October 12, 2009
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I believe that pain is nothing but a test.

Lately I've been forgetting who I am,
and being who I'm not.
I feel as if I have a million words to say.
But I'm not sure if they're my own.

Sometimes I lay on the grass and
write poetry in the stars.
But most of the time I run from the truth and
cover my footprints with lies.

You can usually find me tucked neatly
in the fold between insomnia and insanity.
But I'd like it if you just called me "normal."

I enjoy listening to shooting stars and
catching sound waves between my finger tips.
I think that forgotten things are beautiful because
they tend to scream

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