Problems

Pain lurks at every corner,
Reaping what you have shred.
Opening your nightmares to a new monster:
Being who you really are;
Living the way that keeps you stable.
Evening comes and the peace is disturbed.
Morning arises and dawn breaks.
Scratching out the last
Sad
Tune
Of your Lullaby.

Lovebirds

The sweet song of spring.
I listen quietly,
I love the sound, the pitch, the tone.
It is beautiful, undeniably.

Small interruptions,
Almost undetectable.
Attentively I sit,
And each note is unforgettable.

I see their happy faces,
And hear their beating hearts.
Wildly excited,
Though targets in a game of darts.

I fear for their future,
And I hope for their happy end.
Though I know my heart is not open enough
To be in love again.

Senses

Notes of wind through leaves, flowing in a breezy way of harmony, singing through people's ears, a sweet melody of silence, and music.
The air, tainted by the passing cars on the road, and the smell of ignorance on pedestrian's faces, wafting by your nose.
If you think about your past, you will receive brain waves of soft, warm water that passes over your mind, in a comforting thought of a memory.
Passing your fingertips over the familiar skin of your arm, you can almost feel the veins underneath, a constant movement of small, almost invisible cells from one limb, to the next, carrying the same message, the same heartbeat.
Seeing people on the streets, you think of how innocent they seem, yet guilty all the same, because of the harm they are doing to the earth, and those small, seemingly insignificant, lives and cycles of life, that present themselves before, right as you turn to step on an innocent spider, while afraid of only a bite.
A tender taste of home, drifting down your throat to shake the imaginary hand of your heart, to tell you: Welcome home! and your tongue sensing the closeness of your family dinner made with either love, or insincerity, one sweet, one sour.
Feelings are created out of what you sense or think, and they are all closely related to the heart and soul.

Music

A harmony of notes and sounds, all blending together.
Sometimes, they somehow make the exact sound and blend.
Almost like magic, no, exactly like magic.
I hunt for those magical songs.
And as I find them, I familiarize them into my brain.
and when I remember them, I play them.
Again, again, and again.
Then I can play them inside my head.
Is that crazy? Or is the humming as much as I should tell you?
Maybe I am crazy, crazy for music.
It moves through me and I love it.
My iPod is my oasis.

Independence

They've written a song about it,
They've written a declaration,
yet no recount of my own comes to mind.
Independence: Me, myself and I
I stand on my own feet.
I balance on my own sin.
I hold my own blood.
I beat my own heart.
Yet I still am missing...something.
Oh, that's right.
I'm only missing one thing.
You. Can you stand on your own feet?

Thank You

For all the almost hugs,
They almost make it better.
For all the french smileys,
Sadly, I only understand Spanish.
We have so much in common,
Yet I'm from Venus and you from Mars,
You are closer to the fiery inferno
of heat and pain than I,
Cold and surrounded.
Tears run down my face,
Unnoticeable, hide able,
leaving scars of memories in their path.
Thank you for sort of noticing,
It means my whole world to me.
Even if you had no idea.

Who are you?

We talk once a week,
though we've never met.
I hope you don't get crazy,
Or come to break my neck.

We talk of our thoughts,
though you can't prove they are there.

You are a gentleman one moment,
and the next a joker.

I cannot read your mind,
Nor your face.
Are you playing me?
Trying to lose my good grace?

I'm getting a little scared.

Shut Up

Surrounded by a sea of voices, tugging at my sanity.
Howling my name, they will not leave me be.
Useless calls can't bring me back, I am elsewhere.
Temper tantrums can't make me listen and will not make me care.

Undermined people cannot make me see, for I am blind to any beauty.
People may call me different, but they know nothing of my real entity.

Going

I keep going and going,
Never stopping to look back,
But what happens when I have nowhere to go?
What becomes of me?
I read, I write, I listen, I speak.
Anything to keep me going.
Even if I go nowhere,
It's away from here.