I sit there
Running out of paper...

I hold the bottle
It invites me in...

Can't you see
Love is just potential hate...

No angels are present here,
Only the presence of fear...

The sun rises
So far...

Wish you were here
Now there's only suffocating...

Sick twisted poets
With their malicious pens...

Walking down the street
She breaks a heel...

I still sometimes catch your scent
Your soothing hands...

You can find the meaning of life
In the reflection of your knife...

Please comment on this poem because it means more...

The scars are long gone
But not on my brain...