Hope

Neglect of my life,
has led to many problems.
But only myself is to blame,
for no one else has caused them.

In an attempt to change,
I look within,
And there I discover,
A heart filled with sin.

A seed planted two years ago,
Which led me to temptation,
Now I must cut the full-grown plant,
Which has caused me much damnation.

I have not the tools,
For this arduous task,
And thus I seek others help,
Yet have no one to ask.

Those who are closest to me,
Attempt to help each day,
Yet each time I push them back,
And then wonder why they stay.

Only myself I have to rely,
Through the duration of this test,
And if I make it through OK,
Could be anyone's best guess.

Hope is my last resort,
The last solace that can bring,
My heart the proper medium,
In which to make my soul sing.

Lost

Sometimes I feel as though I am travelling
through time without a reason. I feel as though I
am lost, and begin to wonder in which direction I
should head. I am pulled by invisible strings of
temptation and addiction, towards sporadic
desires which dissipate as quickly as they
appeared. In an attempt to make sense of my life,
I look within, but am confronted only with
unsolvable riddles. I have tried to open the Door
of Truth, but am unable with my Key of Hypocrisy.
Aid from others has become a crutch with which I
now heavily rely upon. I drown myself in
sensation, and thus dull the overall effect of my
efforts. Friendship is a foreign design which I
have often times struggled to construct.

Hard times are experienced by all, and yet I find
it easiest to portray mine in text. It is now
that I question my motives, and my goals I have
set. It is now I sit and ponder, elbow to knee,
fist to chin, in an attempt to unveil my true
sense of purpose. When my soul discovers a
purpose in this world, it is never fully
concrete. In a never-ending maze, I
find myself back where I started every single
time. My brain provides a simple answer to my
dilemma, and that is my existence is made
permanent and real only by the perceptions
broadcasted and received from other people.
Without the existence of such outside forces, I
am without the demons which both haunt me, and
save me.

While no one's life may reach perfection, the
constant efforts to achieve it never cease. Each
day people absorb themselves in activites which
either empower their ability to obtain
perfection, or desensitize their willpower and
desire to obtain perfection. To some people,
myself included, these "baby-step" activites can
be downfalls. Lost within the Routine of Life,
and struggling to exist in a world where change
is considered a good thing, I feel my internal
flame growing weaker. Those who can understand my
plight, can also respect my efforts. It is with
much hard work that happiness is obtained, and
even then, it is never gauranteed to stay around.
Those with the ability to re-obtain happiness
throughout their lives are the ones who enjoy it
the most.

How, then, does one re-obtain happiness from
within, when no outside forces exist to
stimulate it?

Hero

The deadline is near,
For my return to that place,
Where no one seems to know me,
And my heart begins to race.

I would much rather stay,
In the vortex of december forever,
I would sell my soul to stay here,
Where everything fits together.

My life has been a vase,
Dropped and glued back in to one,
But how many times am i able,
To drop it before i am done?

Given the strength to try,
By an unexpected force,
I am now equipped with the power,
To embark on a better course.

I will return to the prison,
Where i am filled with strife,
And break the chains holding me down,
Thank you my hero, for saving my life.

If able, one day,
I will surely return the good deeds,
Even at the cost of my life,
For it is you this world truly needs.

Can you guess who my hero is,
My shining star of hope?
Or will you give up,
And cut your imagination's rope?

Butterflies

Each day passing,
Like identical taxis on the road,
My problems are never solved,
Just stacked in to a heavier load.

Breaking point,
Is where I may find,
The strength to persist,
And a small peace of mind.

The butterflies, they love,
To flutter around inside,
Crushing all of my dreams,
Leaving me only myself to confide,

Pesticides, perhaps,
Could murder them fairly fast,
But their last breath,
Would also be my last.

Would you pull the trigger,
On a gun that fired both forward and back?
Would you destroy your enemies,
Or would it be courage that you lack?

One day, you may find,
A lifeless body in front of your door,
And with a knife through its stomach,
The butterflies are no more.