Uh oh here's some pooetry.

Space and Time

I sit here in the dark of night contemplating;
mulling through the options before me.
The minute tick by as I am stuck here waiting,
wondering if I’ll ever be free.

Day fifteen.

Terra

You’ve got the wrong person.
You say that you know me,
and that I know you.
You say we have a history together,
a past full of wonderful experiences.
You say that we were once good friends,
and once terrible enemies.
You say that even though I lost my way,
that I was a hero,
that I still am one.
You say that I sacrificed everything I had,
everything I was,
to save those that I cared about,
that cared for me.
Maybe.
But if I were ever that person to begin with,
I am they no longer.
They are not me.
You say that you know me,
but you don’t,
and I do not know you.

Day 14.  Can you guess which superhero/villain/character I based this on?  Hint: The title should be a dead giveaway.

Garbage

It is daytime.
There is litter around me.
The ground is still wet
from the rain of last night.
The air is fresh with its scent.
I stop.
Listen.
People, cars, construction.
These sounds fill the air.
There is litter around me.

A Confession

I am a liar,
this much is the truth.
Yes, I am a liar,
and I hold no ruth.
No remorse, nor pity,
nor love in my heart.
Yes, I am a liar,
have been since the start.

?

Why do I do this?
Why do I do anything?
Really, do you know?
Does anyone really know?
I hope someday, someone does.

Day eleven.  Whoops I’m slipping up because this is poop.

You Make Me

When you’re near me,
I feel queasy,
uneasy.
You make my heart
beat ten times faster,
make it feel
like it’s going to burst
right out of my chest.

You just annoy me
that
much.
The sound of you breathing
makes me want to punch a baby.
I’d say you irritate
the literal shit out of me,
but we both know I don’t mean that
literally.
Well, you might not know it.
You probably don’t know it.

Day ten for NaPoWriMo.  Un-love poems are fun.

Murder Most Foul

Nightfall.

The rain pounding away at the busy city
almost drowns out the cacophony of the busy streets.
The busy people, with their busy lives
are unaware of the vice that has been committed.
A vice led by vice,
by craft and remarkable planning.
The makings of genius,
as well as the makings of madness.

It truly is a vice led by vice.

Damp air fills my lungs,
washing out the wretch,
cleansing my palette.
A spark.
I hold fire in my hands.
Ingenuity, inspiration, inhospitable,
the drive behind progress,
and the drive behind this.

I, too, hold fire in my hands.

I inhale, pause, exhale.
My breath is smoke.
Toxic, smothering fumes.
The exhaust of brilliance.
I really should quit,
but the feeling’s addictive.
As though you’re filled with fire.
As though you’re filled with life.

I really should quit.

Day nine for NaPoWriMo.

Support

We all do feel alone sometimes;
Out of place, perhaps out of mind;
As though we have committed crimes,
As though our presence is maligned.
But fret not if dysphoria climbs,
For we too have been in this bind.
So when you feel lost in the blue,
Know that we’re here to help you through.

Day eight.

Cycles

I’m so sorry.

I’m so sorry that I caused all of this.
All of this pain, all of this suffering.
I’m so sorry that you had to bear witness to this destruction.
The destruction of the mind.
The destruction of the body.
This soul-crushing sorrow that accompanies continuation.
It is all my fault, and for that, I am sorry.
So, so sorry.

But I will fight whatever powers stand in my way to right this wrong.
I will fight to break this vicious cycle.
This cycle of inspiring hope and agonizing defeat.
This unending pattern that I seem to have caused.

I can’t take away all the bad.
Sadness is just an unfortunate part of humanity.
It’s existence defines itself.
For without sadness, happiness wouldn’t matter.
I want you to be happy.
I want your happiness to matter.

No, I can’t take away the bad.
All that has happened, and all that will happen.
Experience is all that we have to define who we are.
Both good and bad, happiness and sorrow, play equal part, bear equal weight in the shaping of the self.
I couldn’t take away anything that makes you yourself.
No, I could never intentionally hurt you.
Beautiful, caring, forgiving, wonderful, perfect you.
But I can at least remove one sorrow from your life.

That counts for something, doesn’t it?

Day seven.

A Valediction

I’m not one for words;
a funny thought,
considering what this is.

Nonetheless,
I do not wish
for this to become
anything more.
More than one simple word.

I do not wish
for you to mourn,
for you to grieve;
I’ve done enough
to last myself a lifetime.

I do not wish
for you to be angry,
though I wouldn’t blame you
if you were;
I’d be angry,
too.

True,
it may seem selfish of me,
for me to ask this of you,
for me to do this to you,
but for once
I’m going to do
something
completely and utterly
for myself.

Please,
don’t blame me,
for being so selfish.
Don’t blame yourself,
for something you had
nothing
to do with.
Don’t blame anyone.

I love you.
I loved you.
Now,
I’m so sorry,
but this is
goodbye.

Day six.