Isaak DeMaio

Rookie (September 16,1992 - / Buffalo, New York)

Untitled - Poem by Isaak DeMaio

Eighteen years and
seems like I've begun,
to understand that,
no one's found me.
 
When I had real friends,
what was their purpose?
They cut me out,
left me empty,
and now I'm alone.
 
This is my life, these are my dreams,
how did I ever end up here?
Pertinacious, overconfident,
in my thoughts reality disappears.
Absent from rules, marked as impossible,
everyone left me, nobody cares.
To this life that's so dull,
I remain alone.
 
Eighteen years and,
still writing poems-
unclear and unsung.
Such revelation's,
always known to me,
but unknown to everyone.
 
When loneliness decides to appear,
how will she understand me so well?
Please Dear, find me,
and show me the way.
 
This is my poetry, this is how I feel,
how did I ever end up here?
Apathetic, abandoned,
in my writing what-you-thought-you-knew disappears.
Cold blooded heart, colored in black,
love has escaped me, this is what I fear.
To this life that's so dull,
I remain alone.
 
Help me, see me,
help me, see me,
help me, see me,
help me, see me,
give me something real.
 
I lay here on the floor,
searching for life that cannot be found,
my insides are rotting,
this puzzle the same for eighteen years.
Another day comes,
another small piece can't be found,
this puzzle is worthless,
the pieces pieced together incomplete and empty.
 
This is me, and only me,
how did I ever end up like this?
Ripped apart, shattered,
I'd never want to be scene like this.
Trying to change, some things never come,
sometimes time can never really tell.
To this life that's so dull,
I still remain alone.
 
I remember the dark breeze and blackness in the cemetery,
someone was actually alongside me, holding my hand,
clenching my fingers, fitting that piece of the puzzle that is lost.
Some months later, you fed me a star as our lips sealed together,
marking a day that one of my dreams had finally come true.
I then realized that dreams can never last.
 
A year past since I lay next to her under the full moon,
her eyes twinkled from the glistening light, with a
reflection of my face in her eyes. My arm around her waste,
gently moving my finger up and down her side.
We connected for a moment, knowing everything was
going to be alright, but since then, she disappeared.
 
I've walked down this boulevard of broken dreams before,
too many times that I've come to know the person's who
inhabit each house. A street ripped open from broken hearts
that never seem to find the proper needle to be sewn back up,
and insufficient oxygen to pump these hearts properly.
Crippled and disabled, this boulevard has never seen life,
a life that everyone should see. We are the few that won't
say nothing right, and we are the few who put dreams before reality.
 
Our shadows confess our greater lies that no one ever notices, finding only
stark words that tell our emotional feel. Happiness is not one of them. The
purity of the meaning has never been found, lost sinking at the bottom of
a lake, where recycled hearts constantly get ripped apart by the passing strangers
that we thought we once knew, and figured out, but found erroneous on all accounts.
 
Eighteen years and
sick of playing
this game with no
winner in the end.
 
Learning from observation,
abstracted from experience,
logic contains no affection,
giving up on something called: soul.
 
These are my lines, this is eternal,
how did I ever end up here?
Lifeless and preternatural,
signs of weakness overflow.
In the end, this doesn't matter,
I'll never change, even if should.
To this life that is so dull,
I remain alone.


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Poem Submitted: Thursday, December 1, 2011

Poem Edited: Friday, December 2, 2011


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