Bête-noir

I am a bad person.
I am a bad sister.
I am bad.
Despicable.
Disgrace.

I am ashamed of myself.
Of who I am.
Of what I do.
What I think.
What I feel.

I have been in a war.
With the demons.
Inside of me.
I tried to slay them.
Tame them, the least.

But they enraged.
They burn my soul.
Into ashes.
To no more.

I am choked.
By my own hatred.
My own enviousness.
In my book.
Blood is not that thicker than water.
Instead.
Jealousy is.

You are hurt.
I saw.
In your innocent eyes.
Seeking for forgiveness.
That I never willingly give.
Because I, too.
Need to forgive myself, first.

I can't give.
What you need.
As a sister.
And for that.
I owe you.
The rest of my life.

Sleep brother, sleep.
Dream brother, dream.
Hope brother, hope.
To stop hoping.
For a better sister in me.

-A

Pull the trigger, dear.

"Darling,
  Why do you destruct  
The creation  
Given to you."

Run!

It's snowy

He lights up a cigarette.

It's cold

As cold as his heart.

He promised her not to smoke anymore

But promises are meant to be broken.

The streets is empty

As empty as his heart.

The night blackened 

As black as his soul.

Is there even bits of humanity left in him?

He ponders.

"Yes."

Gushes the voice inside his head. 

He starts to lighten up a bit 

Convinced by the invisible voice.

But the smile is wiped off

Once he sees the blood stain on his white shirt.

The sirens' screaming cracking the silence of the night

He breathes in the last smoke

And he waits.

-A

Significantly Nothing

“Why do beautiful songs make you sad?' 'Because they aren't true.' 'Never?' 'Nothing is beautiful and true.” - Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

Clock struts three in the morn'

They say, nothing good ever happens after two

How do I know

I guess maybe because I am happy

And to God I am thankful

I used to love it when I am lonely, sad and depressed

It makes me hell of a writer

I blend well with melancholic feelings

But being happy is not so bad at all

Being sad is underrated

Yes there is no colours

But being sad is what made Macbeth tale what it is today

Being sad what makes an Emily Dickinson

I thought this is a poem

But it turns out to be significantly.... nothing.

-A