The aged book filled with leaves turns to unveil a man, Atlas-like – bowed, broken, & torture racked on a wooden frame. In the book, crushed down and up again.

Millions say the words live. Entertain, and watch stony hearts become flesh. Others blame. And this way, remain the same: habitations of corpses. Who, rather than listen, rage. Saying the book’s aim is insane. Thus, death’s reign is...

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Thousands of pages in an empty room

Thousands of stories waiting to be told

The pages go untouched 

The magic within begins to fade

Beloved characters cease to exist 

Daring fights go unheard of 

People begin to feel empty 

Not always sure why 

It's because those empty rooms 

Inked pages breathe life to us 

Teach us history, adventures, to love 

We mustn't forget t...

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Poetry isn't just a pencil,
or pen, a piece of paper,
or words that flow just right.

Poetry is of many words,
many unspoken thoughts,
many unshowed feelings,
and is put together
to tell a story.

It tells a story
of a persons' struggles
and happiness.
And paints a picture
for the reader to see.

And each poem of mine
is written with such heart.
All my feelings I keep inside
is ...

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My Blade, My Life (by Mel)
With trembling hands, she reaches for her blade. She tells herself it will be the last time.
She tells herself this every time.
She never succeeded before, but will just have to now.
With the blade in her hand, she breaks out into a cold sweat.
She starts shivering and her heart beats faster.
She thrives on these feelings,
she tells herself she mus...

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