I am tired of walking alone in the darkness.
4 years ago they told me
	You are in a very dark place, in a deep hole.  We are trying to 
bring you out of this.
I am tired of succumbing to the void.
I have long lost the staring contest and surrendered The quiet game.

She does not understand the addiction.  Her body has never been 
afflicted.  I teach her but she does not believe me, she does not 
understand what I have been through for the sake of staying alive.  She 
does not understand how I destroy my body in order to keep my sanity.

I have fought through the grayness, I have fought for the hoax of color.  
I believe in the possibility of seeing the shades of violet and scarlet 
and emerald that I have been blind to.  When I feel like dancing I write 
instead and it helps to get the pain out.  Its like standing on the 
wound.  

I do not love in the way that most people do.  I love people and I am 
coming to terms with that.  I am coming to terms with the possibility 
that I will be abnormal.  I love her because she led me from the 
darkness.  

Trance music and colored lights.  I want to be a victim to the pain, I 
want to lose it all one last time.  I want this to be the lightening 
struck tower.  I want her to realize how much she loves me.  

Sweet nicotine.  Sweet alcohol help me forget for just a little while.  
Help me to sleep without nightmares tonight.  I have had visions of the 
darkness again and it terrifies me.  

This is how I choose to show myself to the world.  I choose to hide my 
pain and my reality.  I choose to live a separate reality than you.  Am I 
still a poet?  Am I still a writer? What makes me who I am

What will ever  define me if I have no markings upon my wings, if I have 
no blooded scars nor colorful stains, I am just another wasted body on 
this wasted planet.  I can hear you mocking me I can hear the screams of 
pain and agony from somewhere deep within me and its so painful that I 
want to join them and in mere seconds this will be all over

Once I asked him:
Have you ever seen the real beauty in dead birds?

Why is it beautiful to you?
I don’t know but it is, I think it is because they are so delicate
	And so hard to catch in still that when they are dead it is like 
they are no longer even birds.  They 
	Cease to hold their title and become yet a piece of art bits of 
calcium and carbon
Inanimate
The shine of iridescent color on their wings.  The closed eyes