living less.
There are only poets with blood-nibbed pens;
souls hung between high heaven and deep hell.
Lost and...“I’m Lost.”
I say to you.
my eyes remain
locked to the ground.
I can barely
make out your feet
within the murkiness.
I’ve always been Lost.
“No, you’re not.”
You simply say to me,
as you intertwine
your fingers through mine.
You walk forward, leading me,
somehow knowing exactly
where we are going.
No, you don’t get it. I can’t leave.
There isn’t any point to this anymore.
7. heaveni find myself blinded
by the smallest
of things –
plastic rice bowls &
a negligible soft-
drink addiction –
smudged glasses lenses
too many mandarins
there are things that
act in the place of
quick fixes that work
longer than they were
ever supposed to.
my ceiling light is
broken – i use two
dimmer desk lamps instead.
the roof over my room
leaks during storms –
i lay old shower
curtains on the carpet.
and when 1am is the
only time i do not feel
silenced to a void
i pick up a pen, exhausted,
and tell myself
( this is how
it is meant
to be. )