Thursday, 5 December 2013


don't go
don't leave me just yet.

just stay
and hold me oh so tight.

see here
i love you more than you know.

you don't know me at all.

it's time for us to part.

leave me
or you'll just break my heart.

Thursday, 22 August 2013

A little deeper

You never thought anyone would notice.
Hell, you never thought it mattered.

It started small,
(Doesn't everything?)
With an idle nick on the point where your wrist met your palm
Using a rusty penknife you found.
You never knew what you were getting into.

You searched it up, and realised that cutting on the wrists was too easy;
The internet said you were seeking attention,
And you weren't, goddammit.
Attention was never your goal.
This wasn't some weird cry for help.

You just wanted the hole in your gut to feel a little less empty.

It grew, though.
Like a monster it latched onto your heart and grew.
It fed on your hurt.

You found out why people, when they hide, preferred their thighs:
It hurt more, bled more.
After a while, you just started wearing knee height shorts at home.
No one ever questioned it. It was the beginning of the rainy and cool season.
Why would anyone question it?

Hell, for them to question it, they'd have to notice you were there first.

Some days, though, you wished you weren't.
It didn't seem worth it.
You trudged through your day and passed off everything as a bore.

And on those days, the blade dug a little deeper.

Thursday, 13 June 2013

World of lies

Without sun and without love,
Smile and laugh, you precious dove.
But back home, you start to cry,
Welcome to my world of lies.

People shout and people scream,
Cover your ears, too much it seems,
You don't hear them, you deny,
Welcome to my world of lies.

In your head you're so scared,
You really are unprepared.
IV drips and bloodshot eyes,
Welcome to my world of lies.

See the razor, feel the pain,
Blood drips down and skin it stains.
Pull your sleeves and appear shy,
Welcome to my world of lies.

Slit your wrists and cut your thighs,
Fake a smile and dry your eyes.
Hate yourself and hate your life,
Welcome to my world of lies.

Monday, 3 June 2013

Sonnet 6

Acidic secrets melt through placid guts
and leave a hole, a pit, a missing piece
that only truth can find when it breaks free,
but truth, for now, is gone- and stomachs burn.
As flesh and bone alike are charred to ash,
and nothing can restore the gaping hole,
and I am left to clutch at my remains;
I know it's all my fault and I deserve
this horrid fate- pathetic, flailing limbs;
and pain that burns and freezes me at once;
and oh, the secrets tearing through my heart,
consuming all; and I am empty now.

If pain was all I had once, now I know
that hollow, emptiness is worse a fate.


No rhymes this time, because, well, I don't know, I got sick of rhymes, and they're so difficult. I wrote this just before going to sleep last night, for no reason whatsoever. I think this is the first sonnet I've written that has nothing whatsoever to do with how I felt at the moment of writing it.

Saturday, 25 May 2013

Old-Timers... Go Back to Blogland

[Sorry in advance. I know this isn't a poem, but I wanted to post it everywhere. :}]

Blogland needs you, my friends.
I miss you.
I miss ALL of the old-timers, and I would just.... LOVE to see you in Blogland again.

Besides, showing up and chatting like you own the place is exceedingly enjoyable :}

I know, I know, everyone is strange and new. I think every time I go to Blogland now-a-days I meet someone new, but hey, meeting someone new eliminates a strange new person to meet. Plus, if we all go back, even it's slowly, even it's once-a-month or less, we'll find each other.

Don't feel like it's useless. Even if you can only hang out for ten minutes, GO. Chat for ten minutes, then leave if you must. Don't disappear forever. Nothing is worth losing your friends because you're just so busy. If you try, I know you can make a little time. :D

Please come back. :]
I love you guys, and Dereksville Blogland desperately needs your crazy, brilliant, fun, adorable, creative awesome-sauce and epica spontaneity!

When you read this, post it on your own blogs [re-awaken the magic of them!] or email it to a friend from Blogland you haven't spoken with for who-knows-how-long.
Let's rekindle the old-timers.
Let's rekindle our own, special place again.
I miss it, and I desperately miss you.

~hugs a million times over~

I hope I see you soon!!!! :D

Wednesday, 22 May 2013

Poem of the Insane

I thought I would escape
Could escape from this madness
Its tendrils snaking inside my very mind

I thought, I think I thought, at least
And everything’s swirling away
And I’m lost again

There’s nothing quite like the dark
Where the monsters live
Reaching through you

It’s a bleak reality
When you think about it
For too long

The colours all around
Seeping into each other
An obscene spectrum

See the how blind
How detached they are
Let them destroy themselves

I can’t think
My brain stutters

There is nothing
Any longer
But sleep

And the sorrows
Drowning in despair
And then joining the tide…

Tuesday, 21 May 2013

Growing up

When I was 6,
Growing up meant, well, nothing.
I was a kid and I knew no better than that.

When I was 8,
Growing up meant getting married.
My mother told me I wasn't a woman until I got married.

When I was 10,
Growing up meant physical changes.
We learnt about it in school, the boys had different classes.

When I was 12,
Growing up meant fending off my father.
The change had hardly begun, yet he made his advances.

When I was 14,
Growing up meant watching my heroes turn human.
I saw him break down and learnt the true meaning of emotions.

Now that I'm almost 16,
Growing up means survival.
Just the kiss of the blade to help me make it through the day.

Sunday, 19 May 2013

"Poetry Dump" Isn't Poetic... Let's Call It "Poetry Waterfall." Much better.

In the morning,
In the morning I will rise,
Rise unto the dawn,
And with the dancing ribbons of light,
Ribbons of light,
Will the haunts be gone.

There’s silence in my room,
Reminding me to breathe,
Reminding me the world’s on fire
Everywhere but here,
And thought it burns in vociferous pyres,
In this silence there is nothing that I fear.

Shooting Stars

I walk along
A starry night
And point to him
A sudden light!
As if surprised
My friend looks up
Into the dark and cloudless sky
Where flashing by,
And breezing past,
A broken star,
A ball of ash,
And on a whim
I make a wish,
And then my friend
Pulls me close
To give a kiss.

In the dark and in the night,
In the moaning, whistling night
There’s the moon and there’s the stars;
There’s the shadows’ only light

A reflection, an explosion,
Reminiscing time gone by,
There’s the moon and there’s the stars
Slowly dancing in the sky.

Young blue eyes,
Staring at the gray trees
With dark patches,
Dark patches,
On their limbs.

Cut glass,
In a frame,
A copper frame,
Above those young blue eyes,
Eyebrows twitch

A thousand slender, tender, rushing
Stroked by the warm breeze;
Droplets, Blue, lovely
Falling from the puffy
Like the world’s on fire
To me.

Friday, 17 May 2013


I wonder if teachers know
That some students suffer
From anxiety when called on in class;
From suicidal tendencies when alone;
From trauma when shouted at for getting a question wrong;
From panic attacks when they don't understand things;
From triggers when they are forced to observe graphic images;
From depression because of abusive family situations, but just hide the bruises;
But then again, our mental health is unimportant,
We must put our grades over everything else.

Wednesday, 15 May 2013

(This one's in Hebrew. Felt like sharing this here.)

אכתוב למענך את חד-השיח שלנו. אורכו
כאורך שתיקותינו, בין אם הן מאכלות-כל
או מעכלות-כל, הן צורבות דרך עומק בטני
ומשאירות חור פעור היכן שקרביי היו פעם.

Translates to:

I will write our soliloquy for you. It is

as long as our silences, whether they be all-corroding
or all-consuming, they burn through the depth of my stomach
and leave a gaping hole where my guts used to be.

Saturday, 11 May 2013

Poetry Dump

That is just new-
A morning full of dew,
The aroma that the rain brings

He comes
Only at night
Toting a dark bundle
With dark intentions is the Boo-
Gie man.

I hide my light just
As the night sky hides her
Iridescent stars.

To silence a thousand words would be to burn a picture
To live with thoughts unheard is to cause the fissure
A day without rain is like a day without speaking
You live with the pain though your eyes are beseeching
If the sun shines brightly,  is your mind less clouded?
But when you read a page nightly, is it words that are counted?
Why waste time in a nook when you could be on a hike?
And what becomes of the book that you still need to write?
Ashes to ashes, they say, and dust to dust.
And it's still worth a score of lashes to say what you should when you must.

Wind chimes
Tinkling at night,
Brushed by a cool zepher,
Strummed gently by the breeze's touch
Peacefully singing the night to slumber
Til dawn.

Heavy eyelids
Creeping like a zombie,
Crawling beneath the heavy covers,

The universe is
A creation of wonder
Silence, sound- thunder!

None ever saw it begin,
But then, no one saw it rain
Plop, Splish, Splash, these puddles are plain.

Cold rain clatters
The sky just as bright as day
For just an instant! And the drums...
Beat on....

Saturday, 4 May 2013

Alive again

When summer's come, and we can see the sun,
Its time to live and laugh and run,
Time to write again, time to take flight again,
Standing on the edge of life, looking out at the scene,
Feeling so serene, balanced on the edge, tipping over....
Into life,

Death's a million miles away, the time will come but not today,
When's life is good, and you feel as if you should,
You can write again, take flight again,
Soaring out across the scene, feeling so serene,
In the palm of your hand, and it feels so grand,
You're alive again,

So go, write again,
Take flight again,
Life's allright again,
I'm alive

Monday, 29 April 2013


She counts, slowly.
1, 2, 3...
She writes the figure down;
It amounts to 20.

She counts, unsure.
5, 10, 15.
She swallows the number down,
And waves goodbye to the pristine.

She stays unconscious,
10, 20, 30.
Until they resuscitate her.
She cries when she wakes up.

She's put into therapy,
1, 2, 3.
But nothing helps,
Not the chemicals nor being free.

She writes a facebook status
That everyone thinks is inspirational.
"Breaking old records, reaching new heights."
That night, she jumped.

Saturday, 27 April 2013

Sonnet 5

I want to close my eyes and vanish, flee
to Nowhereland- there I will find nothing
at all. No thoughts, nor light, nor stimuli
infect my precious Nowhereland. I wring
and thrash against my earthly binding chains,
but they grasp tightly at me. As I try
to run, my scream for Nowhereland sustains
and echoes all around. I must defy
the torturous powers telling me to stay
outside of Nowhereland, the only home
that I have never known. And yet I feel
I’m lost and left here in this world, alone.
My ideal Nowhereland, you must be strong;
for I’ll reach you so soon, I’ll stay so long.

Thursday, 25 April 2013

Sonnet 4

Inspired by school, lack of sleep, shitty people, annoying thoughts, etcetera.

Sonnet 4

ugh ugh ugh ugh. ugh ugh ugh ugh, ugh ugh,
ugh ugh ugh ugh, ugh, ugh ugh ugh ugh. ugh;
ugh ugh ugh, ugh ugh ugh, ugh ugh ugh - ugh.
ugh ugh! ugh ugh ugh ugh, ugh ugh ugh ugh,

ugh ugh. ugh ugh ugh-ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh,
ugh ugh, ugh ugh ugh, ugh ugh! ugh ugh ugh,
ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh. ugh ugh ugh ugh, ugh!
ugh ugh - ugh ugh, ugh ugh ugh, ugh ugh ugh?

ugh, ugh! ugh - ugh ugh ugh. ugh ugh ugh ugh.
(ugh ugh ugh ugh) ugh ugh ugh, ugh ugh ugh.
ugh ugh ugh ugh, ugh ugh ugh, ugh ugh ugh.
ugh ugh ugh ugh, ugh ugh ugh, ugh ugh ugh.

ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh;
ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh.

Sunday, 21 April 2013

Haiku.. Cinquain... etc?

I said to him;
"Madam," he spoke to me,
"Mayn't I have this dance with you?"
"You may."

Oh, pitiless mind,
Can you not leave me to sleep?
No! you have to write!

If I said, "Hello,"
Would you really say "Goodbye"?
Don't leave me behind!

If I were the ground,
You would be the bright green grass
Growing on top.

And were I the grass,
You'd be the crimson flower
Dancing in the breeze.

May the victory bell be heard;
May the slave cast off his binds;
May then joy ring loud and clear,
Diminishing the darkest minds.

I sit and must write;
The ones in my mind call out
Begging for a world.

Sounds in the night
Waking me with lightening;
Amazing me with power and

One of the few
Brightest lightbulbs ever
Creating as no one before
Has done.

She's truly one
Soaring through the grey skies
Flying in the great, blue downpour,

Monday, 8 April 2013

Haiku and Cinquain dump

It's when the moon shines,
Everything is dark and still,
But your mind runs wild.

I saw a shadow:
It danced and wove on the earth,
Laughing at sunlight.

There were small, bright lights;
I thought I saw small, bright lights,
But no- they were eyes.

Ok, the next one isn't actually a haiku. It's two and two-thirds haikus squashed together... But still.
I saw in a dream
A strange dystopian earth
Where monsters are real
And man has no worth;
The sky burns like acid
And falling rain stings;
Everything's rancid
On that strange dystopian earth.

What color's the sun-
Shiny and molten above?
Rainbow's seven hues.

There was
A star above,
Shining on Bethleham
Leading the wisemen to Jesus
Through night.

If I
Could have a wish,
I'd wish God be with you!-
Saving your soul forevermore
With love.

Saturday, 6 April 2013


She paints a pretty picture,
But the picture has a twist.
Her paintbrush was a razor,
Her canvas was her wrist.

She paints a pretty picture,
In a colour that's blood red,
While using her sharp paintbrush,
She ends up, finally, dead.

Her pretty picture's fading,
Quite slowly on her arm.
The blood's no longer flowing,
She can no longer do harm.

She painted a pretty picture,
But her picture had a twist.
Her mind was her razor,
And her heart was her wrist.

Monday, 1 April 2013


A/N This is a delayed poem from disappointment from... Lots of times in real life and still no particular time at all. I've just know what it feels like when someone disappoints you, and somehow, this came out of it the other day.

It's like a bad dream you don't quite believe:
A shroud, a heavy, dark cloak that drips
Down from your shoulders to
Your heart and defiant

It's like a pitiless joke you ignore and refuse to receive:
A highwayman who stops your carriage
To take from you your mother's ring,
Your father's precious, golden

It's a sense similar to betrayal, a feeling you can't quite relieve;
The thought that nothing you ever knew was real
And all the lies and bad things will go away
If you can just awake from this horrible

It's someone you thought known, turned to a selfish fiend;
All you want to do is rouse yourself,
But instead, all you ever do
Is pretend is never even

Sunday, 31 March 2013

memoir, 24.3

Like the aftershock of a tidal wave -
The cold, wet sea-spray that washes over
exposed skin and hitched breaths,
gasping for air as I climb to the surface
of a world flooded with salt water
that rose from an ocean
stretching thousands of miles away,
hundreds of days ago,
now a stuttered breath away.

Wednesday, 6 March 2013

Sonnet 3

I wish my thoughts would take notes from the stars;
How marvellously still and sure they hold,
They shine so bright despite how far they are,
And though they might be dead they're not yet cold.
I wish they'd learn how constellations form,
How tiny dots become such wondrous shapes
Despite the fact that on one dot rage storms,
And on another silent calmness drapes.
I long for order in my bustling mind,
I long for stillness, sureness of my thoughts,
I long for ponderings that gleam and shine,
Not for this meaningless array of dots.
And yet, although I wish this every day,
My thoughts remain a messy disarray.

Inspired by the song Stars from the musical Les Miserables, to be precise, these lines:
"You know your place in the sky,You hold your course and your aim,And each in your seasons returns and returns,And is always the same."

Tuesday, 5 March 2013

Sonnet 2

It's been too long since I have faked a smile
For so long I've not had a reason to
But lately reasons seem to pile and pile
And I feel like there's nothing I can do
Except for faking smiles and happiness
And acting as if everything's okay
I'll try not to give in to helplessness
And tell myself it's just another day
Until this feeling passes and I'm fine
Until I cry some tears that truly help
Until I'll have some blessed peace of mind
Until there's blessed quiet in my head.
And when there is, I'll fall, a messy heap-
Into and endless, quiet, dreamless sleep.

Saturday, 2 March 2013


You know, I was sitting by a tree the other day
Watching the black of the sky turn to navy, nearly entirely fading away;
It wasn't lit anymore by fluorescent salt and a knowing grin...
It was changed to ultramarine, and the stars were weak and thin.

Ashen, like the inside of a dead match- the indescribable complexion,
There, but hard to see, intermingling like a determined infection,
But growing warmer with a funny sort of Russian blue hue poking through its convalescence...,
And stabbed with a golden spear thrown by its daily acquaintance.

Chastising the dark- like a mother- before it escaped into shadowy folds,
But still chased- and embraced- in the lovingly serene mother blue and happy golds,
Smothering my half of the world in endless pursuit of the rebellious night,
And, in the meantime, giving me and my book a helpful light.

Thursday, 28 February 2013

Sonnet 1

I could compare it to an open flame,
Or rather to a still-as-crystal lake,
Perhaps, though, to a beast that can't be tamed,
Or to a slumber nearing its awake,
A flower petal falling to the ground,
A storm that rages through the open sea,
The scent of sights and touching of a sound,
A flood that fills and spills all over me;
And yet, despite comparisons to spare,
I cannot find a way to phrase it right;
A feeling that is common as it's rare,
A feeling that is dark as it is light.
To put such things to words just will not do,
For no such earthly way describes them true.

Tuesday, 26 February 2013

Do I

Does a word belong
to its speaker,
or to its listener?

Does ink belong
to its fountain pen,
or to its page?

Does rain belong
to its clouds
or to its puddles?

Does a night belong
to its dusk,
or to its dawn?

Does a river belong
to its spring
or to its oceans?

And what of me?

Do I belong
to my breaths
or to my yawns?
To my thoughts
or to my songs?
To my heart
or to my mind?
To my longings
or to my memories?

do I belong to you?

Monday, 11 February 2013

The Quiet

A/N This poem is sort of supposed to be read... leisurely.

I've talked and read and listened,
And now I'm just going to think,
And watch the gray rode pass by below...

My fingers hold the notebook up,
And beyond them the jean skirt sprawls
With my legs beneath stretched along the backseat.

Across from me the oblong window shows
The trees, some green, some brown, all a mess-
They make me dizzy passing by so quick...

Constent trembles shake my pencil,
But that's ok. Everyone has a little mess in his life.
Should I not be the same?

And the rumble-roar nearly drowns out
The quiet disagreeing murmuring from the front-
My Ma and Daddy are talking.

My feet cross.
The funny toes sticking out at odd angles;
The felt seat weighed down a bit beneath.

Silently I wish the sun would find a cloud,
Or, really, the other way around,
Or maybe we could put the air conditioner to use...

But the sun warms my face and hair,
Calling me to give in and rest,
Calling me to let my eyes droop...

Idly, my mind wanders here and there;
I wonder if I should fight the dream's whispers...,
But the pencil's getting heavier..., so I reluctantly aquiesce....

Sunday, 10 February 2013

All Alone:The Sum of Her fears

In the dark she knelt and prayed

Her time and hour had come.

Only a ray of light appeared

Softly lighting up

One small spot.

In the distance she could hear the nuns

Singing in mournful chant.

Yet she was on her own

All alone.

No one came

Or remembered her.

All her friends

Had gone their own way

Each in the pursuit of happiness.

But she knew that time would come

And no longer wept or tried to hide

From the darkness that had

Been held at bay for so long

And it swept over her like a flood.

Crushed beneath its merciless weight

That ripped into her heart and showed her

What she really was.

Alone and unloved

And unwanted.

So in the end

She died alone.

Saturday, 9 February 2013

Beauty, Part II - The Negev Desert, 9.2.13

There is something beautiful about wind blowing through grass,
Making it seem as if the ground itself is trembling,
The flowers reach and stretch towards the shifting air.

There is something beautiful about a grassy desert,
The way brown and green and spotted yellow merge,
Forming a landscape breathtakingly unique.

There is something beautiful about a sunny winter day,
A break from harsh gray skies and harsh cold winds,
A bright warm sun and clear blue skies instead.

Friday, 8 February 2013


This was written verse by verse by Pyro and I. The ones in red are his.

There is something beautiful about cars in a traffic jam,
Especially at night, when their headlights are on,
They glisten like rows upon rows of yellow stars.

There is something beautiful about rain trickling down a window in a storm,
The endless world outside blurred and softened by just a few drops of water,
And everything is so gigantic and so miniscule because of it.

There is something beautiful about a cloudless sky on a cold night,
The moon casting puddles of soft silver light on the ground,
A breath morphing into shimmering clouds in front of my eyes.

There is something beautiful about streets in the middle of the night,
When they’re so very quiet and you can just about hear the wind,
And the light of the streetlamps makes the whole place glow.

There is something beautiful about inked words on a page,
The way each line forms a letter and every few letters a word,
And the words form sentences that hold worlds within them.

Sunday, 3 February 2013

As We Are and Ever More

The questions I ask myself in the silence...
Things like... Should I remain unheard?
Should I give in to the repentance?
Or the bitterness?

And when voices rise up, I wonder...
What can I say to match something like that?
I spit; I stumble; I blunder.
Most everytime I try.

Then, when it's over, I think...
Well, that didn't work out so well...
At least I'm on the brink
Of being helpful.

And hours go by as I try to forget my mistakes...
Thinking the failurs are best not remembered at all;
Thinking nothing's at stake...
Except my own shame.

Until one blustery thundering day...
My favorite kind to be free and to live,
When I can imagine all is ok,
Even though my heart knows it isn't.

But someone smiles and laughs at my jokes...,
The mess I remember, already forgot;
Fondly recalling the words that I spoke;
Catching my feet when I stumbled

But what? What do you mean?
You like what I said, what I did?
I was silly, didn't it seem?
I wonder to myself...

I don't know; I don't understand...
But nobody seems to notice;
They're shoving me, laughing and grand,
Returning the smiles...

Returning the smiles I've given to them...,
Because I can't help but be happy,
With a glowing heart and happy grin
With my friends.

Beautiful, hearts full of caring,
Friends of all kinds:
Courageous and daring
And quietly strong.

They're my help and my hope
Releasing the binds,
Cutting the ropes...
Of my constraint.

With them, I can be...,
Everything I am, and covered in scars,
I'm still happy and free
Because they love me as me.

And when I spit and stumble and blunder...,
They don't sigh or curse
Or moan or groan or mutter...
Even silently in their minds...

They get it. They forgive,
Forgive in the beat of a heart,
Because they'd rather I live
Then fall with no one to help.

They're my friends. My family,
And I love them as them
Because they first loved me...
Thank you, my lov-el-lee angels,
For setting me free.

Saturday, 2 February 2013

The Little Things

It's the little things.
Your laugh and its rarity,
The way you stifle your yawns,
How you try and flatten a stray lock of hair,
The way your eyes almost close when you smile,
That smile reserved only for when you say 'I love you',
The way your voice is a different type of amazing when you sing,
How you puff up your cheeks when they hurt from smiling too much,
Those rare moments in which I see your eyes despite Skype's shittiness,
                                         I love

Night Creatures

A/N The inspiration came from wise man who said, "Why are we night creatures who stay up till the quiet hours with... the clacking of computer keys?"

On a night like this,
With the mist curling up
And the sky falling down,
The moon glistens bright;
On a night like this,
The Night Owls stir
With round, shining eyes
And a question- "Who-who?"
Clickety-clack go their claws
On the branches
Clickety-clack, Clickety-clack on the branches...
The Night Owls in their reverie
Eyes perceving all
Through the fog...

On a night like this
With the hum of the mechanics,
And an arteficial light
As Clickety-clack goes their fingers
On the keyboard
Clickety-clack, Clickety-clack on the keyboard...,
This is the only company
Of the weary sleep-deprived
Night Owls.

Monday, 28 January 2013

Princess of the Heavens: Waiting and Hoping

She walked among the stars

The princess of the heavens

Looking for the one

Who caught her crystal tears

That spilled out from

Liquid ice blue eyes

Rolling down pale cheeks

Then sealed up tenderly

In pearl alabaster jars

Inside her dreaming body

Sorrow caused her heart pain

In loneliness and grief

She wandered time and eternity

Searching for the one

Who made such beautiful vows

But always in the distance,

Something that would never be hers

Happiness and dreams

Just out of reach

Being given to people

Who never have to ask

They just receive those beautiful dreams

Some live life gloriously

While looking down on the broken hearted

Others reach out and lift the fallen ones up

To run with them

The race that is life

For such as these

The princess desires

So that her pain and loneliness

May be left far behind

And that she too may feel

The warm embrace

Of one who loves her

Sunday, 6 January 2013

365 Days Poem Challenge Day 06

Are you blind?
Because you seem to miss
My crying, my calling our for help;
My fetal position, my scars that light my wrists;
My saggy eyes from sleepless nights;
My bones showing through because my starving myself.

What if you tried, just once,
To look at me.
To actually look, deep inside me,
To see what I SEE!

No. No, you wouldn't.

365 Days Poem Challenge: Days 1-5

Day 01
The darkness is transparent,
Cling film that wraps me like a sandwich.

Day 02
My pale white skin
Torn by the rivers of blood
Are caused by the one who
Should have been protecting them.

Day 03
The world of fantasy,
Where I am God.
They believe in my existence
Though I’ve never been seen
Or heard.
They believe in me.

Day 04
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
I got out of bed
Because I needed the loo.

Day 05
Please don’t stare.
Please don’t snigger.
Please don’t shout.
Please don’t stand and call me
The word that causes
A fraction of me to disappear.
Because really,
There’s only 1/3 left.

Saturday, 5 January 2013

Some piece of crap I typed when I couldn't fall asleep

This is something that has been bothering me the last couple of days. It's not a poem, just a string of thoughts.
I can't seem to write much poetry :/
Also, if you have opinions on this (or on anything) please discuss in the comments or in another post.

Whoever that may be,
Fixate on the question,
“What is the meaning of life?”
As if it is the only question to be asked.
I disagree with the importance given to that question,
Because it’s stupid.
I think it means,
“What is the reason,
“If there is one,
“For livings things to exist?”
Which can only be answered with divinity,
Or an alien experiment.
I propose,
To my fellow Earthians,
That the question should be replaced with,
“Is there a reason to continue living?
“And if so,
I ask this because there seems to be a reason for surviving,
Otherwise why eat, sleep, breathe, shit and fuck?
We like to survive.
Our brains reward us with dopamine and other goodies,
Whenever we succeed at continuing to survive.
But then,
What about suicide?
If the primary objective is survival,
Shouldn’t suicide be blocked in the most fundamental line of coding?
And then,
What about art and film and television and music and books?
Why are we rewarded for creating and appreciating these vanities?
And to go even deeper,
Gambling, video games, drugs and other addictions,
What survival is gained from these fruitless actions?
Someone once said,
“There are no stupid questions
“Only stupid answers,”
I don’t know about that.
All I can hope is that I will continue my life,
Eating, sleeping, breathing, shitting and fucking,
And answer some simpler questions,
Before the end.