Melancholy Night

Somewhere in the distance,
Upon this dark and unforgiving night…
Lies a haunting bellow,
From a weeping dog,
Who is desperately howling,
Into the wind.

(It’s as if he’s pouring out his dying soul…)

I then softly reply,
“Me too, My Love.
Me too……”





It’s the little things in life-
The blessings,
The hardships,
The act to be still.
How it can shape you,
Into the being that you are.

Even when it feels like,
Your running around,
In a blanket of darkness…
Searching for hope,
Hating how hard life can be,
Knowing that the biggest impacts,
In this screwed up world,
Are going to be the ones,
That destroy you the most.

If you ask me,
Life is one big contradiction.

(And this is what confuses me the most.)

A Novel Idea

And there it was…
All laid out on a pretty table.
The men were always going to close their hearts;
To start a new chapter in their lives.
-Without me-

While mine laid threadbare,
Like an open display of skin,
Waiting for anyone to come around,
And to caress these time worn pages of mine.

I guess,
I’ll always be an open book…
And pretty soon,
I think I’ll start to charge a fee.

Who said you can’t make a living…
Out of broken hearts.

Beautifully Broken

Isn’t it funny…
That when we look for seashells,
Upon a beautiful sandy beach,
We always tend to look for the ones,
That are perfectly complete and whole?

I think this is where we go wrong in life.
We need to pick up the broken pieces,
That are discarded for want of not.
To collect all others,
That are just the same.
A mending, of sorts…
And to form a new beginning,
To show the love,
That is within our hearts.

“For everything that exists,
Should never be disregarded.”

And when the time comes,
We should set them free,
Back into the beautiful ocean,
Like a message in a bottle,
For someone else to find.
So, when they see the cracks,
Of that beautiful withered shell,
Washed ashore,
Upon broken backs;
They will see the power,
The beauty,
How complete;
Broken can be.

I hope they look upon their hands,
Of intact shells collected,
And see that real beauty,
Is made to be broken.

So the next time your on a beach somewhere,
With a pocket full of shells,
Please don’t disregard the broken ones…
Because underneath the fractured,
You just might find a pearl.

The Power Of Heartbreak

-I believe,
In the power of heartache-

I believe,
That an ache can be so strong,
So powerful,
-So earth shattering-
That it can manifest itself;
Leave an imprint;
Command itself,
To be known,
For others to see…
To powerfully show,
Just how hard,
Just how MUCH,

…A heart really can break…

(My manifestation,
Of loves devastation,
Has wrecked havoc,
Upon our world.)

I call them earthquakes.
But sometimes,
We name these devastations;
-These “natural disasters”-
After those,
Who have done us wrong.

I believe,
In the power of heartbreak.
(I believe-
You did me wrong…)

Just how much,
I guess the ricter scale shall see.

“Hell hath no fury, like a woman scorned.”



The Watcher

My Love,
I’m watching you-
You may not know it,
I’m always there.

I watch you drink yourself into oblivion,
Fervently washing all your sorrows-
You may not know it-
I’m always there;
To refill your bottomless cup.

I watch you as you take your sleeping pills,
So you won’t have to feel your pathetic life.
You may not know it-
I’m always there;
Sleeping right next to you,
Staring at your tear dropped eyes,
Waiting patiently;
In the darkened shadows.

I watch you with your inner struggles;
How you desperately push all hopeless thoughts away.
You may not know it-
I’m always there;
To push those sorrowful thoughts;
Right back.

I watch you when you softly cut your pretty skin;
Releasing all your bleeding hurt away.
You may not know it-
I’m always there;
To catch your blood, as it falls.
My razor sharp tongue,
Licks at all of your lovely wounds.

You see…
I’m never too far away.
Because, the thing about depression is…
It demands to be felt.
And one way or another,
I will always get my way.

My Love,
I’m watching you-
You may not know it,
I’m always there…
Right until the very end.

Dante’s Inferno

There is so much death in here-
My body that is…
I breathe in these decomposed fumes,
Exhale my life’s rotting ashes,
Yet somehow…
I’m still here.

It’s dumbfounding, you see…
How a stagnant body can go on,
How it continues to live,
Inside a nonexistent life…
A life I don’t want,
Nor is it one,
That I asked for…

-I’m screaming in tortured vain.-

I get up,
To suffer…
I go to bed,
To suffer more.
Confined in night terrors,
Dying over and over,
To repeat the same thing,
When I awake.

I’m dead inside this skin.
Which is suffocating tightly,
Covered in charcoaled brimstone,
Screaming in a voiceless agony.

It’s a never ending loop.
And I can’t help but think…
I must have died some time;
Long ago.

I’m left now in a void,
Where only demons dwell.

(Dear God,
Save me from this pit,
Forgive me of my sins,
Release me from this blazing hell.)

For, now I fear,
I’m just left over pieces-
A troubled soul;
Gone wrong.
Yesterdays fragmented ashes,
Of a girl I once knew,
Who is now stuck in a eternal funeral pyre.
-Burning away-
Destined to repeat a never ending story,
Which has imprisoned me inside my own-
Dante’s Inferno.

(Written in a fever of anguish.)