Say it.

Call me stupid for loving wholeheartedly, be my guest, rip into me.
But don't dare to judge me unless you know me.
Don't dare to analyze me,
Unless you dare to peel away the skin.

Peel the layers one by one,
Push the right buttons,
This may not be fun.
I exude acidic venom of defeat,
It is not neat,
It is not pleasurable in any way.

Stop and Re-think, before you Repeat, a Regretful experience.

You rinse, dry, and use, and use...
allover
Reuse, reuse, reduce.

You use, dispose, buy and buy...
another.
Misuse, misuse, abuse.

You wonder what's the point of it all.
Why attempt another brutal climb,
After a fall, fall, fall.

Endless consumption

To fear is to be consumed.
Consumed by doubt.
Consumed by probability.
Consumed by the inability.
to proceed with the unfamiliarity
of obstacles that promote,
self-growth.

Belittling beings

I am losing myself in this insanity,

This self-afflicted solidarity.

Nipping off people with an absence of depth

Like infected taste buds.

The blood, the blood!

She surrounds,

I am left

Dumbfounded

By your miniature perception to life.
Humans are pathetic, lost in meaningless lives,
For slender battles, with unfulfilling ways
as their reason.
Their reason for fate, and life.
Their cause is but to perish into replenishing those more worthy.

Insanity

Strum your strings oh instrument of music,
Go on, toot your horn.
Sing your song, sweet nightingale.

Today, a new lover is born.

Write your words oh instrument of virtue,
Go on, share your merit.
Preach your wisdom, oh divine oracle.

Tonight, a new lover is dead.

Portray your emotion oh instrument of sorrow,
Go on, weep to the world.
Shower your tears, poor widow of love.

Dear lover, who's lost her head.

A Synonym to 'Perhaps'

Deminish the Darkness
Thread into the Light
Fight the wrong
Justify the right

For what is lost
You hope will be found
For those that are blind,
By despair be bound

Will it be you?
Will it be me?
Will it be them?
Perhaps all of the above, perhaps it's we?

Is it him?
Is it she?
Is there a child?
Is it all three?

Shall it be her?
Shall it be he?
The questions they ask, with one consistent response, "maybe."

(Based off a friend's poem. Original may be found here:  https://www.facebook.com/notes/adam-rae/maybe/338919754963 )