My Writing

I write alot. Its not nessasarily good, but I like it =). So dont hate.
Note: CSS created by me, all of it by me none other. Thank you. Link Glowinthedark Lyts =).


I am on here. =] Thats amazing. Mail her about hers too! hers are amazing.

Number 1

Iridescent
Casting stars, as soon as water,
frozen time is laughing softly
as words of sorrow soon forgotten,
thinking thoughtless words so often,
of all past insecure emotions
(and all the muffled sounds are softened
against the backdrop of the often,
soon forgotten, [soon forgotten] )
Softly, sighing words of treason,
as the winds bring mind the weather,
coats pulled tighter against the freezing,
leaving feared and taking favored,
fingers cold and hard are reaching,
somehow inside under skin feeling.
where the time and faith are standing still.
( there is nothing to pass
this cold winter chill ).

Number 2

Plastic face, without eyes,
glowing tv screen
so beautifully the words you speak, you dont know what they mean
a cenotaph, false loking glass
words spill from your placid lips, fall upon stunned fingertips
left immobile from the lies you weave
Singsong whirring, softly hums, a lullaby made of technological advances
wires reacing for my heart, eyes following words in like trances
so entrapping,snagging,crushing.
you fiendish, thoughtless h0r3
stealing everything i have, i can offer nothing more

Number 3

To me, it was important to know the time, rather than get it straight from you.
getting your facts straight the first time is something i rely on.
i dont try to, its just one thing that i can trust. there does not seem to be many things to trust.
especially when your running out of sand.
and when your under the knife, and which wire do you cut which one
redgreenbluepurple-timeisrunningout
you only have so many choices, and everyone could be wrong.
then you have no one to blame but yourself.

Number 4

Keep Your Cigarettes To Yourself

keep your cigarettes to yourself,
your lies are getting stale,
your teeth are fading white to black,
your breath reminds me of the way I imagined hell

your empty words laced with venom trapping
sickness and disease,
you speak and you speak words to kill,
stabbing where you please.

youve no heart, except the stone one
that you keep,
locked up in a cigarette box,
far out of anyones reach.

Number 5

Maybe it does what lust does.
or maybe nothing at all.
its hard to tell from where I am,
sitting on my rooftop counting all the stars
whispering your name everytime one falls
praying to god that this time I'm wrong.
the stars are hollow tonight, and my words dont seem to be hitting home,
but by forgetting you, I'll be forgetting the rest. yellow coffee stained teeth,
midnight and the look of defeat,
as to the reasons I keep my fingernails short, and my acquaintences closer
now I'm getting off subject, and your still not gone.
so maybe I'll just count the cracks in the ceiling to prove
to you I'm wrong.

Number 6

Did you whisper softly,
or call my name loud?
The crackling of the ice is
muffling every other sound
Tracing vein like patterns
Where my feet rest
upon the frozen ground
The sign to my right
reads proudly, displaying "Thin Ice
a thin curtain standing in my way
I didnt hear you calling
your breathless apology
and I stepped to turn back
around to drop back to my knees
giving the gate one final push
was really all it took
and I fell into the unforgiving blind cold
forgetting that I can't swim.



NOTICE: THIS POEM IS NOT ABOUT DYING, AS LOTS OF PEOPLE HAVE THOUGHT. THIS IS ABOUT TAKING RISKS, GOING PLACES YOU HAVENT BEFORE, AND NOT KNOWING WHAT TO DO. THE THIN ICE IS A METAPHOR OF A LAST THING HOLDING YOU BACK TO WHAT YOUR COMFORTABLE WITH, OBVIOSLY PEOPLE ARENT USED TO FREEZING COLD WATER. I.E. SOMETHING NEW. THANKS.

Number 7 ,

I always let my thoughts stray
to where they shouldn't be,
sighing, placing back on my mask,
picturing our fingers intertwined,
your skin, crushed against mine.
I stuck a tack where they met,
where our lines intersect.
STERILIZATION it screams.
cleancleanclean.
But this is where I like to keep my thoughts,
hidden in a bottle of bleach,
kept safe under my bedroom floor.
Gently you close your eyes,
This is where I stand," you sigh.

Number 8

There are things that I wish-
that I know I couldnt keep
and theres something to this problem that
I have with getting sleep
and theres nothing to keep it
all under control
when your losing
thers no time to grasp
what is left of your soul
so better to leave it
and wonder what could have been
or take your cash and buy your luck
and roll the dice again.

number 9

The weeks of October are growing old. The nights stretch into long days and I just cant seem to find the way back into my cold bed. I sigh for sympathy. Explain myslef a little more. Now you've got me desperate for things that I just can't find in my head. I'm searching all the stacks and bookcases filled with paperwork. Lists of Christmas wishes, stacks and stacks of lies that pile up like dirty laundry. You caught me off guard with that one, I have to admit. I had my little walls sheltered, like sand castles built in the desert; never to be washed away. Impenatreble. You always sneak in that way, devious and uncontrolled. Sometimes, I worry for your health. I've grown up faster than you have, and I am only a teenager. I had all my issues and probelms carefully seperated and organized into moving crates, taped up with electical tape. You can't do this again. Everything works a certain way, and you keep coming in with your idealogical veiws, and your childish sense of direction. Sometimes I think that maybe its the other way around. I am only a teenager, and I've got so much on my shelf. Sucess is only closer than you think, pressure placed on acedmic strenghth. Mixed feeling about people you may or may not have them for. Your not sure, and then you have to add, all these other boxes for me to sort. I'm dying under pressure that isn't even there. I am confused, once again, and there isnt anywhere to turn. The weeks of October are growing old.

This is prose style poem.THink youuu.

Number 10

Alaska

I am standing at the edge
of the lake, spread
wide before me, as my
arms are;
poised for flight.
My compass is broken;
always points north.
I will never be lost.


I pitch my tent in the west,
but I will not sleep in it tonight.
I'll let the snow bury me,
and cover all the empty spaces.
The ice freezes quietly,
cracking and breaking the trees,
A raven crows in the south,
and I know its time to settle.

number 11

Please write back,you're hurting my eyes
you're far too bright. Nothing has
this capacity, no one usually has
enough time. I guess that you are
closing, a sort of door closing
shut, like a mirror thats tunring,
never look back at yourself. This sun is
rising, and the shore isnt as breathtaking
as I had dreamt, but dreams are just that,
usually make believe. This is too far for
you to see,
close your eyes, and make that impossibility.
can't you get anything right? Or can you just
not find the time? Maybe you're not meant to be right.

Number 12

I've drawn a line-
and carefully set up my walls,
against everything, and things that I
find comfort in- I'm confined.
There is a chasm set before me
carefully set in reality, its
an impossible gap to bridge,
especially with cowardice, and a strong
lapse of courage.
Stepping across the edge, I had to
think twice, and break down my
intricately built wall
of deception and lies.
My shoes are slick on the sidewalk
congealed in black ice,
a formidable opponet-
and it stretches on for miles. The current
is strong, but my stroke is stronger,
Everything I've known, I will combat withv
forever. This fragile existance of
only sixteen, is stronger in forces. I look for an
ending, a quick escape route,
and I find nothing, but a reflection in the ice.