It begins with a heartbeat.

Not your own.

Someone else's.

And it's not alone.

The first breath,

The feeling of cold,

The feeling of warmth,

The feeling of love.

Bad things happen.

But you can't tell.

You're just a baby.

For now.

Good things happen.

Colors.

Sounds.

Food.

Curiosity killed the cat.

It almost kills you.

Luckily for all of us,

There's usually someone wiser.

Scramble through early years,

Struggle through teen years,

Trudge through the beginnings of adult life,

And slow to a crawl with age.

Everything goes by so quickly in retrospect.

First field trip.

First dance.

First funeral.

Bad things happen.

Heartbreak.

Poverty.

Depression.

Life kills everyone.

It almost kills you.

Luckily, though,

It is not your time.

Mistakes become scars.

Scars become scars.

They don't change.

They're not supposed to.

Wisdom comes with age,

Pain,

Exhaustion,

But ultimately, joy.

It's a normal day.

Except someone almost dies today.

Luckily for them,

You were someone wiser.

Confusion.

Confusion.

Confusion.

Confusion.

Where am I going?

Where are you going?

Where are we going?

And why?

But you won't find out.

Perhaps nobody finds out.

But you won't figure that out either.

Confusion becomes acceptance.

And once everything has been said and done,

Once life has come and gone,

It is time,

To return to a breath.

This is supposed to be a long poem.

But it's about life.

And life,

Is short.

This is supposed to be a good poem.

But it's about life.

And the word good does not quite fit life.

But neither does bad.

This poem was never supposed to end.

At least, not at the start.

But now I realize,

All good things must end.

And so it ends with a heartbeat.

It's your own.

Your last.

But it's not alone.

Stepping past the skeletons of winter,

Released from the curse of frigid mornings,

Away with the mistakes, failures, and frauds,

Bury the corpses, discard the shovel

Looking forward to the morning dewdrops,

The all-permeating scent of young grass,

Beautiful sunset, breathtaking sunrise,

The birth, rebirth, and renewal of life

Watching the graveyard

Bloom into a garden

Once upon a time, a man looked into an ink blot. It made a very distinct shape, but it had no real meaning to anyone else. That man, however, saw something special in it. It was a symbol. It could be anything. It could be an omen of death, a beacon of hope, or simply an ink blot.

This man decided it ought to be shared. His reason? Unclear. After all, it was simply an ink blot. Still, for whatever unfathomable purpose, he made dozens upon dozens of photocopies, and then hung them around town. And it didn't take long for people to notice.

The average passerby would stop and stare. What was it? Some... butterfly (As the children said)? Was it a face (as pareidolia struck)? It was just an ink blot. Though, others made much more of it. The extraterrestrial eccentrics saw it as the symbol of their new masters, soon to descend in their flying saucers. The overtly religious deemed it some satanic ritual, and took to gathering the fliers and disposing of them. The police took note of it, fearing it as the sign of some gang or terrorist group. The conspiracy theorists began fervently planning and plotting. And of course, some simply believed a lunatic had gotten his hands on a photocopier (Was this true? Perhaps. But we will never know).

The news made a fuss of it. Who? What? Where? When? And most of all, why? Again, they would never know why, nor even who and what. But where? Everywhere. The symbol spread into every nook and cranny of the city. Like a ravenous beast, the symbol began to shift and spread, consuming the entirety of the country, then continent, then world (And as the UFO fanatics stubbornly insisted, the rest of the universe, where it had even come into contact with the aliens). Experts from around the globe studied it. Did it have certain cultural significance? Was it an ancient symbol, unearthed and brimming with yet-to-be-deciphered knowledge?

Many attempted to give the symbol some kind of meaning. It was a symbol of the gods. It was a symbol of creativity and artwork. It was simultaneously a symbol of free speech and of suppression. Some gave it beauty and value. Still, others took it up as the face of violence, hatred, and destruction.

It was just an ink blot. That was all that the man had spread. Was it his fault? Did he mean for any of this to happen?

But it was just an ink blot.

And this was what I thought of.

I say it a lot,

In case you forget,

But you are amazing,

To the point where it confuses me.

Your favorite flower is a rose.

Beautiful, sometimes sharp,

But enchanting.

How fitting.

No matter what,

Nothing fazes you.

I admire you,

More than words can say.

A warm embrace,

The kindest touch,

Hands clasped together,

I feel loved.

Hasty glances,

Brief meetings,

Daydreaming about you,

It's so thrilling.

Late nights.

I ought to go.

But I won't.

I'll be here for you.

Resting my head on yours.

Leaning against you softly.

All I can think of is you,

My heart beating with yours.

I'll be yours,

If you'll be mine.

Nobody else can have me.

You can keep me forever.

A tireless light in the darkness.

You encourage everyone.

I hope, I desperately do,

That I could be a light to you.

Isn't it just so pretty to think,

All along there was some,

Invisible string,

Tying you to me?

A hug that's too short,

A risky peck on the cheek,

Watching you go,

I already miss you.

One in a million,

Finding you.

I'm so lucky,

Having you.

My anchor.

Thinking about you,

Throughout the day,

Keeps me steady.

My lighthouse.

I rush towards you.

You reach out.

You make my day.

My love.

Make my heart beat,

Make my days brighter,

Make my everything better.

The slightest shiver,

A not-so-discreet blush,

I can't help but smile.

You give me butterflies.

Melt my heart.

Heal my cuts.

It's just you.

And it's just right.

Forever.

It's a lot.

So it's the perfect word,

For how I love you.

So charming,

I can't resist you.

Not that I want to anyways.

You'll always win me over.

No matter what comes,

No matter what goes,

No matter what you do,

No matter what you don't,

I love you,

For being you.

Yesterday, today, and forevermore,

I love you mostest.

Just one more hour of sleep.

Just one more drink.

Just one more bag of chips.

Just one more video.

Just one more pill.

Just one more minute.

Just one more game.

Just one more try.

I hate telling myself these lies.

But I can't help,

To say them,

Just one more time

There is a fine line.

And he stepped over it,

With his disgusting hooves,

That insolent prick.

He shits better out of his mouth,

Talks better out of his ass,

Spits like a llama,

Smells worse than one.

I'm bitter.

So why the hell aren't you?

Why. Just why?

Why are you settling for him?

He's a rotting carcass.

You're a blooming red rose.

He's a filthy stain.

And somehow you were happy with it.

I'm not enough for you.

Nobody measures up to you.

But please,

I'm willing to give everything.

Neither he,

Nor the countless people I'd kill,

Not even my own flesh,

Will stand in the way of your happiness.

I need you.

You need me.

And if you won't get rid of him,

I WILL.

Like ice.

A cold facade.

But beneath it all,

There is warmth.

Like the sun.

Too brilliant to behold,

Bringing a flush to my face,

My heart desperately melts.

A breathtaking sea.

Mountainous waves within.

To drown in them,

Would be my pleasure.

Shattered.

By who?

You can tell me.

I'll kill them for you.

A lonely gaze.

Still breathtaking.

You look around.

I look away.

They're blue.

Blue makes me sad.

You make me sad.

Because I'll never have you.

They haunt me.

They're too sharp.

They cut right through me,

Straight through my heart.

They're brave.

Unfazed through bullets and flames.

You've seen worse before.

I can tell.

I'm like you.

At least, I think.

But I like you.

I know it.

Those eyes hold a face.

That face holds a person,

As beautiful as those eyes.

And I'd love to hold you.

I've rewritten this twice now.

I want it to be perfect.

For you.

It needs to be flawless.

Intricate, charming, beautiful,

Like you.

Though I am nothing,

I want to give everything,

For you.

Bitter iciness plagues me,

And I'd die without warmth,

Like you.

I'd tear out a thousand hearts,

Then tear out my own,

For you.

I'd trade all the death,

With someone worth living for,

Like you.

But in the end, neither I,

Nor it, will be enough,

For you.

But I can't help it.

I think,

I like you.

For you.

The color of scattered glass,

Like shattered ice,

In a place that was once comforting

The color of a roiling sea,

Mountainous waves,

And the deepest void beneath

The color of a lifeless screen,

Lost progress,

And the death of what is dear

The color of disappointment,

Hateful tears,

And giving up

The color of,

At least for me,

Sadness.

Success rate: <1% (2% if you're really hot)

Materials needed: cultist outfit (just get something from an emo kid's closet), cookies, sacrificial knife from amazon (or, again, just get it from the emo kid's closet), and many, many condoms (safety first guys)

Other things to know: must be good at demonic chanting, at least somewhat attractive, and not a virgin (just as a failsafe, in case they decide to try and sacrifice you instead)

Points of failure: yes

Step 1: participate in the closest cult interest meeting (and bring cookies or something to immediately get some clout)

Step 2: join the cult by chanting some random bs and lying that some supernatural shit had possessed you

Step 3: rise through the cult's ranks (by ANY means necessary)

Step 4: get to the virgin who is to be sacrificed

Step 5: seduce the virgin sacrifice (I mean, if the virgin is no longer a virgin...)

Step 6: have fun (remember that "ANY means necessary" from before? Yeah, you'll have had a lot of practice already)

Step 7: convince your fellow cultists to sacrifice the cult leader (by this point, you'll have fucked almost everyone in the cult except the cult leader, so you know who the only virgin left is...)

Step 8: viola! the cult is yours, and so is the girl