day one hundred sixty-six: eve of a new day.

on the eve
of a new day
a simple changing of days
from light to dark to light
the light simply returns
there seems to be a finality
in it's passing
more so than previous returnings to light
the ones of my past
the ones that have happened for the eighteen years
i've been alive
there's a sort of seal of
never going back
and as brave as i'm trying to be
i'm scared to death
of what this new year
is bringing

day one hundred sixty-five: life gives us choices.

out on a limb
i'm scared to death
doing the right thing
i hope i am

out on a limb
afraid to move
done the right thing
i guess we'll see

out on a limb
did life hand me this crown?
or did it fall from some
forsaken brow?

and i just happened upon it
because it's a jewel i've been lusting after
for years of my life
i just hope it shines with as much luster
as rumor has it should

day one hundred sixty-four: there will be blood.

this is guaranteed
there will be blood
when the monster breathes
it will drip and fall and splash
and dreams may come true
but nightmares follow
in the shadows
lurking behind every happy thought
there is that one filled with terror and oblivion
you don't know what to expect
or when to expected
you just know there will be blood
there will be a life taken
so lurk not in the shadows
steal to the light
but even then death might catch up to you
and only then can you even try
to put up a fight.

day one hundred sixty-three: approaching the new year.

"There are moments in our lives when we find ourselves at a crossroads. The choices we make in those moments can define the rest of our days, of course, when faced with the unknown most of us prefer to turn around and go back." - OTH

with the last days
of my graduating year
slowly slipping
away
i realize that
time for being young
has only begun
but time for being a child
has past by
the unknown
a frightful place to be
holds promises dear
and devastating
there will be tears
and trials and troubles galore
but i will not turn back
i will keep pressing on
like every year before.

[real life] [i wish i knew who you were]

mb-ink.blogspot.com

i'd like to be able to follow your blog.

day one hundred sixty-two: the lies we tell ourselves.

to deny yourself
is to alter yourself
to lie to yourself
is to deceive yourself
to deceive yourself
is to believe the lies
that no matter how hard you try to deny
will alter you
turn you inside out
upside down
and shake you for every last penny
i can only go on for so long
lying to myself
because i know that something
something isn't right
there's this feeling in my gut
and in the back of my mind
and last time, as afraid as i was,
i listened
and it came out right in the end
so this time, i'm a little more sensitive
to that Truth coming from behind my brain
somewhere deep within my chest
i will not deny it any longer
there's a certain thing
that i've lied about
believed about
and deceived about
and i'm going to let it out
i will
soon
because that's why i'm so restless lately
there's something that must be said
and it's already on paper, baby,
waiting for your eyes.
be prepared,
because it's coming.
you may need to sit down
take a rest
it's that intense.

day one hundred sixty-one: i need.

to leave

this state of mind

is suffocating me

from the outside

inside, the upside and downside

totally consumed by the sameness

the mediocrity that is

here

inside this same state of mind

so a hiatus would be nice

to escape the monotonous life

some inspiration for living

would really be a nice change

i know i'm capable of

amazing things

but i feel like my life

isn't mine to live anymore

and i'm only eighteen

but it's flown by so fast

and it's not stopping because i don't have a job

or because i'm out of school

it's not stopping for anything

it's not stopping because i'm alone

i need to escape

because time is running

and i must catch it

before my heart starts stopping

day one hundred sixty: i just listen.

to the rain

beating down my door

flooding into the open holes

in my mind

taking over my senses

wet, cold, shivering

i simply listen to the words

drowned out by the moisture

between my ears

my brain is flooded with your ideas

some would call my brain clean;

washed;

it's new

hope you're happy

i hope you're happy too

because now

all i can do

is mimic you

or drown trying to escape

the things you've made me think.

day one hundred fifty-nine: 1:58 A.M.

i'm outside
1:58 am
the sky
it sparkles
the night
so clear
the darkness
is invisible
i can see
i can hear
everything breathes
the trees sigh
and i must be crazy
but to see the stars
i lie
on my back
on the frozen ground
so frozen that it sparkles, too
it reflects the sky
like water would
and breathes a ghostly breath
and when i lay
beneath the cold silver stars
i lay atop the cold silver blades
of grass that mimics the sky
and it's alright
to be slightly confused
if i'm human or alien
because i'm neither here
nor there
i'm in limbo
i'm thinking
of where i will be
in the near future
and who will find me
and take me up from this deep sleep
in the silver studded sky
on the silver blades of grass
and let me steal their heart
and keep me
with my silver wrapped finger

day one hundred fifty-eight: high school, oh, high school.

the past
such a warm fuzzy place
even if it isn't full of perfect memories
it's so nice to be there
because if you're looking back
that means you survived it
and those trials you experienced
that you thought would kill you
merely kept you stumped for a while
and now you're looking back
through the boxes of high school memories
thinking and remembering
and reliving the past
and seeing all those opportunities missed
and all those opportunities taken
and all those smiles that were spent
with people you never thought you'd miss
until tomorrow, that is
and tomorrow's tomorrow,
because those days aren't warm and fuzzy
and tomorrow never will be for certain
because you've got no control
it's coming and there's no stopping it
no staying in this moment forever
you're closer and closer to tomorrow
and when you look back on today
this moment
right now
be sure you made it what you want it to be
because it's only warm and fuzzy
if you survive
to look back
on yesterday.

day one hundred fifty-seven: the color lonely.

why couldn't lonely
be a color instead of a feeling?
no easier to describe to someone
who is blind
but easier to understand
because it's there alive and holdable
if there were a lonely colored crayon
i would hold it in my hand
and feel the roundness and the smoothness
and the papery-ness of the wrappings
and i'd use it, abuse it,
maybe even break it
and sharpen it
and it wouldn't hurt me
but lonely...
lonely can't be held
constantly wisps of it trailing
just out of reach
so you can see lonely
and feel lonely
but it's impossible to catch
to hold, to touch, because to truly
understand lonely,
would be to accept that you are
and refuse to be lonely
anymore.

day one hundred fifty-six: you can trust the stars.

"we live in a world built on promises
constructed by liars"


round, round, green
lies, lies, means,
stars tickle the darkness
like bits of truth
shining through lying lives
"never stop
never stop writing"
keep going
on and on
shoot the stars
fling them across the sky
they're just trying to get your attention
to let you know,
they aren't like everyone else
you can trust the bits of truth
if you can catch them
if you can hold them tight enough
that they wont fling themselves
back at the horizon
you can trust the stars
if you can catch them.

day one hundred fifty-five: my life.

i want

i dream

i need

coffee

dreams

hugs

i pray

i wish

i hope

fulfillment

to understand

i follow through

by doing the things that i want, 

dream, need, pray for, wish for, 

and hope for...

because at the end of my life

i'll be the only one to blame

for the dreams i never made

come true. 

i'm too compassionate

and too sympathetic

i feel the regret others have

for their lives spent

and dreams lost

and i've felt it enough to realize

there is no such thing as "too compassionate"

"too sympathetic"

because the biggest regrets in life

are usually ones that could have been

easily avoided with a little bit of love,

for ones self or others

and a little understanding 

in a tense situation.

i'm learning.

i'm dreaming.

i'm not waiting.

i'm planning

ahead, but flexible,

ever ready

to change my plans

at the drop 

of a 

word.

day one hundred fifty-four: life changes.

bones disintegrating
decompose into nothing
brittle, breaking
beneath the weight of
the gravity of a certain number of years
drop one, slip a tad,
and never again the same
the shattered bones
from what once barely skinned your hand
the shattered dreams
from what once was merely bad luck.

day one hundred fifty-three: things i'll never be.

these are the things

i'll never be:

i'll never be as bossy 

or controlling as she was

i'll not ever be that petite

i'll never be as quiet as she was

and i'll never stomp on you like she does

but still, even still

i'm not enough.

day one hundred fifty-two: oh, hello.

call it what you will

silly lust

crazy hormones

young love

foolish attraction

call it as you see it

but until you feel it

really feel it 

deep in your gut

with that pang of

"oh, hello"

that means more than

simply, "hi"

then you can call me stupid

for being who i am

and doing what i've done.

day one hundred fifty-one: your body is a land of wonder.

"you head won't hit the pillow
without my hand behind it"
and we know now, that's not
how the song goes,
but that's not what matters
there's this thing called magic
and i'm almost a believer
because when i said that word
and you took my words
and made them your own
by repeating them to me
in reverse order
of logical alignment
it made sense
that it would be you
who might finally get it
and there are days that i lose hope,
lose heart
lose strength
but days like that night
make me remember
that words-- yours, mine, hers, his,
are not just words
but whispers of the heart.

day one hundred fifty: where credit is due.

i must say
that i must
give credit
where credit
is due
i must say
that i was
thrilled to finally
be seeing you
until that is
i noticed
that you don't even
care about
the people you "love"
and "treasure"
only the ones you've
recently been around
and that's fine,
sure whatever
i must bid you adieu
because at least you don't pretend to care
like others i know that do.

day one hundred forty-nine: life, it's wasted on the fake.

that feeling of

life being a waste

of every move

being a fake

the end

means nothing

if you never began

to let yourself dream

live

love and rely

on yourself to get you by

and when you fall

ask for help

because helping you

might save someone else

day one hundred forty-eight: bitter bite.

watch out, beautiful

here comes heartbreak

walking down the street

revenge and bitterness

raining form above

you're surrounded, overwhelmed

nothing can save you

from heartbreak's bitter

bite

day one hundred forty-seven: labels.

the foolish believe in perfection

the hopeful believe in happy ends

the caged fear freedom

and the free fear confinement

but we must not quit

for these labels need someone

on which to rest

and i just enjoy proving

the "smart" ones wrong.

day one hundred forty six: Ewan McGregor.

gray eyes

devilish grin

behind reddened lips

of passion

lips that house

a magnificent throat

which sings ballads

of only loving

imperfect

impossible

me.

day one hundred forty-five: writers block.

snippets of pieces of

lovely poems

leak and drip and try

to trip onto the

paper blank and raw

with nothing but

a feverish hand

grasping the corner

as if it is but the

edge of the highest

cliff face

simply waiting

for words to come

to my rescue.

day one hundred forty-four: provocative dance.

muscles bending

in rhythm

flexing to beats

with only mischief

and misery

in mind.

day one hundred forty-three: nonexistent things.

so

distance is just a word

but so is love

that doesn't take away

its impact on reality

words are assigned emotions

but how do you really know them?

if someone tells you love is enchanting

and enchanting is magic

but magic is not real

will you conclude

that love does not exist?

if that were so I wish I'd

made a list

of nonexistent things

so I'd just top wishing and waiting.

day one hundred forty-two: blue, brown, blue.

blue

brown

blue

brown

blue

somehow i've found the power

over you

there's a pattern

that's repeating inside of my brain

and i don't know when [or if] we will ever meet again

but i want you to understand

that this is how my life will remain

blue- the one i will not claim

the one so far back

i hate to try to regain

the state of mind i was in

such a young pup, you were just the friend of a friend

brown- well, i thought we were best friends

but bridges are burnt

and smiles fade with hurt

and so there you went

with so much power over me

blue- a simulated comfort

a silly mind game

lets toy with the brain

and see what we may gain

from this asinine competition

brown- a comforter

simply too much of a great thing

too soon for each to understand

too much love for us to handle

too much, simply too much

lets call it quits and find our way back to friends

blue- a friend

and more

but less

but somehow it makes sense

that we would listen

to that music

and call one another

"turn on the radio" "okay!"

but we wont over analyze these thoughts

because we're always allowed to change

our

minds.

day one hundred forty-one: out of control.

out of control

losing my soul

heartbreak

cannot take

this shouting

this headache

remove yourself

remove me

lies

hypnotize me

with your lies

you're missing the importance

of your actions

and your words

there's a sort of condescension

and hypocrisy

for every thing that echoes from your mouth

and every blow that comes from your arms

it's funny: the way you lie

just like i once did

the way you ruined an evening

like i have done many times before

maybe that's why i see

your silly lying

hypocrisy

day one hundred forty: shape of smoke.

think of the shape of smoke

all fluid

and bendy

it waves and winds

into the sky

interrupting my time

with the child within

the smoke is a poem

that suddenly stretches out before me

tempting me to put down the dr.seuss book

that i was reciting to us (my inner child and i)

and grasp the poem

before it slips further

into the sky

"...shape of smoke"

is a mere illusion

a distraction

a temptation

oh, the lovely shape of smoke

all covered in demise

day one hundred thirty-nine: when?

when did this become

some silly popularity contest?

some silly beauty game?

when did this become

this, this, fake thing

that isn't pure like it once was

who made it this way?

can we ever take it back?

and make it that happy

because i don't think

we are powerful enough

to bring it back

from such a torn and stained

state of being.

day one hundred thirty-eight:[untitled]

ignorance

ignoring

entrance

entrancing

hide

just hiding

beneath the skin

fly

i'm flying

defiance

defying

dreaming

the dream

within

holding

witholding

emotion

true feelings

that seep through

and stay within

day one hundred thirty-seven: i'm the toy.

theres an old toy

that you must give up

because if you do

your parents will provide

a nice shiny new one

and so you do

but as you go through life

with this new toy

suddenly something happens--

the toy breaks

and you just wish

with all your might

that you had that old toy

back again

because even though

it will never be the same

and even though it was old and worn out

that toy was comfortable

and easy to play with

it was your favorite

and there might not ever be another toy

just like that one

and the new ones might be shiny

but the old one had spunk...

something you cant really buy

or explain

but you keep telling yourself

even if you had that old moldy toy back

it wouldn't be the same

or as fun

as it was before

so buck up

smile

and let me go.

day one hundred thirty-six: afraid to go to sleep.

afraid

to sleep

to shut my eyes

afraid

i'll meet

my own lies

inside my head

there's no disguise

for what i'm feeling

here tonight

i'm

afraid

of loving

of losing

of dreaming

but at the same time

i'm so

compassionate

i've lost myself

somewhere in the dreams

so how does it make sense

to be afraid to love

but compassionate

to be afraid to lose

but to have lost myself

and to be afraid of dreaming

but to be living a dream?

it doesn't

and that's me

i'm afraid to go to sleep.