There is no limit to this ever shrinking prison of ours

How easily you please yourself.
Your name might as well be conradiction.
Though without malicious intent how you look after yourself is outstanding
"Don't cherrypick" Dear.
Those were your words.
Contradiction
To starve 3 prisoners for a day
To limit their lives
You have the remote control
And you call yourself "Family"
Hours upon hours of my life are wasted by hours of your constant self-Obsession
Was it not enough to scar us all so deeply that there is possibly no-return
And then-
And then.
To waste your woes on us when you shout through ours
Your starve us now.
Through your own control, is your own child not enough?
Nothing is enough for you now
A black hole of consummation
Who is that?
Contradiction
You dont even realise you are rotting us while you bask within the warmth of others
And through the words of your undoubtedly biased mouth, with most certainty will they dislike us
We don't have a chance
Shout, SHOUT
SHOUT until the heavens hear you and even then you will not allow a word in edgeways as a reply
How deeply,
deeply
Oh how deep you disappoint me and you wonder why you receive resent?
Is it not enough now that I am almost at the point of no-return
You have stolen so much of our time
You can't choose to demand love when you feel like it
Isn't that right?
Thanks, for freezing us into stone
through your own selfish desires and you never understand why
Why?
Because you starve us
You
STARVE us
Starve us until we can't feel like we are wasting away anymore

We came into this world as we leave it,
A lonely soul with only a blank canvas in which to paint its colours on,
A being who begins a stumble which turns to a run, then a jump, a skip, a bounce, a run, a sprint
It is better, however; I find that by stumbling unsteadily through this giant calender which is our lives, we observe more,
You stay for longer in a certain place, and then, with uncertainty we move on to the next thing, all the while becoming the wiser
Fantasia drips throughout our minds, a flurry and a blur of reality, observation, opinion and thoughts-
A flurry of words streamlining this invisible book of ours, the ink, never running out to dry
Even a silent mind has a commentary
So, When it comes to that one day of the year when the bell tolls and the book's pages reveal themselves in snapshots, we realise how far we have stumbled
A what a joy stumbling is indeed
The ink will never dry, so just keep it running,
An illustration of culture fluttering through our minds should bring a dose of colour
So,
For this one day
Which has yet to end
Breathe in the memory of those brithday candles burning
And burn those around you into your mind and remember which pages you share,
Share the smiles and the crinkling of those surprises that await you in their own colourful shades of paper
Delight and rejoice with the ecstasy of memory, whether it is yet to come or not
And remember each second, is passed with a thought
A thought, as such is a suprise waiting to be opened by the revelation from the mind to mouth
Oh, and one more thing-
Don't forget to "Chink" the glasses of champagne held in many hands
Happy Birthday Mish,
Oh- Don't forget to dance

" I still don't know how to work out a poem"

"A poem needs understanding through the senses-
The point of diving in a lake, is not immediately to swim to the shore, but to be in the lake...
To...Luxuriate in the sensation of, water.
You do not work the lake out-
It is an experience beyond thought,
Poetry soothes and emboldens the soul to accept mystery..."

"I love mystery"

"I found your fairy princess on the wall in my room"

"And you could make her out?"

"She wears a butterfly frock...Shall we continue?"

Fantasize, memorize and vulgarize this blessed spirit of mine
With this negative capability

They close against those sapphire shards
And the coffee begins to call
It beckons you with its homely smell
And you drink it to keep from falling under a spell
You continue on
And you realise something else is gone
Where is my friend?
My companion?
My "no-strings attatched"?
My boyfriend/girlfriend
My lover?
My husband?
My wife?
My partner
Then in dawns on with the sun rising for another day
These people do not exist for you
And you wish you had fallen under that spell
And not fallen for that ol' cup of coffee
Because you can't dream anymore
And your alone, Again, to wait for these people, YOU WON'T BLINK AN EYE!!!
So you force open your eyes again and hold on,
Until the next dawn comes,
When the coffee calls
And you have forgotten
But only to remember
And continue this lonely, never-ending Cycle
Of waiting for no-one...

Click
Wait
Press
Whir
Exhale
Pace
And a flurry of taps
Click
Wait
Exhale
Pace
With an array of clicks
Then the tapping parade begins to march for what feels like an age
A eye scans,
Exhales
And the tapping continues
For a few hours, it seems like a day
Now browse,
Shift,
wriggle
wait
You break with a little exclaim
You found yourself here, this melancholy page you scan, sigh and move on
That is what this little area is in an abyss that is unknown to the human world
And with just one click
Mr. Melancholy has gone
And will dissapear into the mind
Then forgotten
Deleted and gone

"A path that accidentally found you here, on Mr. Melancholy.com "
  

If poetry doesn't come to you like leaves to a tree, then it had better not come at all

You were always beautiful, you know
With your Dark brown eyes and always parted lips
Your eyes held such warmth but it was always behind the cold
You're barely tamed hair, matching your eyes
Your voice was like velvet to me, so smooth and deep
You were like a statue, looming above me, but it was like shade from the too-bright sun
Your skin was the colour of buttermilk, so beautiful and smooth
You look like you were carved from marble
You had the best smile, crooked like there was always a hidden joke or thought behind it
I have never seen you laugh, not really
It's so sad.
I wanted to make you laugh
Your figure was perfection, ha your still such a tease
Your walk was my favourite though,
I always see you in front of me!
With your too-narrow hips and sashay type walk...
Your so masculine, but dear, your walk was the opposite
It was like a cat slinking through the night, sexy but at the last minute you would trip,
And I would vibrate with laughter
Your hands, your hands are an art form of their own
Long and slender, but that didn't matter
You play the most beautiful things with those creatures
Running along countless keys and strings
But its sad, its such sad beauty when you were trying to play those things
I didn't feel one ounce of emotion, I suspect neither did you, not a real one
It was a book without characters, a sentence without words
At least before I could watch from afar
your so lost,
Bonne nuit Belle, you said to me, you never even spoke french!
Vous tromper...
But you still made my whole body tingle with adoration,
For you
I just know it.
It never progressed further than an exchange of words
maybe i'm the tromper

I spend my life waiting
For what I won't accept.
But I crave and want it all the same
I am starving for the contact
Of who I will turn away from
Of who I will run blindly into the night for to save
Without speaking a word to after
Like watching a flower you've grown, about to bloom
But stolen away and your forced to watch it bloom with another
But you know it was by your own admission and you simply stopped and watched the crime
It is a crime of the heart
And sometimes scars cause more damage than insight

I feel an itch
A scratch
An Inferno of ice
Oh, and It's eating
It's eating me away
It's consuming my stained heart and tainted mind
And I have seen what I have locked away for so long
Almost as if my instance has spread like a plague to an innocent source to taint it with
How I was supposed to be consumed
Might be consuming another
A box I have created to hide this in is so large that it has flattened those unsuspecting surrounding it
It should have been me
It's going to be me
But this time it will strike like a black serpent, ready to infect me with a bite, because I had chained this serpent up for too long
But I know now, my time is ticking, the clock is tolling
It's different how this plague effects me and how it inadvertently affects others
For me,
It will be a matter of seconds, minutes
before that last thread snaps
And  will drive myself into the red sea, only to sink and not ever float
And I will burn in that unfortunate haze in that oven
Screaming for it to end and not for it to be stopped
I hand myself to you now
Your reading this I hope
And this, this is a person who is waiting for the inferno to consume her
Just standing by, waiting
Because, there is no escape
I will accept it with a smile on my face before it starts to singe my hair
And then the fire will errupt
It's lurking in me somewhere
Like a disease
Somewhere, someone will read this and I will be gone
Gone
This might be the writing of a corpse
A stranger to you
A stranger I will have become to myself

We have burnt our ashes
We have disected our tie
Your so painful to watch
Your so painful to look at
I can't stand you anymore
Though I want so much to have you as mine
But it was a moment in a time.
A second
And we managed to burn all the bridges
A glimpse of you and I'm gone for a day
This was one sided
Unimportant on your part
I have moved from that fence we built together
You walked away immediately
Took me a while longer
But now we're tainted.
You and I
We have that together
How bitter that our remenants are a cursed word
I regret all of it
But none of it
To want to erase it would be a lie
But to want to keep it would be a crime
Your eventual effect will stay
I'm truly ruined now
I told you I was damaged goods and now I am unsellable goods
You kill me with your memory
And I hung onto that broken bridge though you'd left
If we hadn't initiated that first word then it would have been left, a longing of mine, an oblivious sense of yours
I could have left it
Waited
Made it work
But we were both too hasty
Both now lost in what we're looking for
We're lone souls you and I
And I'm always waiting for that door behind my back to open and find myself face to face with you
a mirrored expression on each of our faces
will that ever happen?
Will we forget and cross paths again?
I don't see it possible
But now for me nothing is
To conceal what I want, and wanted.
It's there forever now
And I'm forever stuck in this halfway house while you move away out of my pherical vision, what was left of it
You never played those piano keys
And I never unlocked a note
We won't now
But I will always wish for it
That empty halfway house being opened
Those paths coming to a crossroads
That key and that note entwining together
But thats not going to happen
Those will all be for someone else
And we will move onto seperate paths. Never to utter a word to each other ever again.
I'm missing an existance of nothing
Silly me

 Freudian slip,
A sudden change
of tone.
A sudden word,
action.
A notice
A note,
A song,
A look,
A laugh
One sends stars to kiss our toes
And the grass to whistle in our hair
A tilt.
A time,
A guild
Guilt.
To touch a butterflies wing to your teeming brain
To illuminate that sweep to the portal
To reach
To run so far into a search which has no end
or an immediate wall
Your feet are moving
But the dust doesn't stir
But your in a dessert
And allow yourself in this blaze to be happily torn apart peice by piece by this beautiful imagery of our own perfect veneer's guise
Tear down this house
And I will just reap the foundations, build a sandcastle on the sea because.
That is just what we do.

It was a peculiar day I had today.
It started off like any other, but with an entirely different perspective, like the sky had somehow become the ground and I found that unnerving, but normal.
How peculiar
As the day continued I felt what it really was like to be a wallflower.
I had not seen the world like this before, through these different eyes and I realized how superficial we all are
the conversations, gestures, even the people we converse with, we are not truly ourselves
I felt the weight later
And then, It was suggested as fate
But I don't believe in that
One small gesture created an enormous memory
I wonder who you are, who you were who you are to become, I wonder all these things but your face is fading fast,
I wish I knew your name
I just wonder if you got my note
You just performed a single act of kindness
But it will never be simple to me now
I suppose on both sides we are "indecisive"

Silence me with your clinical artistry
Reveal to me the steel and the scalpels
Inflict silence with your controlled cosmos
Let me go with an inadvertent slip of your implicit concentration
Substitute my emotions for your mixes
Compress them in a glass cylinder
Let me go, throw me away in shards with each plink, plink, plink of your elixir
Let me writhe in your lifeless, acidic sheets
Only to fall back onto them
Feel me, echo with my heart, you glorious creation of our new age
Sever and violate me with your elegant wires, folding, enveloping and entwining me
Enfold me with your feeling less heart
 you- an addictive, complacent sadness in a thought
Create chaos with me, panic the murmurs of these tired strangers
Let them fall and fray in my frenzy
Drain with me.
Drain your wires and systems as I drown myself into this velvet ice
Fall.
Fall silent,
with me.
And lay to rest this wilted ghost of mine

I wonder if you have evr dreamt of our shared nostalgia,
It was perfect with it's imperfections for a while
Have you ever missed it?
No, you never missed me
Did you ever wonder?
Did you ever dream?
That those written words would become sounds for my ears only
I miss our possibilities
We were just a bud, far away from a flower
But we were something
And that something was all that mattered
I have the memories, they are only mine
Unable to be stolen, unable to dissolve
As Long as they exist
I will cherish them
Even though you probably only wish to dispose of them
I am a ghost for you
But a ghost all the same
I am an existance, forever locked in your memory

Piano's are such beautiful beings, they are pure white, clean innocence separated by the deepest and purest black- a truth, a perfect balance, how is it that such perfect objects can create such melancholy and sadness

I go from one extreme to the other, often influenced by the small things
Right now, I want to jump from leaf to leaf in autumn shrouded by pine cones and conkers, I want to spin and fall down into leaves and walk in the evening wielding a baguette, a mock weapon,  only to smile and turn around at the person behind the camera, I want my life to be an instagram of all that's beautiful and all that's pitiful, I want so much to let my hands roam fearlessly over the keys in the piano, conducting heartstrings to all those who catch a note
I want to run away and be caught by the tips of my fingers, with the tips of your fingers- the one behind the camera!
I want it to be fantastical almost, an infinity away from what is now!
I want to let my fingers race over a type-writer in France, creating a memoir's from another life! I want to create a fictional life, a creation of my own, my very own that could never be anyone Else's!
To feel the summer breeze caress my skin as I hold tightly onto the one who's driving the scooter!
To smile  at the bike next to mine running down the road, to race over bridges and run through fields, my life tinted with a glow.
To dance to no music in a poppy field, to make daisy chains and to play hide and seek in a forest, if only to decorate the beach with footprints, the feet that made them long gone
To share a coffee in a patisserie and to mirror each others ridiculous white mustaches, like a snowman has suddenly appeared to have a little fun,
I'm guilty I guess, dreaming of you, but that's fine,
Maybe I was right, maybe I was wrong, but I know I was just a little bit in love with you
It was a one-sided love, but I will never regret the memories, they are like little pebbles found on a beach, boring for eveyone else, but just a little bit magical for me
If you ever look back, I'll be waiting
If you turn back, I'll place my hands over your eyes and play "guess who?"
You lifted me up for a while, you said all right things, for me anyhow
I was such a fool to fall for that, but I knew it
But I love being that fool, because just for a moment, a split second
I was yours

Although others sicken me, I sicken myself more, to the point of destruction.
Wanting who I want to turn into and who I actually am going to turn into are figures entirely different.
I hate every fibre of my own being! My thoughts, my words, my actions. Everything I hate them all.
I hate my situation in this burning no mans land. I hate the tears that feel like acid that run down my cheeks in the darkness.
I hate my selfish thoughts to return to all thats black and unknown.
I hate it.
I loathe myself. I am a sick facade, I cannot escape!! I am in my own prison and I'm crying out but nobody will outstretch their hands because of their own sickening hearts. There is no light to this ever ending darkness.
I am a pretentious fool who only destroys herself with withdrawal.
I hang onto the sick hope that I will find that person one day who will see into my prison. That one person.
But they don't exist, I destroy my own dreams with my horribly tainted reality.
I only see grey and black spilling out infront of me like ink. I don't want this.
I feel like the punching bag for society, and nobody cares, not really they'll see it, but they will ignore it, because they have the selfish desire subconsciously to protect themselves, and thus another punch is dealt.
Again and again and again. And I have no choice but to endure them, because this is what I have been carved into, a shackle for everyone.
A weak attack on others parts, an excuse for their own mistakes, why oh why can't this punching bag take its last toll.
and why oh why can't someone find whats inside instead.
I envy those lives of others, the ones who aren't the ear ammunition for others fights, the ones who are not the absorber of darkened feelings, I want to leave this place now, but I can't.
And that's why this punching bag exists, its not allowed to breathe its last breath because it is pumped with oxygen again.
Even this text, it sickens me. It sickens me listening to my own thoughts! I really am the arsenic to myself.
I will not be saved, I will be the one forced to carry these burdens, because nobody else can.

Revolutionize?
I read the words that you spun today and gazed upon them with a feeling of emptiness and a weak sort of oppression.
You are naive in your own crude way, preaching intelligence, or what you think appears as intelligence.
You want the abyss that so many of us carry yet hide away from, you seem to want it- it appears to you as if its a rare prize. You want to appear and converge as one of us, you think that by not laying even one card on the table you appear as strong?
Mysterious?
Intriguing?
No, you are too strong to succumb to opening up, oh what fools we are for not following you in your perfect footsteps.
You think we are weak? Naive, stupid? Because we make mistakes we are wrong?
As You do not make mistakes...You are strong.
Ha. You are wrong.
You are in fact the weakest of us all, the more you hide, the more obvious it is on your sleeve.
I look into the books you claim to have read and understand with great depth, and I can see the next chapter,
 I sort of pity you. Because if one like yourself refuses at this delicate age to open the inner workings, to refuse to brave the exposure...How will you ever? Will you repeat the history you have born witness too, because you are in fact too much like the one you try to ignore- you want to be the melancholy sort.
You seem to think you can delve and look into the intricacies of the cogs of our blackened climate and make a judgement, what do you know?
You think that by doing this you are plunging into the stream of our hearts, the stream that turns into the river, flowing with your quotes- unbecoming and ugly, but you see them as wise, you want that, but you are too weak to admit it. I don't care if your arrogant work was a jest to impress those of your facade.
You struck a nerve and exposed yourself.
You seem to think the words you weave are powerful, poignant, decadent to us.
 The "beauty" that you have woven, is not beauty, it is poison.
And only to yourself, I see it in the water you have poured it in.
You disappoint me.
I have always been there, the strongest chess piece at your side, but you conformed, and I was an old piece, so you shoved me back, for newer,shinier, prettier... weaker pieces. I still stayed, oh but you began to resent that, to observe that I was not in fact whom of which you wanted, you began to saw the rope I had thrown in to save you with a jest in your eyes,
Oh how you thought you shone like a Christmas decoration! You wanted only appear to them as something to envy, you abandoned, the things that mattered anyhow,
You won't get them back!
You won't change in your heart, you only conform, if I were to return to be that chess piece, after a while you would be lured back to those newer pieces and the past would repeat itself.
I watch from afar now. I watch you and study how you destroy yourself, but you only believe that you are making yourself better, another point to add to your meter of how you think we envy you.
I'm not in that realm anymore, that realm of pretense only to please others only doing the same thing- only to get selfish satisfaction in the end. What an Arrogant life you lead!
Although my universe may be darker, at least I know which path is mine! I'm not following  ones that your "trusted" companions follow only lead to a dead end in the blind hope that that poison you created is in fact beauty, because you don't have the courage to find your own path. Maybe then a glimmer of beauty would be created, but alas how would I expect that of someone like yourself?
You were once someone. Now you've thrown yourself into the melting pot.
What would I call you now?
Oh, that's it. Much like the aftermath of a bomb-
You are truly a bittersweet brutality my dear.

Oh.
I feel.
I ache, I ache for you
My heart a bleeding promise, I want to feel like you.
I want to feel you.
I want to part my lips and be met with your innermost thoughts.
I want to feel the dark heaviness weighing down onto my skin, droplets, each one, a memory. I want them to seep into my skin, I want them to mingle with you.
I want them to mingle with memories and whats to come, I want them to thread themselves into our lives, an intricate Webb joining at every nerve.
I can feel you, like a thread of a spiderweb in a blackened night. I want to hold onto it, follow it, a fragile emotion, so easily broken and so easily dissolvable.
I become entranced, I follow this thread, this strange mixture of beauty and negative capability and I see.
I can smell the spring and autumn,
I can smell the winter, the summer
And I want it now, I run, But it is snatched away from me,
the thread, it is gone.
It fades, I am alone.
I crave the remembrance of you
I crave your embrace and your warmth
I miss the warmth which thawed my icy skin
But I am foolish
How could I be dumb?
Ah, I see.
You do not exist
I feel like I am draining
Disheartened
I wait  now
But what I am expecting, I don't know
I want the remembrance of you
But you can't remember something that has never happened

I contemplate ending things now.
To Force Myself to leave the Conventions of this universe that I call my own.
But to no avail can I try to change into what I am to become before the clock chimes.
I am an Accumulo Nimbus of Conflict.
I am trapped between possibilities that cannot possibly co-exist together.
I have trapped myself into a vault again, the only colour, varying shades of grey.
To represent to absence of my emotion.
I cannot start nor feel. Am Ice already?
I want it to end now, to fall my way into the abyss of Oblivion.
I presently find myself a ghost, I have condemned myself to this strange embodiment.
I cannot whisper those Melancholy words, they are not strong enough anymore.
Too many lips have touched upon those once Forsaken words.
I do not feel. I am Desolate. Any emotion would be welcome now, if only for a split second, to drive away this silent, raging turmoil, like a sandstorm.
I have only a few more strings left in my hand.
I feel unnatural.
I am my own enemy and savior. But I cannot yet be what I am to become.
I am a ghost in a lead shell.
I do not live. I exist.
I see through only grey, I feel something now, an unnusual presence...
I remember.
I remember! But, it is only through an emotionless trance.
This is the last entry of Grey meets Ice.
For frost, I feel something is awakening.

I am writing into the shallow waters of the unknown in which I have created for myself, n one will see this, yet I so wish that they could. It is conflicting emotions that battle my fickle head and heart. I am unsure of what lies among the minds of those who might, in some future past that has already begun, read this. What will they think, what do you? Mind you, that's a silly question because you is me. I am a warped mirror of myself who lies in some proud and grim fascination of what my blackened and ink poisoned heart has become. I am no longer a creature of this earth, of this universe, I am an inhabitant of a host body that should be mine. I have no reason to complain, I am not ugly, I am not peculiar looking, I am not particularly outstanding, and in some twisted melancholic state, I realise that this will never be enough, I will never be enough. I realize that now because no one can change smoke back into what it was, what it has became is a literal shadow of itself with no purpose except to provide some nostalgia for a memory waiting to happen.
I feel hollow, superficial, it comes forth from my mouth like a stream of words that belong to a book without its real author taking credit for it.
I say things that are the picture of half-witted, deficient and puerile.I am foolish. My mind is in a separate space with my life. They are not my words, I do not want them to be, yet they are and will stay that way. I cannot change what is not mine, although I try with a futile effort, although it results in is disgust with myself, disgust in how I could be so ignorant, so stupid so devoid of words or feelings that my personality is like glass but one that will not break.
I feel I am trapped, I am offered slices of the world, and I take them, I appreciate them, but they will not be enough, nobody will be enough and it saddens me to think that I have become this sort of lonely cynic, I want to be this lonely Cynic, I am given friends and companions and acquaintances and handed a peppered lot of inspirational creatures with high morals and values. I am one of them, but I cannot be one of them.
I am not like them. I am a mixture of impossibilities. You, who discovered this verse of morbid account will have probably given up on the life of me now, you wonder who I am, but nobody can tell you, I cannot tell you, it would exit my mouth wrongly, that is maybe a bit harsh on myself so I will give you a window of who I am, was, is, who will I be? Or will I cease to? I favor the former. We are all so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, we are superficial creatures who stupidly hold themselves in a sickeningly high regard, I include myself in this segment, we laugh at those more unfortunate than ourselves, but most of those "unfortunates" are rare creatures, they will always be better than us and we are so narrow minded as not to see it, we create such pitfalls for them while we climb the stairwell, it is disappointing of us. I am ashamed to be part of such an intelligent race but filled with such grating vices and lack of virtues. We all think ourselves rare creatures, but are just the narrator for someone Else's fantasies, we are the waterways that never carry us home. We are ignorant of what the power of the powerless holds.
I am sat on a couch tangled in withered wires and listening to blood on the snow while writing what I cannot say, I am enveloped within the uncomfortable folds of an envy green school uniform, I am fifteen. I have  a sharp but somehow soft face, I am of average height, I am extremely pale with dark blonde hair and large dark blue eyes, I am sat upon a coach with my ever-loving and inspiring mother and my stubborn and naive younger sister, some rubbish is playing on the Technicolor magic that is a television screen, it is 5:57pm on Thursday the 17th of May, is that far away from you? Or is it very close, I am English and look and act it. I have aspirations to be an actress, that will cease to be though I fool myself each day telling myself that I am different so it will happen. It will not. I cannot lie to myself that much, although hope is useful. Results are often different.
But enough of what I was, I am not speaking to you from the beyond I hope, I am too cowardly to risk the failure, but I am not too cowardly to put myself into situations that could have it occur.
This is an entirely self-centered, selfish post. I wish I could write beauty, I cannot. I am facade of it. It will remain that way.
I am smoke, I am alone. I like it alone. I think.
Attachments are overrated, life is.
I am not going to throw it away, but when looking upon it in retrospect, all it is, is a blur of money, education, quarrels, facades of pain, with the regular dose of a beloved, but most of us are too foolish to really distinguish a true beloved, we are too eager to get on with our lives, but happens next? Children, then retirement then death. It seems a pointless and grey world to me that I have to follow and live out upon.
I cannot change it, I am insignificant.
I have run out of words to say, my mind a blank piece of paper
Love,
Bright Star