what

Who or What?

I am what i am.

I go unnoticed like the insects in your PB and Jam.

I'm practically a poltergeist.

No i'm not, I'm a silent ghost.

Caught by the tongue, but I have a sewn mouth

I'm stuck with myself like Hall and Oates.

Everything looks surreal.

Only because it is.

I have no definite form.

I'm not made of circles and squares.

just a bunch of concepts that society dissmisses. 

I'm sitting, I feel serene while strangers keep looking at me

as if I bring despair.

Their perception is rigamortis in the electric chair.

Admittedly I seem as if I'm in disrepair.

Who or what am I?

I'm in every color as if I was a t-shirt getting tie-dyed.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I don't like "proper" format. 

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Captivity

Stuck with your soul that's lost. 

It's gone forever.

It sucks mine in everytime.

You can't have mine I abolish it.

You devour what I am.

You steal what's inside of me

until I am dead. You take it all.

I can't have a fucking drop.

No one can. So how will you live now?

How will you go on?

Who's soul will you take captive?

You survive off the pain and hurt you inflict.

You watch it before you.

What you have created.

And you want more...

You take awe in what you've created.

You know what you will make next with your deceit.

But tell me now, when you know I love you.

And you take everything I was.

But I kept that drop.

You couldn't fucking suck because you were so goddamn lustful.

That drop is mine and I will always have it.

Because you didn't fucking kill me.

Im alive and you're dead because you're lost without me and your precious drop.

You will watch.

I warned you.

You picked your pills.

Have another.

So tell me now what the fuck do you have?

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What It Is

I feel like every single thing is like a mind game,  played and laid out for me

I can't feel a single thing, like I'm not blind, but I still can't see

 

What is it really? Perhaps it's not that important?

Tell me what it is, or is it just my own comportment?

 

I have walked in the very things I've looked down upon

What I once thought was selfish, now I too am wrong

 

and now there is blood all over my hand

But I have no idea why, I just don't understand

 

This is a complication called the human mind

Irony, double standards, hypocrisy, A place to be so blind

 

To wallow and loop in this thick puddle of shame

For the mistakes commited, I fairly wore the blame

 

Knowing is the beginning is something I suppose

It's better to learn, rather than to find it to oppose.

 

So I guess I'll take my feelings and throw them to the floor

I'll leave you where you originally were, trapped inside a closed door

 

And you can echo your goodbyes

as you embrace yourself to the ink of sheer ignorance and sighs..

What I am.

Porcelain.
Porcelain hands, legs, chest, face, and heart.
That is what I am.
Fragile, underestimated, overlooked.
Admired, but not loved.
Envied, and untouched.

Painted lips, dead eyes, no emotion, no voice.
That is not what I am.
Weak, empty, forgotten.
Looked at, yet seen right through.
Touched, without being felt.

I don't know what I am.
I am unseen, and unimportant.
Yet I am gazed upon, and held dear.
What am I?
A Doll?
A Trophy?
A Girl?
A Soul?
A Someone?
A Nothing?
Who knows.
Perhaps, I simply am, what I am.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

thoughts/comments appreciated.

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Ogo

The seat is endlessly rolling away from the desk.
There are many idiots in the rain.
There is never the correct amount of light.
There aren't enough words.
The desk stays clean for several days.
There are fewer people on the roads.
The air is always wet.
There isn't much for doing.
The lights are left off for weeks.
There is more time for sleep.
The time passes quickly and slowly.
There is nothing after all.

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Love

Love
What is love?
"Love is a many splendored thing"
Love is something to hold above all else
But is love good?
I believe that it may be. Maybe not today
Maybe not tomorrow, but love will come and love will go.
Love is also a dagger.
A dagger that nothing can resist.
A dagger that hath pierced many an armor, and once withdrawn leaves one to die.
Love is a dangerous thing, which has eluded me by a hair’s distance.
I long for this love, and yet I know not to follow it.
for if I do… only hurt can ensue

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