A soul bought, a life taken

Here in the darkness of my own ignorance I stand corrected, no I stand erected into the fact that the human heart is not a philosopher stone, dyed to the bone deeper then gold the goals of false gods and shining suns burn the memories of her, the past mistake, no pass the steak for which my beating heart was on and she did eat.

And as I think with the sun in my eyes and moon in my heart I thought " I think I would have sold my soul for her" I think I would've sold my goals to hurt and alter future with her misery, excuse me I mean mystery that figured me or atleast I thought it did and yet I never knew it. Now as reasoning kicks the chair of doubt for which I stood on I hung by my own rope of hope screaming in silence "I think she took a piece of my soul with her"

Rhetorical confession

I am frustrated to my soul at the fact that I can't find the right words to define or describe it. I'm self-conscious of my appearance but more so my words. I'm a poet that feels nothing like a poet or maybe I'm a self-deluded imposter pretending to be a poet. I have exhausted almost every once of energy in search of depth without ever having voiced it's complexities and so it is in that nature that I am shallow. I am every word I've written and it's opposite without ever in the slightest way contradicting myself. I neither betray nor portray my character but I, in these words, have given you all of me. I guess to more accurately put, I'd say I am the constant thought of suicide pushed to the back of your mind.

Read my poetry

She says she want to see my thoughts...I think she wants to see me rot from the outside in as this vacant heart caves in,I was told by a wise man with his heart in his head and brain in his heart that only a heart can fill a heart. Only a spark can destroy that darkness that is in this art.

She says she wants to read my parts piece by piece destroying the peace in me. She says she wants my life in words and my actions in birds to take flight from the memories of those ones and things I once held dear.

She says she wants to read what's in my heart and I tell her " hold up, only the heartless can understand these words" leaving her puzzled to the verbs she heard. I told her start with my poem then we move on from there.

False Ambrosia

Lying here in the fake arms that held me these whispers reminding me that my ambitions will never se light. Here in these cold arms where I rubbed them thinking I was god enough to give them life. A fools god I am drink off the nectar of that false ambrosia I bit into roses thinking it was good for the heart.

Thinking I was good from start I weaved magical strings of self-delusions, mental-illusions that brought out the pain of this physical conclusion. False ambrosia, springing life from the stories they told you, of meek gods and bleak pods we call the human soul that all reach for their counterparts. Living with dirty hearts and clean minds our empty lives only seems to beam lies into the eyes of our guilty conscious.

From false ambrosia to the lost arms that hold us, tell me did we really become gods or something more hopeless?

Is it greedy or virtue??

Is it greed to want more? I mean I don't want handshakes and smiles I want embraces and laughter. I don't want riches I want wealth. I don't want your friendship I want your loyalty. Tell me if I were real would you be able to feel the pain sealed within these lost chambers of my soul. Would you understand why I held such sinister goals? Or would you call me greedy all because I wanted more.

I want more then just your heart. I want your mind, body and soul. I want your goals confessed to me on moon light nights. And as these tears take flight only to be renamed as stars, the scars from your thoughts of my avarice intention leaves a question for the sky. Tell me, was this want for more greed or virtous intention?

Invisible Me

Invisible me,am I too transparent to see? Tell me am I too clever to even hold an outline in the the space of your mind? And as I sit here alone I watch you popular, pretty girls as u overlook me
With hairs braid and empty brains or maybe they were simply filled with vain things.

Invisible me birth from despicable trees sparking the skeptic in me, tell me is it natural to question all that I see? what goes into sanity that makes it insane? maybe the same thing that makes wolves howl in the rain.and as i sit in solitude I watch as crowded hearts masterbate to the thought being able to congregate. And like the soundwave inately echoing within within me reminding of pain I question if I'll always be this invisible me.

I want to live.....

I dont wanna die looking up at another endless sky that my voice could never penetrate, I dont wanna die holding another frozen heart unable to thaw out the pain pumping through its veins.

I want to live.... wrapped in silk strings,swimming in milk streams of paradises predecessor regressed by human contact into its present form. I want to live in bronze skin and inkless pens cause truth flows from lips and delicate finger tips.

Yea, in clear thought on unclean days I think "I want to live" so why do I keep dying?

Struggle

Here lies the struggle, here comes the trouble of bombed hearts sinking in rubble. And as I shovel this broken soul into the coffin of regret, I reminisce on how I once held dreams too many for the stars to represent.

And as my rep resents the essence spent on nonessential thing, I'm leftto crawl on scarred knees,all because the lie in these potential wings.

My life?

I live it insanely jealous of the things I could never attain. Calling them vain I curse theirs names in rage

I am in saner states of mind to which I recognize the pain Im in but tell me? Is this my life or is it some hollywood production of a pain I've grown to love. Sitting in this broken mirrored room I whispered to my reflection "do you love me?" and it whispered back "the answer lies above you"

Are You Not Entertained?

Stand here between the grains of this cynical rain I watched sorrows drain from what seemed to be never-ending wounds?

Wounds that bent spoons in front of that audience of fools and as tears feel from lost brain stems I leave u with this final question: Are you not entertained?