One of my shitty poems I wrote a year ago. Wish I still had the motivation to write, because I won't ever improve just sitting here mulling over my old works.

Would you listen to me if I wrote a story for you? If I let free the demons from my closet- would you think it to be true? … I don’t believe you.

Hold your tongue before you spit at me some sympathy, to act as if you’re company; I have built up walls of fallacy and hide from true reality… The silence is my ecstasy, And your words cannot comfort me. …But you do not care. I only speak when no one is there- in hush tones you will not hear, Tones so low that they tempt angels to come near.

But there will be no story. This is just poetry, I write it over weeks at a time until my words have ceased to rhyme. Whenever I can find the time.

This skin has turned cold and pale, bloody and frail- these voices in my head seem to wail. Darkness surrounds what little I see of paths laid before me, And I cannot find out where I should be, To feel free and no longer empty… My body shakes. I can feel my bones quake as the road I chose transforms me into a fake... a liar... a shell... it is more than I can take. All that I am collapses, I fall into relapses until my body breaks from overwhelming fear. Silence… So no one will hear… And if I were to shed a tear I would feel once more that fear of being found, Laid dead on the ground, in the silence… where there is no sound.

There is no advice you could provide, Help is beyond my pride and the person I am inside. A shallow heart that beats so slow, Where did my emotion go? If you asked me I would not know… So silence shall reign as I internalize my pain, And feign a jester’s smile- praying it might stay a while,

To bring life to the corpse I have become.

Do not look up to me, I am no deity with promise to set you free. You are all above me. Look down at me and speak what you see, I pride myself on heresy and blasphemy. I live in infamy, for God means nothing to me-

They say that faith can give the hopeless hope, but I haven’t found faith enough to cope…

So lay me down and whisper whispers that you dare not whisper to fragile souls, I wish my heart would cease to thud, or my lungs to flood with blackened blood, That I have swallowed long ago from times when time began to slow; I am consumed by the hate I’ve come to know.

Tonight is silent. Tonight… I am silent.