Piece of You.

I feel your arms around me
even when you aren't there.

Because a piece of you
seems to always be with me.

Whether it lingers on my
lips from the last time we kissed.

Or on my skin the last time
we touched.

A piece of you
Is always with me.

The Game.

At first it was a all
A game.
The hugs.
Kisses.
And more.

But now I feel like something is
Changing.
The feelings.
Reasons.
And me.
Or could it be him?

It was first nothing
Serious.
The hanging out.
Kisses.
And fun.

But now it seems like its turning into
More.
The long conversations.
Passionate kisses.
And affectionate embraces.
Could this be getting out of hand?

Too bad I'm still going to play the game.
And only my way.

Thanksgiving Thoughts.

The world is an unfortunate place, but sometimes unfortunate occurrences brings out possibilities. I once heard "Happiness is a choice". And that little saying; Four words, eighteen letters, six syllables, changed my life. The world may be filled with sadness and grief, and yes, it may be pouring out of its pores. But I realized its for the world and everyone in it to see. We can avoid it or make it better. We all have a choice to change and until something unsettles us, we are reluctant to change. Until it turns our world upside down, change is out of the question. But in the end, its necessary.

What brings on this unfortunateness anyways? Good people? Bad people? Neither. There is no such thing. Only what we decide to be and strive to be, and how others view us. But don't let that change you. Don't let others sculpt who you become. Let them provide criticism (that you can either take and use or merely throw away) on the final piece-what you decide to sculpt out of yourself. Its your choice. After all, we only have one life. Live it the way you want to, don't let life live you.

Live.

Live in the moment.
Feel the rush.
Let it last.

Live it up.
But don't forget who you are.
And be proud of yourself, for whatever reason.

Live in reality.
Capture your dreams.
And let them live.

See the world go by,
Rich with bliss,
A brush dipped in pure color.

I'm the only one drowning,
Bleached of all happiness,
Dripping black and white.

Whited out.
Different.
Alone.

Drops Will Form a Puddle.

Before,
I was living in
Black and white.

Now,
I'm living in
Bright, vivid colors.

Back then,
I always kept everything
sealed up.

Right now,
I'm letting it all out,
One drop at a time.

Now.
Soon the drops will form a puddle,
An ocean.

Of my own blood.

"Sometimes you just have to take the chance and leap, even if that means you'll fall right into an ocean of ugly."
-Shabnam Mashhoon

Shattered Pieces.

In your arms
Everything disappears.
All the hate and pain vanishes,
And the world thaws.

Its amazing
How I can be so down
One moment,
But then feel like I can fly the next.

It almost scares me.
No, it does scare me.
I'm afraid of what will happen
Without feeling this way again.

I feel whole for once in my life.
Through all the pain and hurt
I'm going through right now
I feel whole and it feels amazing.

I once said I felt broken.
And you said we'd pick up the pieces.
And it seems that actually happened.
I no longer feel broken.

I only have one fear.
When "us" will shatter to two separate words in no time,
To a merely "you" and "I",
My heart's stitches will undo themselves.

All I can say is I'm not ready.
I'm not ready to go back to that yet.
Of course I'll understand if you no longer want an "us" now...
Cause' I know, in the end, I'll always be the broken one.

Just wanted to say I love you.
Your happiness means everything.
So don't worry about me.
I've gotten used to being an ocean of shattered pieces.

Three Simple Words.

Three simple words.
Three powerful words, when put together,
Tore me apart.

Nothing can stop my mind from wandering now.
As I try to decipher what happiness lied in the opaque future,
I can't seem to see anything other than pain.

Lasts night's exchange of thoughts threw me off.
I'm scared, I'm shaking, my eyes tired of crying,
And my heart evermore stained.

Forever, I'll always remember you.
The one that scintillated through the fog and dullness,
That pulled me from my drowning death to safe shore.

Three simple words.
Three powerful words, when put together,
Tear me apart.

The Shadow.

So there I am.
Standing high above millions,
Looking down at what is described as a "nasty fall".
Or an escape?

A body of broken bones.
An ocean of blood escaping it.
And one less life lived to it's potential.

I step closer to the edge.
The algid wind pushing against my back,
Encouraging me to let go.
Or scaring me from going through with this?

A demon inside me.
An enemy with a heart of onyx.
Urging me to jump.

I look down at my wrist.
Quickly a memory lights,
Flashbacks start to flicker.
Or were they merely nightmares?

A frigid blade.
An act of impulse.
Teeth sinking into unbroken skin.

I take a deep breath.
Think of everything that has happened,
And how I didn't deserve any of it.
Or maybe I deserved it all?

A life of secrets.
An absolute besiegement of emotion.
Drowning me deep in an ocean of pain.

I try to make my thoughts drown the voice.
The voice in my head that pleads me to stop,
That yells at me to end all of this.
Or is it really yelling at me to jump, and get this all over with?

A voice.
An obscure and faint whisper.
No matter how hard I try to drown it, it simply floats back up.

Then it hits me.
Two hands, pushing against my back.
Next thing I know, I'm falling, the sidewalk getting closer and closer then...
Or am I flying, imagining this, dreaming, what's going on?!

A BAM!
An algid rush floods through my veins.
My life ceases.

Abruptly, my eyes shoot open.
And there I am,
Looking right at myself in the mirror, perfectly safe.
Or am I really in danger?

A reflection.
An identity quite misleading.
Wearing a mask 365 days, 52 weeks, and 12 months a year.

So there I am.
Standing ground level, among millions.
Looking at what is described as a "disturbed teenager".
Or maybe a teenager trying to feel something other than emotional pain?

A mind-opener.
An image of myself, holding a blade,
Its teeth covered in blood.

I continue to look into the scuffed up mirror.
Looking into my olive-freckled eyes,
I see me, lost and distressed.
Or is this person a stranger? This person can't be me, can it?

A memory lights.
An important and powerful memory leaks.
One that fills me up with envy.

A young and optimistic girl.
Happy and smiling, her whole life ahead of her.
Never letting anything stop her from living her life to her satisfaction.
Or maybe this is me?

Yes. This was me.
This is who I wish I could be again.
No. Wait. This is who I know I can be again.

My hands grow weak.
The blade falls and hits the floor, as crimson tears are shed,
And I realize, my pain grew into a monster overtime, eventually controlling me.
Or maybe it was up to me to control the monster?

A demon inside me.
An enemy with a heart of onyx.
One that I will refuse to listen to from now on.

Why?
Because I'm better than this.
I know I am.
Or are you?

A ghost.
An opaque shadow lingers beneath me.
The shadow of the monster I buried along with my pain and my past.

A shadow I no longer
Let rise above
Me.

Pain Always Finds Its Way Back to Me.

Feel like im surrounded.
Besieged.
Encircled.

In a blanket of fog.
Haze.
Uncertainty.

Don't know what
is going to happen
next.

Only know its going
to lead to one of two
things.

Pain.
Or
Happiness.

Pain.
Blood.
and Tears.

Happiness.
Warmth.
and Love.

Would I do anything for
Happiness?
Yes.

Would that include changing
myself?
No.

But in the end, isn't happiness
found by being yourself
anyway?

So why would I even have
or think of changing
myself?

Easy. Because I can never be happy
in my own
skin.

Why say this? Because I don't remember
the last time i've truly been
happy.

Because sometimes happiness doesn't seem
to find its way to some
people.

Or maybe thats another way of saying
hey, you don't even deserve
it.

So I take the blade and invite
the teeth to dive into
Blood.

An ocean of crimson not far below
layers of my
skin.

And the feeling is great,
no its better than
great.

Why say this? Because It takes away
the emotional
Pain.

Because steal teeth always seem to
find their way back to
me.

Or maybe thats another way of saying
hey, this is what you deserve, more
Pain.

I have nothing more to say to them. I'm done.

Fuck you.

I'm done with this,
and with you.

I have nothing more to say
besides, "Fuck you".

And that, I believe, is more
than you deserve.

Why? Because you are inconsiderate
and thick-headed, but most of all you have

no heart.

You continue to hurt me,
and you know it.

Stop lying right to my face.
I'm sick of all the lies.

I'm sick of you.

Because You Need It.

You look back at what you said before,
before the actual, full-on pain,
before your life seemed to be
breaking apart.

You was once happy.
Once optimistic.
But now, the only happiness
you find is in the ones you love.

And yes, that should be enough,
but for you, its not,
because one upon a time you knew what it felt like
to love everything in your life.

You try to go throughout your day
making yourself believe that
tomorrow would be
better, but instead
it turns out worse.

You want to feel like you once did,
feel needed,
feel purposeful,
but instead all you feel is pain.

So yes, you embrace your addiction,
Overdose in it,
But why inject yourself with a new kind of pain,
If your life is already is drowning in it already?

Well thats easy.
Because you.
Need.
It.

My Addiction.

Is more than a bad habit,
its now a part of me,
what I do
and who I am.

I can't help to crave it,
can't help to stay away from it,
I can't help the unbelievably
great rush I get from it.

It seems to throw me into the ocean,
drown me in pain,
and pull me back out
feeling better than ever.

Until, of course, the rush fades away,
and I'm forced to do it again,
this time taking a larger dose
than the time before.

It blocks out my emotional pain,
until I'm left with physical,
and thats much less
painful than emotional.

I continue to live on it,
even when I know its bad for me,
and even when the ones I love
tell me to quit.

So I'm sorry,
And as much as want to stop,
Its more painful if I do
and I'm threw with so much pain.

I want this all to end,
but after all,
my addiction
is now a part of me...

literally.

"If I feel like I can fly when we hug, take me to the hospital and sign me up for rehab because I may have found my new addiction... You."

-Shabnam Mashhoon

Nothing Ever Felt Before.

In the few seconds
your arms enclose around me,

I felt weak, but safe.
l felt lost, but found.

I felt like the second your arms wrapped around me the world froze cold, but i stayed warm.

It all felt different.
nothing i can compare to.
nothing I ever felt before.

Sparkled Winter

Your branches swing in the breeze
your branches filled up with leaves
your branches grow at night,
but no mater what the winter will strike
you have nothing to worry about
your sleeping bark has grew correctly
your leaves fall and you are gone
until next summer you shall wake
to see all you left and held very dearly to your heart.

Poem I wrote back in 2006 and just thought I would add it to show how much my writing style (poem style) has greatly changed.

Midnight Getaway.

As a ghostly shadow fell under the restless trees and lampposts, as the water flowed with such grace that all thoughts were swept with it, the moon glowed like gigantic pearl in the night sky. The city and indigo outlined moon shimmered in the opaque water’s reflection. It was a peaceful autumn night, the wind was cool, and city was asleep. Black, grey, and white colored geese – with occasional honks – were partly silent, passing the midnight black sky.
There I was, lying on a hill, like every other dream, looking up at the glittering stars blink and shatter into the horizon. The grass was chilly, and morning dew was being collected on their fingers, as though reaching hands were stretching to grab as much water as they could.
Looking up at the night sky, just waiting, thinking of one person. Trying to image his reflection in the river in front of me. Listening to the water overlap always made me feel… happy, like I was not alone but always having something there to fill the silence. I laid there the rest of the night looking up at all that lay in the blanket of midnight blue and charcoal black.

An excerpt from a book I started writing ("Glazeville") in March of 2007, but never ended up finishing.

Yin & Yang.

You are bright.
Flowing.
Glowing.

You are the sun.
The firery
Yang.

You feel alive.
Loved.
Heated.

I am dark.
Mysterious.
Opaque.

I am the moon.
The watery
Yin.

I feel dead.
Lonesome.
Cold.

Together
we are each
other's half.

You fill in
missing parts
of my life.

You are
my sun,
and I, your moon.

BE you.

A PATTERN.

A WAY OF A NORMAL LIFE.

A PATH NO ONE DARES TO STEP OFF OF.

A CYnIC.

A DISBeLIEveR.

WILL BrEAK AWAY.

PEOPLE FEAR OF CHANGE.

BUT EVENTUALLY, CONSERVATIVE THINKING

WILL bReAK DOWN.

UNTIL ONE DAY, THE WORLD AND EVERYONE IN IT

WILL FINALLY BE PROUD TO BE WHO THEY ARE.

NOT WHO THEY CAN REPLICATE.

OnE DAY, EVENTUALLY, SoMETIME IN THE FUTUrE,

PEOPLE WILL STEP OFF THE PATH

AND STEP OUT OF THE PATTERN THEY CALL NORmal.

STEP OFF OF THE PARTH OF NORMALITY.

DON'T bE WHO YOU AReN'T.

BE you.

Life Ceases.

Blue ocean waves crash,

Swallowing me deeper,

Until life ceases.

Crimson Tears.

Deep

Cuts

In Arms

Block life's pain.

Crimson tears are shed.

As reality then kicks in

It's too late to turn back, a new scar, an old memory visited.

"Simplicity is what we all thrive for. Complication is all we end up getting."

-Shabnam Mashhoon

White-Out.

I have watched the

Thoughtless.

I have seen the

Horrific.

I have done something

Stupid.

I wish I could click undo.

Roll back time.

Redo what I have seen,

or done.

But in the end, its where it has got me.

Making the person I am today.

Something I will never

White-out.

Daylight, Don't Fade to Grey.

Lights may fade away,

But my heart escapes the grey,

And my love will flood,

Through the blue windows in your eyes.

Lit city streets and taxi streets,

Caress my heart in the lusty night,

Under the stars hung above us,

In the pale moon light.

So, Daylight, don't fade to grey,

But moonlight, don't leave me,

'Cause beneath the stars,

Beneath the shimmer,

Of shattered lights on ivory sprinkles we lay.

On a beach far, far away,

From the rushing sound of people and traffic,

To the whispering waves of this ocean,

We will stay,

On this beach far, far away.

We run along the shore,

Until we can't run no more,

And look up at the liquid blue sky,

As a blanket of water pulls over us.

I don't know where else I'd rather go,

Than to be here with you in this world,

Where the skies open up,

Sprinkling tears of joy upon us.

So, Daylight, don't fade to grey,

But moonlight, don't leave me,

'Cause beneath the stars,

Beneath the shimmer,

Of shattered lights on ivory sprinkles we lay.

Song I wrote in July and decided to edit it and make it into a poem. It has double meaning so most likely no one besides myself will probably understand parts of it without an explanation.

Stars.

I see the stars fall

from the sky,

As they shatter

falling toward us.

But hey, we don't care,

A scratch or two won't kill us,

Tangled in a misty web,

With broken stars around us.

In Control.

Feel the teeth again your skin,

The rush,

The cold,

The pressure.

Feel your head spinning,

Heart racing,

Suspense arising.

Feel the ease of being able to

Resist the teeth.

The feeling of being in control.

Feel the blade drop,

And hit the ground.

Feel the relief swell within,

Heart slowing.

Suspense dying.

The scratches.

The scars.

The past.

Feel the power of being in control.

Nightmare.

I'm walking,

Slowly down the first flight of stairs,

Almost in slow motion.

Then everything speeds up,

And I hit the second flight,

Falling, bleeding, in pain.

I wake up,

I've had a nightmare,

And realize that nightmare is my life.

Maybe.

I want to escape,

Never stop running,

And never look back.

I want to run away,

So far they won't find me,

But then again, will they even try to?

I would rather feel pain physically,

But the only pain I feel is locked,

Locked away in my heart,

And the key is lost,

As my head keeps spinning,

And my life no longer feels secure.

I don't want to go back,

But I don't want to move forward,

Afraid to fall deeper and deeper into confusion.

If only they understood,

Understood what they are doing,

If only they accept me for who I am.

But wishing never gets you anywhere.

I need to make it happen,

So I will never give up, never give in.

I will continue to be who I am,

Continue to look for the key,

To unlock all the pain I've keep in.

Maybe one day I'll be happy again,

Maybe one day they will understand,

Maybe one day they will see what I see,

The world as simple as it really,

The world that we can make,

And the world that people like them are making.

Prussian Blue.

I'm in an all time low

Isolated from the world

An island on the ocean blue.

Standing on a cliff,

Thinking of all the times I wished,

I could do this, had that chance and took it.

Stop holding me back,

Cut the wire and let me fall,

Fall in the endless silence of Prussian Blue.

Infatuation overcomes me,

As I think of the endless painful nights,

And the vista of escape.

Look across the white sand,

From my old apartment view,

Locked in the bathroom, thinking of you.

Press the steel teeth against your wrist,

Let the last drop of blood fall,

As you hit the ivory-washed floors.

Not breathing, Unconscious or dead,

Can't you see this is what I wanted,

No, cuz you keep saving me over again.

Shouldn't be doing this,

Shouldn't be here right now,

But its time I let go.

Then I open my eyes,

My window by my side,

Watch the birds touch the mirrored waters.

You touch my arm,

I look into your eyes,

I find my escape, Prussian Blue.

So there I am, sitting on white diamond gems,

Sand between my toes,

But now your sitting next to me.

Your arms wrap around me,

Sitting in the shallow clear ocean,

Against the soft sandy ground.

I'll always be here, now that I'm in your arms,

In an endless sea, I find my escape when I look into your eyes,

Into pure Prussian Blue.

A song I wrote back in April, & I just decided I would edit it a little and turn it into a poem.

Awake.

Lost.

But I know exactly where I am.

Hurt.

But there's no proof. No Scratch, no scar.

Alone.

But I'm surrounded by a sea of people.

Blind.

But I have eyes. I should have seen this coming.

Stupid.

But I'm smart. I should have followed my head, instead of my heart.

Regretful.

But I don't regret what I have done, what I want to do, or what I believe in.

Dead.

But I'm breathing. Walking. Living.

But now, I'm no longer lost.

Hurting. Alone.

Blinded. Stupid.

Regretful. Or dead.

I realize I never was.

I was just unaware.

Unawake until reality hit me.

And inspired me, changed me.

I took a chance.

Pulled the plugs.

And now,

I'm awake.

"I found someone who accepted me for me, chose me when there were surely many others more desirable out there, and gave me what I could only dream of. Love. I gave him my heart. And in the end, he returned it. Broken. Barely Beating. And Shattered."
-Shabnam Mashhoon

Safe.

The dark dominates the light,

As I move higher and higher,

Into a blanket of dark indigo,

Into a nest of icy clouds.

Im not worried if I will fall,

Not worried if I will wake to another day,

I put my trust in man and machine,

And it cradles me in the air, 3,000 ft. high.

A memory is lit.

And it burns as I asleep.

A memory where I am in the arms of someone,

Who makes me feel like I can fly.

And nothing can ever make me fall again.

Depression.

Depression.
It is like a virus.
A disease. An infection.
That eats away at you.
A deadly cancer that lives in you.
That sucks up at the happiness in your life.
A leech. A vampire.
It leaves you with nothing.
Nothing but a scar.
Unless the infectious monster spreads fast and long enough.
Then it will leave you with a cold dead body.
A body the monster claimed his own.
A body belonging to you.

The Virus.

The very lives you've touched,
The very lives you've lifted,
You've spead them all a virus.

A virus that can never be cured,
A virus that merges with their memory,
You've planted a seed.

But now that you left,
But now that you have melted their hearts,
You've abandoned them and their memory of you.

The very people who you loved,
The very people who continue to love you,
You've been dead for years now.

And the virus you so subcontiously spread continues to the lives, And you will never be forgotten,
Even if you no longer breath and your heart no longer beats.

Truth.

Truth is like a dangerous
Pill.
Once you take it, there is no going
Back.
It starts to eat at you
Slowly.
Until sooner or later its too
Much.
And then it is
Over.
Too much to take
In.
Like an overdose, too much of the
Truth.
Will cause you to end up
Dead.

Scars.

Wish you could go back,
Past all hurt,
The screaming,
The scars.

But no matter how hard you try,
It all gets thrown back at you,
No matter how much you try to fix it,
It finds its way back to you again.

You may be able to forgive,
But to forget?
Impossible.
After all, thats what scars are for.

They are there to remind you,
To open up the wounds,
Ones you've tried so hard to heal.
They are there to force you to relive your nightmares.

Rose Delight.

A rose that glistens in the sun
A rose that lies on a tiny stem
A rose that might grow to the heavens
It’s delicate pedals hold tears of delight
It’s beautiful smiles lets everyone know that every day has a great potential that every day is a new beginning to show off her beauty from the golden rays that washes her golden smile
A meaningful delight she holds in every pedal of her blossoming face.

Poem I wrote in 2006.

Steel Teeth.

I depended on it.
Or so I thought.

The thin crimson linings.
The highs, the rush.

Realized my addiction could be ended.
My addiction for a drop of cerise was just in my head.

The highs and rushes were real.
The addiction was delusive.

I'm done with it all.
I'm putting away the steel teeth, for good.

Graduation Day

Congratulations on this happy day
flying beyond all applause with each exciting day.

Very short poem I wrote to my cousin in 2005.

You paint your own paintings, so why don't you paint your own life?

-Shabnam Mashhoon

Painted With Blood.

Its an odd thing

To watch glass fall

In slow motion

To the ground.

You don't even realize

When it shatters

Against your feet

Piercing into your skin.

Next thing you know

There is a puddle

Of blood forming

Around you.

Its a bizarre thing

When you don't react

Watching painfully,

acting normally.

You go to call someone

Walk to the phone

Blood dripping behind you

Like in a horror movie.

You call,

They answer.

You loose more blood,

They rush on home.

Then you realize

A piece of glass

Is still in your foot

Painting with blood.

You quickly pull it out

Without thinking

As a rush of red

Floods out more.

Its an amusing thing

To be "in the moment",

To stay calm when you just

Watched glass stab you.

Its not at all what it seems

Like in the horror movies.

No, its much different,

Its much more peaceful.

To look around you

And see splatters

Of blood your own blood

Is quite... 

Inspirational.

Black Blood & Secrets.

When you look up into the onyx blanket

Above your head, you see white stars.

Nothing else, nothing more.

I used to look up into the sea of ink

Above my head, I see gems shinning,

Diamonds through the depths of an

Endless ocean, an endless pool of ink.

I used to see hanging dreams in the dark shade

Above my head, winking and twinkling,

And every-time a star will cease to shine,

A person will cease to breath,

His secrets expired with him.

But now, in the midst of all that is occurring

I no longer see gems in the sea of ink,

But more-so a film of black with piercing

Punctures, allowing light to shine through,

An eternal mark. Blemish. Impression. All I see

Now when I look up is a sea of black blood and secrets.

Not There.

You'd think people would actually listen,

Instead they look straight at you,

No reply.

No reaction.

Avoiding.

Ignoring.

Lost.

Happier with a life cluttered with people, dull lights, and smoke,

Than a life of simplicity, a life of polished ivory.

Wish you could live a life stripped of complications, stripped of details,

But those complications, those details, got you to where you are, who you are.

And now, sitting in a corner of a dim lit room, in silence and alone, 

Your scared for the future, no regrets from the past.

But what you don't realize is what you feel now,

Your numb. Or maybe just lost.

Lie.

They pretend they care,

I ask for help.

Help never comes.

They pretend to be open,

I share my feelings, my opinions.

My feelings and opinions are ignored.

They ask me how my day was,

I lie and tell them it was fine.

Lying was the best thing that happened.

So now I lie,

Not to everyone.

Just them.

I lie because it makes up my best mask,

To hide the truth they refuse to except.

When the truth is right in-front of them.

I lie because it creates my alias,

To hide who I am, the person they don't want me to be.

When that person is forevermore reluctant to change.

They just don't realize,

They aren't winning.

They are losing.

They are losing me,

But they probably don't care.

I guess I shouldn't care either.

After all, why should they?

The person they want to believe is standing in-front of them is gone.

So very gone. She's dead.

My Choice.

To be tangled in his arms again,

Is too much to ask for--I had made my choice.

I will not turn back.

To be lost in a small room filled with darkness with him,

Seems like a dream--One I had lived.

One I dream to live time and time again.

In the eyes of many, my choice was poor. A mistake.

Stupid.

In the eyes of many, my choice was rash. Irresponsible.

Wrong.

In my eyes, my choice was what I made it to be. Spontaneous. Acting off of impulse.

After all I could have said no--like I had done before.

Like I always have before.

In my eyes, my choice was to take a risk. To do something new. To try something new.

After all sometimes you need to live off of your impulse--to live in the moment.

Like I always refused to before.

My choice wasn't wrong,

or right.

My mind was whet,

and clear.

My heart was guarded,

and inviolable.

My memories still replay,

still flicker over and over again.

Like that bare, dim light bulb flickered,

In that small room filled with darkness.

Ivory Walls.

Dry air slips through the crevices of hope,

Twinkling drops of tears fill the pool of desperation,

And life's full color is tucked between pages of musty books.

Golden safety pins dig into once unbroken skin,

Faint stitches form,

Black blood is let.

Memories are painted,

Onto once white, ivory walls,

Permanent. Vivid. Real.

Something One Thousand Times Smaller.

In the light of day,

Darkness surrounds my hopeless body,

Fear slips into the empty spaces in my veins,

And my heart proceeds to pump quicker. Faster.

Without hesitation, an unwanted adrenaline rush floods through me.

My senses arise,

Everything is blocked out due to the overload of awareness,

Everything but a tiny drop of fear that inches towards me. Closer. And closer.

Something one thousand times smaller than me is what I fear the most.

My Phobia.

Breaking Away From "Right".

There has to always be something transpiring,

Not something typical,

but something sudden and exciting,

Something spontaneous and on impulse.

I've always acted the "right" way,

But there's no risk in that,

No rush when you think back,

So I decided to change that.

So I took a risk,

Felt the rush,

Never regret it,

And most of all, I loved it.

I now realize I need risk,

I thrive on it,

It makes up who I am,

Plus, what's a life without a little excitement?

The Sun that Continues to Shine.

More related to me than my own kin,

Closer than anyone I've ever known,

The sister I've never had.

More determined than the ocean waves longing to reach shore,

Committed to make the best of life, pulling the weight of your past on your back,

Though it may be heavy, you continue to advance though life's unclear course.

Continue to head toward your dreams,

Down a long path that leads into a puddle of gold, into the cheerful sun,

That still continues to shine though hardship and life's heavy hand.

You will reach your goals, though some may alter,

They are always open to someone with a heart as cherry-red as yours,

Someone who decides they want to make a difference in this chaotic world,

You will make a difference, and you already have,

You've make a difference in my world, so thank you,

Thank you for being the sun that continues to shine throughout the day, throughout life. 

Flutter of Lashes.

Hidden behind gardens of foliage,

A posh ocean of Prussian blue,

With chips of hazel and dark freckles,

Are hues of plenty of varied emotions.

Emotions that change with a flutter,

That's heart expands as the blanket falls,

As the veil of night falls upon the world,

Freckles sparkle brighter than before.

Sparkles brighter in the light of the night,

Beneath a layer of restful silence,

A dim light from a pearl hung high,

Breaks through the veil and sparks my heart.

If I Hadn't.

If the blade wasn't down against my wrist,

the loss of blood, 

the rush and addiction of wanting more,

If I hadn't broke off from my family's beliefs,

and just stuck to the idea of there ever being a god,

or that marriage being two people of the same sex is wrong,

If I hadn't been with someone most my friend's didn't approve of,

in that dark, dim-lit room,

doing things no one would have expected,

If I had done the 'right' thing,

done what I had been told,

and kept my opinions and questions to myself,

I keep thinking what my life would have been like,

but all those things I have done make me who I am,

make people hate me or love me,

So even though I have made 'wrong' choices in people's eyes,

I don't regret it,

because no matter how much they urge me to change, I won't.

This is who I am,

who I want to be, who I will continue to be,

and no one will change that.

"Your a part of something so mysterious and dark, but you still manage to light my world."

-Shabnam Mashhoon

Your Ecstasy.

You can just sit there,

Staring out the cracked stain glass window,

Alone. Hurt. Cold.

Your mind whet,

Memories replay,

As your heart beat sounds louder.

A person's reflection can be seen,

In the colorful stain glass,

Where yours should be.

Pain is reflected in their eyes,

A knife in their hand,

Like the one in yours.

The pain heightens,

The knife's teeth reaches your wrists,

And the reflection follows.

You take in a deep breath,

Push the steel into your skin,

Your rush. Your addiction. Your form of E.

No longer alone.

The room seems to light around you.

White. Divine. Blissful.

Your no longer hurt.

Your painful memories seem to dissolve.

Clear. Magical. Unexplainable.

No longer cold.

A rush of warmth sweeps through your body.

Orange. Powerful. Delightful.

It lasts for a minuet or two,

A moment of peace,

A time of ease.

Then, isolation surrounds you once again,

The pain returns,

And the warmth beneath your skin is replaced once more with ice.

Then your temporary escape ends,

You turn back to the inviting steel teeth,

And the need for a new thin cut deep into your wrists temps you.

One more slender cut.

Another drop of blood.

Your medication. Your Ecstasy.

A Sonnet from Antonio to Shylock.

For when your eyes do pierce mine with hate,
An invisible flechette released,
And thou, still silenced in your stubborn state,
Proceed to demand thy bond, none the least.
When I plead thee for mercy and grace,
Thou continue to glare, for I am too late,
Heavy hearted my mind seizes to pace,
Your bitter expression leaves me ill fate.
How do I say I hate thee as well?
Under your flesh lies a black heart of coal,
But no turning back, I say thee farewell,
Though plead thee, let me live and leave me whole.
But through your civilized suit, one can see,
The savage animal you persist to be.

A sonnet I wrote for school, from Antonio to Shylock in "The Merchant Of Venice".

The Dark Invited You.

There is something inviting about the dark,

It doesn't just lure you in,

It besieges you.

When your walking in the middle of the night,

Lights dim, all is quite,

Walking through the idle streets,

A light flashes on above in a building,

Shadows can be seen, figures of two,

One with what seems to be a knife.

Then it is plummeted,

Deep into the other silhouette,

A yell can be heard, then back to silence, the lights suspend once again.

A another light turns on in the room next-door,

Curiosity leads to yet another death,

Another stab, dragging them into the dark.

Yet, from what you have witnessed,

The addiction to know more grows,

Your feet lead you more into the deep onyx towards the killer.

You can't stop.

You don't want to stop.

You can't turn down the invite.

The killer emerges from behind the building,

You stare at him, then back at the window,

He senses your knowledge.

Next thing you know your being dragging,

Deep to a rest,

Were your last heart beats can be heard like a din of a city.

And a knife comes down again. 

That's your end.

The last thing you will see.

The teeth of a knife.

A splash of crimson.

And an ocean of black.

The dark invited you.

You accepted the invitation.

Now your a part of the dark.

Who You Love.

You love yourself.

But who  you love is a mystery to you?

Who do you love?

Yes, its you. But who are you?

Yes, people can answer it for you.

Listing adjectives, positive or negative.

But only you can find you.

Only you can really know who you are,

Where you stand,

Who you will be.

Who you are.

And who you love.

"What you are living through is the truth.

But what life you live may not be."

-Shabnam Mashhoon

Get Rid of Your Alias.

Your lying to yourself.

You need to stop pretending.

You know its what you want to do.

What you need.

Even though it may not be right.

Even though it may ruin your image.

Its the truth.

Its who you are.

What you want.

What you need.

Take off your mask.

Get rid of your alias.

And Live your life.

Handful of People.

Its a funny thing how people become so wrapped up in the present, they don't stop to think about the future. 

How people spend days mourning over a breakup, a death, a situation, when they could just deal with it and move on. 

Actually, the really humor is that we can't do anything about it. Its human nature. Instincts. Impulse.

Once in a while there comes a handful of people who have the strength to actually go ahead and do the opposite of what 99.9% of the population seems to do. Being human.

That crowd pushed themselves. And won. They passed being human. Won having normal human instincts.

But then again, what is normal?

The End of The Beginning.

Its the end of the beginning.

Like a sunset following a sunrise.

Like a tape refusing to play after it has rewinded.

Like a child dying right as it entered the world.

Its

Blowing out the sun's flame.

A machine unconscious.

Suffocating on the very air that sustains life to millions. Billions.

Leading to a 

A broken sun.

A broken tape.

A broken heart.

The end of the beginning is

Broken lives.

Broken memory.

A broken you.

Whispers and Memories.

Your lost in the dark.

In the cold.

In a room.

A bare bulb, lights. Opaque, dim.

Strong, slender arms find you.

Wrapping around your waist.

Pressing you against him.

Warmth finds you.

You look up in an ocean of blue.

Face lit.

Radiating happiness.

Radiating desire. Or lust?

Your no longer lost.

No longer cold.

No longer in the dark.

Pulled out from the depths of an onyx ocean.

Pulled into the arms of a birch.

Its dark cuts and slits scrap against your arm.

Scars lead to memories.

A pain that trap you inside the darkness.

It pulls you back down into the dark.

Back into the abyss of ink.

Ink with speckled white.

White specs of happy memories.

Memories you go to for comfort.

For desire.

Fantasy against the cold bitter reality.

For an escape.

This comfort keeps you amidst sough.

Drowns you in diversion.

In a room were all could be heard are whispers.

Whispers and memories.

44 Seconds.

Continued from previous post "Enveloped By Fog"...

The dim light from the stain glass windows begin to sluggishly escape. The cathedral turns into a haunted get away from home. The old wooden floors begin to creek. Shrieks and moans escape from the ghosts in the antique building.

Braydon comes through the doors again. You could tell he was restless. Hammocks were hung under his dark eyes and it was obvious his thin shirt wasn't doing a great job keeping him warm. He walks with an uneven pace towards you.

"Hey. I'm really sorry, I re-really am," he starts, exhausted.

You, still in pain, shuddering from the cold, respond steady, but slow.

"You couldn't... have known... I was there. It's... Okay."

"Your really cold, I looked around the cathedral and all the cabinets I found were locked, but I found a medicine box," he starts, then takes out a small bottle from inside his jean pocket, "here."

"What is it?"

"Motrin I think. It may not help much, but at least it will help a little."

You reach out for the pills, "Thanks," you manage. Then you take the pills, try to open the bottle, but fail. Shrugging.

"Here," he leans out and takes the bottle and opens it then hands it back to you.

And you inching with pain, grab the bottle and pour the pills in your hand. You don't care how many to take, you just want the pain go away. To escape your body. To die, like you failed to do hours ago.

Then you swallow.

Now your dead.

44 seconds later, your alive again. Cardiac arrest. CPR. Braydon's in your face, staring, hoping, scared. You or Braydon don't say a word. He went from scared to relief once you opened your eyes. He saved your life. When you didn't want to be saved, he saved you. Again.

Silence followed. You stare into an ocean of blue and brown. Your so close to him you could count every spec in his eyes. Then he leans in more...

San Francisco.

Your full of light, one in a million. Different.

Accept the different, the unique.

You make me happy.

But your far away,

Hard to reach,

Hard to get to.

So now I just avoid you.

Your one city in a million. Billion.

But I seem to keep coming back to you.

Escape, go off, with no specific heading. No specific end point.

But each time, its San Francisco I end up in.

So I give up. I'm not going to run this time.

If San Francisco is the city I end up in, I'm not leaving it.

After all, why run when you belong?

In windy waters,

On the sandy blond beach,

Along the crystal blue shore,

In your arms.

Your San Francisco. I'll be the Golden Gate.

You'll be mine. I'll be yours.

*If you couldn't tell, I'm wasn't talking about a city...

Your Heart Flickers.

Heart flickers whenever you see him.

Eyes can't move from him.

And his voice stabs your stomach. A painful, yet pleasing hurt.

But,

He can't know anymore. He can't know the truth. Not again.

But,

He's the one. The only one who's really been in your heart ever since he spoke to you.

Who'd ever thought that you may be in love? But then again how can you tell?

Spend the time away from him distracting yourself. But all it causes is to miss him more.

To go back to him. Like going back to something that's not there. 

A missing feeling. A one way street. A dead end. A dead you.

But,

Still you look for his face in a crowd.

And,

Your heart flickers whenever you see him.

He Was The Predator, And You, His Victim.

You.

Are worried.  Claustrophobic. Walls closing in on you. Lights disappearing. His eyes.

Are an ocean. Lost. Waves tearing you. Water all around. His steps.

Make you isolated. Helpless. He's the predator and your the victim. Traps you.  His kiss.

Is heaven. In love. His lips on yours. Kiss. Touch. A feeling. He pulls back. His closure.

Is hell. You are lied to. He's gone. Never turns back. You were used. He was the predator, and  you, his victim.

The Mask.

You were supposed to be there. Be by my side. Ease the pain, not cause it. I love you, but I hate you. Your more than complicated, your understandable. A boulder, not letting me through. Like fog, not letting light pass. Not letting me live. Causing pain. Give me hurt. So all I can do is pretend. So I wear a mask, so no one sees the truth. The reality.

The pain I feel may not be physical, but its there. Ripping me. Breaking me. Tearing me. Emotional pain wins of that of physical. It can cause you to think that things will lead to yet another cold body laying on the hard face of the earth. Another life destroyed and turned. Another person who has to hide. To wear a mask, and to step into the harsh, vivid world.

Enveloped By Fog.

Slipping out of bed, onto the cold hardwood floor, I walked to the window. Pulled the blinds and stared. My house is enveloped by fog.

If you don't know me, then you probably don't know this, but I love fog. It makes me extremely happy and puts me in such a good mood.

There's just something about fog. Its not just condensed water droplets, forming a cloud at ground level. Its more. Different. Unique. Fog to me is not only beautiful, but its also helps me take in the setting one step at a time. Like my thoughts. 

I'm sure I'm not the only person on the face of the planet to have a lot to think about. I've always wanted something to help me filter my thoughts, let me take in information slowly. Well, fog is just like that. It filters the environment (in an abstract sense of course). It doesn't let you look at everything in front of you all at once. It forces you to look at only something a couple feet around you.

So you stand there. In the middle of the road, looking around you in awe. Wishing your thoughts could be as simple as fog. You only see what the world wants you to see. To only think about what is in front of you. Not having to shuffle through memories and ideas and thoughts all at once. Just focus on what is there.

Tree branches peeking through the dense opaque mist as through it were stabbing the cloud of condensed water. Like the stabbing you have witnessed with your own thoughts. A mix of ideas clashing. A mix of thoughts forming. All at once. Until you stand there. Alone. Isolated. Enveloped by fog. Then someone finds you. Something finds you. And its over.

You turn. Something hits you. A flash. A blink. And your gone.

Next thing you know you know the darkness that swallowed you threw you back up. Back into the painful world. Into the light. Into pain.

Shock sets in first. Your breathing is altered. Your heartbeat has quickened. The only thing in your life now, is pain. Piercing. Stabbing. Pain. Slowly you pull and flex your flex your muscles. Lift open your eye lids, still heavy. A dull light around you sets in. Stain less windows lead in light, bashing colors pour into the room, onto scuffed, old hardwood floor and on you.

There you are. In pain. In the middle of a room. With musky smell lingering around you. The faint smell of something different. Blood. Around you, blood twinkles. Your arms, right leg, and torso are wrapping in tight towels and cotton. Crimson blood continuing to leak through, as well as the pain. The shock, keeps you from crying. Even yelling.

A man rushes out under a towering arch. He wears old jeans, with a few yellow and white paint-spatters across sprinkled across them, a faded grey v-neck shirt, and a pair of black converses. He holds a knife in one hand, a bowl of steaming liquid in the other.

Without speaking he quickly sits down besides you, as you slightly recoil.

"Who a-are... who are you?" you begin, still in shock. This is nothing like the fog. You have to take in everything at once, and there is still come to come.

"I'm Brayden, I'm so sorry to have hurt you. I-I-I didn't see you st-t-anding in the street. The fog, and-and everything made it so hard for me not to hit you..." he continued until all you could hear was a whisper, then a mumble.

"I... was hit?" you ask slowly, still in pain, gasping. You look up at him. His dark bluish brown eyes, brown mixed blond, shaggy hair falling into his face.

"Yes, I'm so sorry, I... didn't see you," he said, his hands working quickly to wrap your leg in a warm towel, "Your in a cathedral right now, its empty though. There was a window broken in the back."

Silence followed, he continued to work, the pain continued to continue.

"Your in pain," he said, a sad distant look on his face. Compassion was radiating from his body. "I'm so sorry."

Your pain starts to climax, you whimper a little, then clear liquid starts rolling down your cheek. Mixes with the blood on your face and drops onto the ground. A red tear.

Brayden finishes up quickly, drops the towel into the hot water and runs out of the room. He shuffled papers, broke something made of glass, and went through different items, all behind the wall that blocked you from seeing.

He came back with a bottle of alcohol.

"I don't know what else to do. I can't find any pills of some sort. If you want, you can drink some of this, it may lessen the pain," he said sympathetically, holding the bottle up.

You shake your head in disapproval slowly. He puts down the bottle and runs back behind the wall and then creaking of the ground as he walks further and further away. You close your eyes and start to cry. You drown out the creaking. You drown out your thoughts, like fog might. So the only thoughts you have, are the ones pleading to remove the pain. The stabbing.

Pain. Stabbing. Pain.

Fading Into the Dark...

This is a story I wrote, based off of one of my early posts. (I had to put it as a photo because I wrote it on word and blogger wouldn't let me copy and paste)

The Everyday, Ghosts, Murders, and Dreamers.

A spark. Glow. Like the light of a fire. Is born, lives, then dies.

A reflection. Splash. Like the body of water. Falls, follows, then disappears.

A attack. Death. Like a vulture attacking its prey. Loiter, attacks, then kills.

A growth. Advance. Like a tree stretching its slender arms into the sky. Grows, lavishes, then is crippled.

-Though I haven't lived long, I have noticed differences in everyday people. 

Some are like fires and sparks, they are born, live, then die, they make a difference, but just get by without much effort. The everyday.

While others are like water and reflections. They follow and copy others, are barely noticed, though they are there. The ghosts.

Others are vultures and attacks. They fly over people heads unnoticed, but then without notice attack and kill others. The murderers.

And a few handful of people are trees. They grow, lavish, and live their life to the fullest. They make a difference, a growth, an advancement. The dreamers.

Invisible but There.

Many people in life are like ghosts. There one moment, gone the next. Some ghosts help, while others cause disasters. And some can change your entire life. I've met a ghost. They exist. They're alive. 

Unlike legends, myths, and scary stories of ghosts, that all add up to be unreal, these types of ghosts are living breathing human. They may be a ghost in your life, but maybe human an other person's life. Living. Breathing. Dreaming. And some even harming. Invisible, but there.

Pool of Crimson

A rigid knife cuts deep into your skin, past your veins and arteries, barely scraping your bone, but you continue to cut deeper. A splash of red bursting the deeper the blade sinks, trembling, tearing. You arm gets weak, holding the piercing tool. A puddle of red could be seen beneath you. A stain on your white tee. A soaking, dripping pool of crimson on your jeans. Drops on your grey converses, slipping into the once white bathtub. Next thing you know your passed out, the dark swallowing you, the pool of crimson continuing to flow, besieged by your own blood. But for what?

Your life may be shit. You may go through hell everyday, but why give yourself more hell, more shit to worry about... more to think about? You may get a buzz, but in the end, your just injecting more pain into your life. Adding another thing that causes you pain. Yourself.

Idealistic Figure.

How can we tell people someone more powerful than them exists, that they are nothing compared to Him? A person should not be downgraded to something that has not yet been proven to exist, for only science, the truth, is all that explains what was come about in this world. Not a fictional figure looming above our heads in the sky. Not something that people claim calls us his 'children' when he sends you to hell. When things in life can't be explained, people seem to create theories to back themselves up, to hang on for hope, when hope turns back and stabs them. Their theories of a greater existence that created us is no more than a myth, a legend. People hang on to this for no greater reason than their insecurity after death or their means to go on in life believing in the "right" thing.

Overtime the theories grow, spread, like a virus or disease. Until everyone has been infected, altered, brainwashed. Only few people out of the world's population believes otherwise, believes that everyone should be treated equally. Whether it be their origin, sex, or if they are in love with a person on their own sex. A religious person might say 'He counts us all as equals', though they themselves go around and belittle others, try to ban them out of out society. Let it be that they are gay or straight or believe the opposite what they do. What difference does it make to them? If it is true that we are to express ourselves in any way possible, then why degrade people when they are making everything possible to do just that?

Now, if He made us all equal, then why are people taking away other's rights to live their life the way they would like? Hearing a person say, 'I ban people like this from doing the things they do to save them from what they earned, Hell' and having many back him up, is just another way of stripping people of their right to express themselves. For people claim, He himself created everyone equally, am not right? Those so many religious figures claim this, though they themselves are expressing the image that people are not created equally. Religion, in the eyes of those who do not believe in myths and legends, is just another door to war and destruction.

-Now I ask this question, why should the world follow in the steps of the religious people who go far enough to strip people's rights and demote others for what they believe? When they are the ones destroying the world. Though it may be slowly, like the world's evolution, they claim that God has created the world. Which they are now themselves destroying. How can they prove God exists? For all we know, he is a myth. A shadow. The one idealistic, evolved and spread. Infected. And killed millions.

Chair.

A chair is more than a piece of furniture. It has history. Scars. Used and destroyed. Torn and burned. It's a chair. Not your lab rat or your tester. Treat it well and it will last long.

-Like a person, more specifically a woman and children... This is how history has shown their respect and thanks to women everywhere. This is why groups such as "Not For Sale" started. To help keep everyone being treated equally and fairly.