Yesterdayyesterdayi nearly disposed ofmy existenceand i still have to wakeup, caked in a layer ofunfeeling burn marks, justto be swallowed by crowdsof ignorance again.just because i'm notcoughing up a lungdoesn't mean i'm notsick, and if you won'thelp me slay this monsterby giving me over to ahospital for souls, it's yourown damn fault i'm nevercoming home.
Identityi am aquixotic beingaddicted to wordsthe taste of summerand misery
11:47roses are redviolets are bluecompliments mean nothingwhen coming from you.don't tell me i'm skinnydon't call me fatjust acknowledge i'm humanand leave it at that.
Endlessi could talk to youuntil my throat bledfrom all the sharp cornersof every wordand i'd listen to your voiceuntil the suncircles the moon.and then some
sixhe plucked six white rosesfor meand even though they'll diein a week,it's matchless to any other gifti've received
nineit's funny how carefulwe are aboutdamaging ourselvesproperly
Saviori used tostumble overthe same brokenfog infectedhighway, behind alayer ofnostalgiaand pineuntil he cameand painteda galaxy acrossthe rocksand pasted starsall alongmy wrists
Gluei left your sorry assto decay in the dustbecause my arms hurtfrom carting aroundall the glue it tookto fix you.
twothese scars will meltwith time, but the emotionsare forever branded tothe hour that birthed them andthe strangers they belong to
ugly/beautya goddess taught me how to carvehighways into my arms, but she neversaid my blood would cease flowing. soi washed my veins with ink and lead,turned my sorrow inside out, and neverspoke to her again.
Vampire PoemBlood is RedVeins are BlueKeep your distanceOr I'll bite you
sewingyou can cut yourselffrom on personand stitch yourself toanother, but the oldcloth will alwaysbe there
CorrodeOne timeI pierced my skinAnd watched a seaExude from my wrists.I have decayed so much insideThat a single phobiaCould fray me apart
Springthe stale air in my lungsis depleting with eachbreath of crude spring.my blood is melted,my heart is smolderingand my eyes are aflame.the corpse of winterlays dormant undermy feet
Acidicforcing hurt on puritywill pull your heartthrough your throatand freeze your stomach.you try to snap their neckin irritationbut end up paralyzingyourself.
Self-destructionyou do not knowfresh out of the wombhow to tear yourself apart.you know how to respirateand nictitate butyou are not taughtto want to spill thefew calories you just consumedbehind a locked door on thecold tile floor.no one tells you thatfilling your lungs with taris dangerous. or howsipping away at Smirnoff can'tnumb the screams inside yourhead forever.you receive nowarning on how addictivecarving your own scarsor charring your skincan be.and no one mentions howphysically taxing it isto talk with a loaded gunbetween your teeth.you aren't born self-destructiveit's a diseasecommunicableand deadly
MusicAll I have these daysare songs written by peopleI'll prolly never meet.Notes and lyricsfilling up my empty room.They touch the wallsSeep under the carpetSettle into my clothesForeign voices keep me sanemore than familiar ones ever would They breathe to me that life is worth more trouble than living
Ode to Souls our society is built on the binary of proper lines.spotless, picturesque, sanitary lives trailing cycle upon cycle of symmetry.yet we function better without framed order.we have wanderlust built into our core; we bleed out the seasons when it suits us.our lives are made of tire treds feeding the clouded sunset, skies pouring violently overravenous hearts seeking catharsis.the nyctophiliac, the heliophiliac.the nemophilist, the pluviophile.if we breathed in your blank normalcy, we'd crumble and die.
Lost WarPowerlessAganist this madnessI keep fightingNo matter what the costWithout realizingThe war is already lost
01.28.14.january 27, 2014. 8:54 pm. sober.i shook in my nudity with a hairdryer the tint of your lips in hand.with a soaking mane, i let it go, and it fell briskly into the empty sink.i picked up my buzzing cell phone.i read it - a text,to me,from you,that said something short and unimportant. but you took the time to message me, and that was all that mattered. i was still upset.and that mattered to me as well.i asked you if i could ask a question.it took you only a minute to say to me,"what??"i didn't reply.five minutes later, "ya ask anything!"and i said to you,"you and i had manifested these fantastic plans together.we could climb great mountains and break the barriers of our mind.together.and it is fine with me that you are climbing those mountainsand breaking those barrierswith somebody else.at least,it would have been if you had not promised me those months ago that the piquant jolt of exploration would linger on the both of our lips for the first timetogether.all
Wanderlust Takes You to Strange Placesyou've got that suitcase, half-packed and tattered, waiting by the door.you're thinking of saying goodbye to these hardwood floors to travel the Nullabor, to feel the desert strip your skin of the filth that crawls over it.it sure would be nice to see stars, out beyond the streetlights of the city. you could lose yourself in the blank stretches between them, forget your toes are anchored in dirty red sand. you've got that suitcase, half-packed and tattered, waiting by the door.you're thinking it was a good thing you visited that clinic all those months ago with Jimmy clinging to your hand like a limpet.his sweat formed an ocean in the palm of your hand and when you tasted it, it filled your empty womb with relief and the trickle of blood kissed your thighs like a lover would. you've got that suitcase, half-packed and tattered, waiting by the door.you're thinking of saying goodbye to blood and bone, tattered ribcage on the floor. beauty is only skin deep but sin sits
I'm Still HereEven after everything, I realize thatI’ll still be the oneWho supports youWhen you can no longer standOn your own.I’ll still be the oneWho puts the piecesBack together when youBreak.I’ll still be the oneTo hug you-hold you-When your walls crumble downInto oblivion.I’ll be here to catch youIf you find yourself falling.I’ll be here to save youIf you can’t carry on.I’ll fight for youIf you can no longer fight for yourself.My only wish is thatYou do the same for me-My only regretIs knowing that you won’t.
All They See Is ScarsI want to tell a story,but this story isn't a fairy taleand it wont have a happy ending,because the real ones, wellthey never really do.In high schoolI picked up my penand I began to writeabout love.It existed and it was pureand it was lovely.But my rapist rewrote me.breathing on my neckand tracing my back with his fingers.He rewrote me as broken.He wrote me as a statistic,as another white girl who got toldthat she cried rape for attention.But that didn't matter because see,I wanted to tell a story.A story about family,about picking each other upabout blood being thicker than waterabout how not everyone's homehad to be broken.But my father rewrote me.When i picked up my penhe spoke words to methat I swear bruised my whole bodyand I learned that nothingwas thicker than his alcoholand my home was already shattered.But I wanted to tell a story.so I picked up my pento write about god.A God that could save anybodyAnd God loved everybody,which was the onl
.i knew a little boy witha golden beakcould not utter a word, buthe sure could sing a mean song
NowNow and finally,I’m stopping down.It's here - I’m herewithin my depth.I’m in my moment,I’m on my road.There’s nowhere else to goto sing an everlasting song.This is the end of bearing loadsand of shirking themand then pouring into that oldimpression in my bedto dutifully pass from the realm of sound.There’s no more scrawlingback and forthfor nights and nightsand lines over lineson the same seven streets;a tool that screamsin black crayola.Driving homefor the last dark winter,I’m weightier than the fullest moon.I feel the curbs,their buckles and cradles of destinationsuddenly smoothe into an empty plane,and I know my radiushas overlapped some phantom twilight,and I must stay inside the visceraof twin mandalas, a vesica piscis.My life’s no longer premature,I found the end of the bullet wound.And in the vapor of my final secondsat my backdoor screen,I belt the porchlight out into immensitiesof space and sile
Guitar ManHe played the music of a young Apollo,a red pick in his hand.And the ladies fawned over the fellow,his attention high in demand.With a voice so gentle, yet a voice so strong;He played all day, he played all night long.Guitar Man, Guitar Man,they called him, he wooed.Guitar Man, Guitar Man,they called him and swooned.
Childhood Thoughts...Always a houseNever a home...
Fatefate is the slutwe take out fordinner in the LasVegas of life.She fucks us andthen leaves us ina dusty hotelroom, with only ourempty pockets andthe sun bleachingour eyes dry