Barb WireYour barb-wired brainwon't let me in,and I'm getting cuttrying to jumpthe fence.
GoodbyeI want to mutter a million things,but they’re catching in my throatAnd my heart is heavy in my chest,with a weight that holds a heavy loadThis weight is not a pound of gold,but rather a pound of worthless rocksAnd now I’m spitting bits of gravelas I try to talk
Candle WaxYou meltmy heartlike candle wax,but I'm afraidover timeI'll getburnt.
Railroad TracksYou drawrailroad trackson your wristhoping themetal-made grooveswill takeyou somewherebetterBut these tracksyou're chugging along ononly put youon a trainthat is zoomingtoward a deep,dark tunnelAnd at the end of this tunnel,there is no light.
Blue-Eyed BoyI'd loveto go swimin yourocean blue eyes,but there'salwaysthat riskI will drown.
Cement HeartI built a wallaround my heart,and sworeI'd never let you inbut the more time thatI spend with you,allows the beatsto crackthe cement.
A message to the brokenYou drown yourselfin liquid sorrows,letting the salty messburn your wounds,and the sadnessto drip in your mouth,consuming your wordsand you sayyou deserve the pain,but I want to dry your face,and whisper in your earhow the clouds cry too,while they hold such beauty,and so do you.
Apologies to a friendYou pour your heart out to me,and are willingto submerge mein an oceanof loveyet when I see the waterrushing towards me,I convince myselfI don't liketo swim
It Comes With AgeYour bonesmight as wellbe of papier-mâché,at thetragic ratethey're decayingaw a y.
ShipI missed you todayI regretfully say,My feelings are tidesmoving every which wayThe image of youshall be washed apart,As the shore and the oceando gently departAnd the way that my feetleft prints on the sand,Is the way that I feltwhen you held my handBut it's time to move on,this ship's found new land,The anchor is sunk,and I will withstand
Atelophobia Atelophobia The word sticks to my tongue like cotton candyThe sweet, fluffy combination of lettersstruggling to embody a correct connotationAnd even the dictionary definition seems sugarcoated:"Fear of imperfection."Is that what they say when I'm up until 3am,editing my English paper for the umpteenth timeThe tick-tock tick-tock of the clockpromptly proliferating the roomAnd I just sit there changing good to great,and peaceful to quiescent,hoping that my teacher will be drunk in his bungalowwhile he grades my chicken-scratch calligraphyAnd he’ll see stars instead of how horrid it isOr is that the word they use,when I struggle to consume a 25-calorie chunk of chocolatebecause I just know it will go straight to my hips,or when I step on the scaleand watch the black dashes zoom bylike a carousel spinning,And as the twirling and whirling makes me sick,I know throwing up still won’t make me thinAnd is that the term they mutterwhen I'm sob
VeinsI wishmy veinsof ocean blueflowed not justto my heart,but toyours too.
.your heartalone shouldremind younot to beatyourself upyour pulseshould remindyoukeep steady
RealHow can you expect to see the truth in the mirror?When your eyes are clouded by the filter of 'inferior'
.spillyour emotion,or drownin it
...and everytime i flipthroughthese empty pages,alli can seeare the blankstares glaringbackat me.[i have nothing to say .]
.we are allstrayssearching forhomes ineach other
Six Words for the SufferingPain ends, but you must not.
There Is No Song For MeI once knew a manno wings to speak ofA man who lost his voicepoor fool thought he could singWhile inhabiting a worldwhat a sad little worldSo filled with noiseit was enough to deafenThe man couldn't help but envy.Guess you forgot how I soundSo this man out of fearI can still see his painMade his own worldI think I'm to blameWith nothing but silence to hear.I'm still not ashamed.I pierced the bubbleIn his worldhe swatted me awaySound still found himstill I sang, and sangHow cruel it wasIt's sad how fast a man...how forced he was to fester...can give up on himself.In the very sounds he'd lost"Why have you come to me?"we're called mockingbirds for a reasonHe wrote with his tearsand I laughed as he cried, and I laughed as he cried
you stoleyou are smoke,blackened feathers,and I forgethow the mockingbirdused to sing.please,I forgethow to miss someone.you left warm spots in me,familiar dents and puckersnow empty.nothing holds my eyes in place.they roll from one end of my skullto the other,rattling.I don't want to seea world without you in it.you let this place hollow outand dry like infinite droughts.youlet meburn.the years age me,and I don't know who I amanymore.I only remember you,but I forget that you are gone.
All I WantI want someone to talk toit may not sound like muchbut its all I want of youI want to never be aloneto never be forced to hearthe silent creaks of my homeI want someone to share with meto give me the pieces of their daythrough tiny conversations, and hearty storiestill there's nothing left to sayI want someone to stay with meon those many cold nightswhen the only thing that can keep me warmare their sweet whispered delightsI want someoneit hardly matters whoto stick with meand stay with me throughthe transgressions of my daysthe weaknesses of my souland share the same with memake me feel whole I want to someone to talk tosomeone's whose hand I can clutchAll I want is a true friendSurely that isn't too much
This isn't the type of love that deserves poetryThis isn't the type of lovethat deserves poetry, Its loveborn out of an inabilityto survive alone,Its affectionborn from a necessityto believe in a lieI'll continue to whisperin your ear each night."I'll protect you"...A lie neither of us believeand neither of us disputefor fear of losing our only tetherto this decrepit existencethat we both fear so much...this love isn't romanticnor is it confrontationalits not comfortingnor is it disturbing,It's merely theresinking beside usin the sea of life ,that's gently drowning us,reminding us that togetherwe can almost breathe.
-she knew he was a grave, but she buried herself in him anyway.
never become a writeri.never become a writer.you will become a perfectionist,picking life apartwith a magpie's eye,hunting for the beautiful bits until you can make yourselfa sparkling thronein the center of a junkyard.ii.you will write when you're sad.you will write when you're happy.whenever you feel something,you will vomit the emotion outinto some sort of literature.when you're finished,you'll be emptyand surrounded by pages and pages of everything you once were.iii.you will try to make pain sound delicious,painting over the ragged woundswith pink paintand candy-coat lies.you will learnhow to decorate graveyards.everyone will play in them,but you alone will see the headstones.iv.if you fall in love,you will turn your love into a poem,and you will always like your own wordsmore than you like the real person.you'll become so selfishyou'll disgust yourself,but you will not be ab
.death has a wayof assuring youthat he is youronly friend;he's the onlyone that willstay with youwhenever youreach the end
I'll Get You Through ThisHere's a glass of water;Another pill made just for me.I'll drink it with my sorrowsAnd I'll swallow back my plea.You don't even need to hear me,I'll be writing it on the wall:The hope you never gave me,Is the hope that stands me tall!And I will walk through this world,Don't ask me if it's cold.There is warmth for you to find here;My hand's for you to hold.So take it and I promise,This night won't be your last.If you stay with me, I swear,We'll walk beyond the past.- Chennie, 26th May 2014
lost my voice.I wrote "I love you"in the sand at the beach.The tide swallowed the wordsand drowned thembefore I could speak.
InsomniacI am the sunand youare the moon:my tidal-wavetearsare controlledby youSo when it's 2amin the middle of the night,I know whyI can'tsleep tight.