Why Are You Angry?Another yelling match.Another imperfection.Sometimes I wonder why you're angry.Are you bitter?Frustrated?Or maybe you're just plain sad?The world isn't what it once was,is it?Your perfection is frag.men.ted.Your i.mage, den.ted,because of the shattered souls around you.Do they mean anything at all?Pieces of your heart,Pulled out,To be polished.Instead stepped on beneath your feet.But I guess that's what you'd rather do.Crush us for ruining some unknown image,Your World,Of perfection.
E-B-G A Grim GiftIt was hard. Living in the world of the Reapers, the eternally dead. Even moreso with Grim. He was very cold - a habit of his legendary nature. Through time eternal, Erica learned to be accustomed. After all, she chose this (after) life.Still, it was hard to be apart from the living. Apart from Balthazar. Before she had met Grim, before her world flipped upside-down, she had known, befriended, and loved Balthazar. And through her brief entrances into the world, she caught glimpses. He had moved on and found love. A part of her was pleased, but still she missed him deeply. It ached never to speak to him, even as she wished him well in reaped world.Grim, in all his silent wisdom, took notice. His hollow eyes watched as she moved ever forward in time. Loyal. Obedient. Empty. Though he knew pain would return he could not defuse her longing.So instead he gave her a gift: He enhanced the mirror in the vanity to allow her to speak to Balthazar. But, Balthazar needed to listen.Erica's hear
Untitled 225I am here, waiting.I remember you,looking forward,looking back.I can only hope to catch you one day.But maybe, just maybe,you weren't meant to be held.Only cradled.
Your Eyes Speak of WonderDo you remember me?I remember you,Getting lost in all the wonder.Losing hope,Finding joy.It wasn't the easiest journey,But you found a way.And I like you for that.You were always so strong,even in your silenceYou meant more to me than the earth,the stars,the moon.No one knows what you have seen,And what you whisper.No one listens.No one but me.
Hunger PangsEvery day is slow.I walk by being eaten alive.No one cares.Not enough to save.Or, maybe I'm just too hard-headed.I know I need to eat,but I can't seem to bring the food to my lips.Time slips by.I waste precious minutes trying to sustain myself.Or worse,deciding what to eat.The thought of eating eludes me.It should be worth it,so why is it still a worthless venture?Every day I walk,wondering why I haven't eaten.Is it a mark of victory?Or just a silent struggle-inner turmoil yet to be resolved?Food...I want to eat, I really do.I just don't have the will.
Pig OutThe world is full of gluttonous pigs.Eating emotions, feelings, denial, hate.Everyone devouring more and more.Stomachs stretching to starvation.Supersize me, the world used to say.A marketing ploy because excess was wealth.Now excess is grotesque.Eat, piggly wigglies, eat!Yet now the irony lies in our size.The bigger we are, the poorer we become.The rich are lean and beautiful.Always better than us.Why?Because control.It was always about control.And we,well, we have none.
Love Until it HurtsI love you to the moon and back.I love you til the stars explodeand cover you in stardust.I love you until every ounce of air escapes my bodyand joins with yours.I love your torturous soul even as it tries to escape,Begging to be one with the living.Even as my eyes grow dim, you are the last light I look for.Even when smallest whisper escapes my lips I still utter:"I love you."You are my pain and my beauty in one breath.You are Death, Reborn, into an Angel.You corrupt my view of the world,Replacing it with unmatched beauty.
Tried, True, Thinking of YouYour final wordsMy mind wrecks to understand them.I heard what I couldn't know,Understood when I should have screamed.And yet,I cannot shake the words.Something speaks false though you swore honestly.As if someone were twisting your arm,Nay,your heart.What fragile soul you carry,They are crushing it and still you cannot tell me.Why?I forgive you of the angerI carried from your predecessors.I see the kind soul I grew up to find,To love,To cherish.Maybe that is what protects you from my bitterness,My utterly blind hatred of betrayal.Because you,I place on a pedestal.You,You deserve more than the terrors they present.And I know, in that tiny spark of a soul,that you see hope beyond those crushing walls.If only you found a way to get out.But,Perhaps the way outside is within.I urge you -Look deeper,Glow brighter,Fighter harder,But never give in to the darkened world that consumes.
A Restless MindMy mind is racing. Racing.Never stopping.Always bolting fromone thoughttoanother.Whattodo? Wheretobe? Howtobe? Whattosay?Whattoask? Whattodo?What to do?. . . . .I see images of thoughts.Constantly flowing.Jittering. Tingling.I cannot rest.I wish to write to calm my mindbut my thoughts are too brief to capture.Like a flash -hereandgone.A few,I capture by spinning the wheel.Reiterate. Reiterate. Reiterate.Like a good idea,you want it to stick.But, a few still slip past.I wished I had caught thembut I cannot dwell on it.I will losethe precious fewI still have.
a study in you/hiaku i.at night you are wholebut when the sun rises, youbecome unraveled;ii.and in the morningyou awake with seasons caughtunder your new skin.
love(less)fate sealed with a kisswe're victims of circumstance;vow-bound but starving.
.Her cradle will bethe cup of footprints, may shelearn from where I've been.
The Bronies/The End of the World/A HaikuShould Earth end tonight,At least bronies made it aBetter place to be.
The IllusionistLove, The Tyrant King,is dangerous to womenin their waking dreams.
A Moment of ReflectionQuiet thoughts pass; You,sitting in a quiet placeas the clock ticks slow
0-Ușor se umbreșteZăbrelele se prelingPrin praful dulceagȘi uscat
in the cornerBlanket, books, crayonsBought as gifts; these packages,Now just my penance.
haikus 2,3,4Do you think that IDid not pour my all in too?Even bricks have hearts.But concrete beats heart;Your screams shattered my cracked wall.I hate when you hurt.All blame is mine alone,For I was the stonemason,I who built the walls.
Working HandsHis hands, so callusWeathered by the trials of lifeBecoming honest