the walk en path is alone the walk en path is cold to the bone the walk en path has grief the walk en path Breeds no easy relief between ones feet and chosen ground the walk en path is a persons salvation the walk en path is a persons creation

The seldom creature wishes beating deafly chained into its cold chambers Too neglected Spoken as an ugly creature full of scars of pain and torture Battered seldom creature silent and alone wishing for wishes that would not beat out loud enough for a beauty to hear Wishing the ugly creature for a sharp hearing beauty to hear the musical beating that gave life to the ugly creature Wishing for a future Where beauty would Se...

When I was a kid my mom told me storiesabout battles between Angels and Demons and how this one Heroic angel gave his life to say his wife and child from an evil , evil demon and I remember always thinking I wish that was my daddy... or something dumb like that, that all kids with one parent thinks, I use to draw pictures of him this heroic angel-like figure and I'd draw him holding me and my moms hand, like we were all o...

if man had the power we could change the world if man had the strength we could conquer the fear if man just had the will we could perform miracles but only if man has the power if man cannot have the power to have the strength were would the will be?

I've sat in this room I know every wall Every hole hidden behind the posters I know every crevasse every crack I know these sheets these pillows  I also know  the story behind every wall inside every hole hidden behind the posters  I know the tear stains on all the pillows Like I said  I've sat in this room. 

Those are words, words of past  those are words words of future but yet  my solemn eyes see no change my aching heart feels no emotion I cannot bear more hurt  I cannot bear  more lies I want honesty pure true honesty but with no trust honesty  is a lie honesty is a false hope Do you not see my scars  have you not seen the nightmares  I've suffered  You are no more  than a vampire thirsty for weakness  hunting until you a...

I am a story book I have a beginning  And one day my story will end You are just my beginning You disappear after the climax Sure we had a great rising action But when the climax Maxes out You will fade  With the falling action My resolution Will be beautiful Because my ending Isn't you 

Her side Dear who ever, I'm not sure why I decided to start writing in a diary, maybe because I would rather write it all out than say it to someone else... Even though I'm kind of just talking to myself ... But it doesn't matter, I still would rather talk to myself than someone else, cause really? Who's a better therapist? Some guy who sits in an uncomfortable chair all day who doesn't know me at all, or myself who I hav...

Dear ... It doesn't really matter nobody will ever read this. Hi, I'm Zander. My therapist says I should keep a diary, and I thought it be a good idea until I realized that it wasn't. I hate writing, I always have, and I don't really think it would matter if anyone sees this because I don't plan on writing in here very much. I am 15 years old and I live in Dorchester in Boston MA. But it doesn't really matter, who would c...

i was stuck between two roads one road was rugged, bumpy tree's dead  laying across  but at the end  stood a house  Beautiful with an abundance of flowers The other road was smooth and calm tree's healthy, tall and just like the other the house at the end was Beautiful with an abundance of flowers  I starred down the second road  but my feet walked the other  and for some reason once I couldn't see  the second road  I nev...

Life as a spoon. It was cold, and wet, no light anywhere, and I with my comrades would fight to stay alive!! Earlier that day we had been sent out to the front lines. We had fought against the dirtiest of things, and in doing so we ourselves were very unclean. This was a religious effort, everyday we would be sent out from our holding barracks and be sent out on duty leaving some behind awaiting their next mission. My mis...

We are no more than a free style painting our actions are the paints our thoughts are the movements of the hands our mistakes are the black lines outlining ourselves cause our sketch is composed of black lines that shape the foundation for the painting