i'm retyping

and reordering

the words that i think

but they're all jumbled

and make no sense

now i'm stuck

and i guess you can say

that life sucks.

instead of saying i acted

in ways that i never thought

i could.

now i dug my own grave

because i acted without a saying

and my sayings were made with

an action.

i climbed up the wall

wanting to reach for the sky

i was desperate to reach the top

that i never watched for the bottom

i was happily blind

and i didn't hear the cries

that i was warned.

did i mind and turned around

and later did i know

i was back on the ground.

i chose the wrong step

slipped and set

back on what i thought

that i could get.

now i look at the sky from far

never to reach or soar.

not from the ground.

so i sit and stay

laying there strayed.

listening to the wind blow

as i only get cold

not another move i make

because it's another risk

that i would foolishly take.

in the night sky

lies a canvas of stars

connecting to form a picture

shining brighter than any light

i look up and see a twinkling sight

and i think to myself

what does every star mean

now i wait every day

in rotation i stay up and sway

i can only see from afar

the beauty in a star

with glowing passion

they always stay in fashion

because the stars will stay

for a million years

and so will my feelings

except they'll never die

part 1

"keep true to the dreams of your youth." -aristotle

My eyes look at the blank screen with a box of letters underneath. My mind falls into abyss as it waits to be catch by sanity.

Why do I keep moving my fingers. Why do I keep intoxicating the page with cries for help.

Do I write to express what I feel. Do I write to bring back memories that will never repeat.

Am I stuck in the past where writing is all I have. Am I in the future where writing takes me to the past.

Have I ever written about anything other than love and despair. Have I only written about the memories I can't bare.

you're smile so nice and bright

how dreamy oh my

it'd be a shame to turn it around

leave you in pieces

and crying on the ground

it won't be that bad

just a short period

it's what i call payback

not my fault at all

could've been avoided

if you didn't let me fall

I always wondered why I can't seem to write about anything else but love. Everything I say sounds like a lovesick pubescent desperate for attention. What would I know about love. I've only tasted artificial sweetener and been stuck in preserved honey. After a while I look back and regret what I say, because I'm nothing but 2 faced. Acting as I've seen the every horror in this world, I stay in my room drowning in silence. It happens too often making me nothing more than a foolish person. If it's one thing I can write about, then I'll write to my enjoyment because there's no rule saying you have to write about more than one topic. If I wish hard enough I won't get treated like the past is my present. It isn't, it's just a gateway to my writing.

My writing that flows across a canvas in stokes, covering it with the colors of the southern lights in the night sky, illuminating the eyes of everyone and flaring a passion in their hearts, leaving them in awe.