I travel through time and space.
I am 907-years-old, from the planet
Gallifrey, that fell victim to the Time War.
I am, a Timelord.

If that doesn't prove my nerdiness,
I don't know what does.

Inside a tiny blue box.
It's bigger on the inside.
Time And Relative Dimension In Space.

I can make the stories of the
Doctor Who
universe approachable, intriguing
and terrifying.

Count the shadows,
for the love of God,
count the shadows.
Don't blink, don't even blink.
Blink and you're dead.

The angels have the phone box.

The truth about..

Things stop getting frightening
and start getting real.
All you hear is
"your future this" , "your future that"
and "where will you be in 5-10 years?"
What?!
How the hell am I supposed to fathom that?
The truth is, as much as
I can't wait to get out of this
dull, monotonous lifestyle,
I'm terrified to leave this safety net.
Plummet into the world of adulthood,
planning a future.
The 4-year-old inside my brain is
screaming.

By God, I miss you.
I'll never regret anything of you.
It'll be years down the road
and you will cross my mind.
Remember,
                    I loved you.
I wouldn't change a thing.
You've been with me through so much.
I'll think of you later,
with nothing but a fondness.
You meant so much to me.
You mean so much to me.

Drowning in the classical.
Floral scents travel the path
of twirling feet.
En pointe is dancing on top
of the world.
Swimming in living art.
Light of the stage is the sunshine of
my world.
Broken woes and calloused toes.
Hidden behind tulle and bows.
A secret hell inside a world where silence
yells.

I am meaningless.
One hopeless molecule in this
phantom world.
                      I am constantly glanced over.
But without me,
this world wouldn't be as we know.
Millions of us,
and all of us makeup this world.
I am a piece of this giant
p    z    l
   u    z    e.

I don't blame it on you.
   I never did.
       Death was just the
trigger to
                    the
                       spiral
                 that
           just
happened
          to
             lead
                   d
                   o
                   w
                   n
                   w
                   a
                   r
                   d.
I want you to know I'm better now,
but I still miss your voice.
           Not that there was much of a
                       choice.

            You saved me.

Poetry is a dignified
method for humans
to express the everyday
pangs and scorns without
care of specific judgement.
An escape from the constant
flow in your
unrhythmic mind.
A chance to turn
frustration
               into
  Art.

Unhealthy mood swings,
everyday highs and lows.
How am I dealing with things?
I'll give you three guesses.
All the false yes's.
It always seems like it grows.
I hide it well,
the urge to throw my brain up against a wall.
Trade it in for a new model.
Medication only goes so far,
relying solely on the bottle.
I regress daily,
only to build myself back up
from feeling like a failure.
Being bipolar, is a constant war.

"C" The Reaper

Chronic chases in the corrupt heart.
Currently lies in a cowards soul.
Chaos resides in a compromised life.
Led by a cloaked crimson crusader.
He stands cold, laughing in the face of constant crisis.
A chorus of clashing cries.
Burning hillsides, he collects the souls of a thousand candied corpses.
Calming the countless cries
of cowardly souls with no where else to call
home.

Out hands met and everything made sense.
But how could this feel right?
A girlfriend in the background faded to an almost
non-existent entity.
From chocolate covered sunflowers seeds, Max & Erma's,
and candy floss. Those things will always belong to you.
A first love.
A forbidden idea.
I've never had a moment since that.
You were my biggest shock, in more ways than one.
From the way we began, to the first kiss, to the end.
The sickness that chased me after we were done.
I don't like to remember that much.
I still remember the simple touch of your hands.
The kisses on the forehead.
No words spoken.
Just knowledge of an unavoidable feeling.

 Fear of something unknown.
A future far from perfection.
The meaning of promises made from your past.
A yearn for necessary happiness.
There is a passion for warmth
and a childish fall back into hope.
Loud scresm of a scared youth.
Can life lead to such betrayal?

Soft breezes
rustling through the trees is
such a melancholy thought.
A feeling of such that cannot be fought,
I was taught to live alone,
strictly relying on the ring of a telephone.
I miss you most at night.
The darkness is something I cannot fight.
I know that soon the days will end,
and my heart will find a mend.
But until then,
I fend this absence,
until I see
the light of a day.

Are you dead or arer you sleeping?
Too many souls speak but don't act.
You must "be the change" you wish to see in this world.
Treat others the way you wish to be treated.
Stand for right.
Dissassemble for wrong.

I may be broken,
but at least I can be spoken for.
The flood of rage,
seeping in the blood of
figurative wounds.
To return the old stitching
from scars being reopened.

Normal?
More like formal.
Formality is the face of conformity.
The status quo leaves
little to desire.

Betrayl

She sits on the floor, clutching her chest, as if her heart was in her hands.
She screamed as the tears ran down her face.
She screamed with out any words.
She couldn't bare let the words leave her lips.
How could this happen?
There were no answers.
The inaudible screams melted into sobs,
as her chest grew heavier.
Her body turned numb as she left the comforting arms of security.

The sound of a secret.
The sight of the forgotten.

The love os a smile,
yet a lust for hate.
The kindness of betrayl
and you're too late.
Running from love
into the arms of fear.
From fear,
to the comfort of anger.

It's Not Supposed To Go Like That

I'll be here when you get back.
You hold the key to my heart.
You have from the start.
Write your letters, keep in mind what matters.
All in all,
I'll be here when you get back.

Acrostic

Soldiers.
Ever changing,
Rarely retreating.
Virtually
Ivincible.
Cause,
Eternal.

Without You

I try to branch out to you, when I need you.
You leave me standing here, gasping for more air that I can't seem to breathe.
With my hand stretched out in front of me, trying to grab the last
figment of the imaginary fabric attached to your very soul.
I feel you slipping through my fingers,
even more than before.
I'm still getting used to this feeling of being
without you.

Brown vs. Blue

Brown eyes.
Blue eyes.
The four eyes that remain constant.
Brown on blue.
Blue on blue.
Either scene, almost haunting.
Eyes are the window to the soul.
Eyes don't lie.
They speak, yet say nothing.
Smile, but show unbearable pain.
Putting my blue into your brown, I see the world.
Putting my blue into your blue, I see nothing but doors.
Doors that I cannot open.
Those blues of yours hold us back.
In either scene, blues remain the constant variable.
Whether eyes, or in the color of a uniform.
The color blue seems to be my downfall.
But the beauty of those blues and browns, whether mixed together or standing alone.
Gives me the vision of a brighter future.
The pain will cease.
For the chance to see the colors living happily ever after.

Untitled

You tell me that I can't speak?
Well I say: You sir, are wrong.
I'm too young to know what the world is?
I say you're too old to know what world us "young" see.
Aren't I the future of your race?
Aren't I the one who could ruin this race and everything we supposedly stand for?
But no, it is I. Us "young" who see that this race is already ruined.
You've done it for us!
You tell us that we are young, ignorant and malignant.
Excuse me? If I way, I seem to recall that you, sir, were once "young, ignorant and malignant" as well?
Is comments like those there, the reason you've turned sour?
If you rememberm you were once told "you" were the future.
Look around.
This is your future.
War, economy, obesity, hate.
So tell, tell me that I cannot speak!
I will say: "You sir. Are wrong."