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
Saviori used tostumble overthe same brokenfog infectedhighway, behind alayer ofnostalgiaand pineuntil he cameand painteda galaxy acrossthe rocksand pasted starsall alongmy wrists
sixhe plucked six white rosesfor meand even though they'll diein a week,it's matchless to any other gifti've received
Diseasedthey fed me their blistersand a few feversjust to infect me witha tincture of impurity.i can still feeltheir rancid, milky wordssquirming in my cochlea
nineit's funny how carefulwe are aboutdamaging ourselvesproperly
Gluei left your sorry assto decay in the dustbecause my arms hurtfrom carting aroundall the glue it tookto fix you.
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.
oneeven the golden memories go sour
you talk like a travestyoh, mercury boy, you can'twrite your way out of thisbody or out of this mind;you can pray like it's high-fashion,insist you're only burning yourself out(but tell me - do you feel like a god yet?)if only for murky mirrors &silver cicadas caughtin your ribcage, you'vegot a knack for decaying
Siren's Callno man can resist their callit's enchanting and irresistible
I Never Was, I'll Never BeI Never Was A Good Whore.I Fall In Love With Poor Guys,but that's ok, I'm Used To MySelf.Once One Of These Guys Was Also In Love With Me.Not From The Beginning,but after the third meetinghe finally accepted our truth.And I was Happy and He was Happy!!!When He was coming To Our Fourth Meeting,he had an accident with his bike.I Never Was A Good Whore.I Never Was,I'll Never Be.
Acidicforcing hurt on puritywill pull your heartthrough your throatand freeze your stomach.you try to snap their neckin irritationbut end up paralyzingyourself.
Breathing's Optionalsitting with smokey lungscharred around the pocketssmoldering dreamswith tears glued hastilyto your face.you bite your tonguekeep your throat closedand try to sleep again.
CorrodeOne timeI pierced my skinAnd watched a seaExude from my wrists.I have decayed so much insideThat a single phobiaCould fray me apart
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
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
Your Only Hope_Shadows Of WordsYour Only HopeShadows Of WordsHung Onto Your CablesFading Out,Like Your Hope,Secretly Whispering"Defeat Is Coming"...And The Reaper Is Your Only Hope...Shadows Of Words...And The Reaper Is Your Only Hope..."Defeat Is Coming"Secretly WhisperingLike Your Hope,Fading Out,Hung Onto Your CablesShadows Of Words
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.
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
Leave You WaitingI want to steal your sunshine,and place it in the hands of my pocket watch.Leave you waiting for the blast from the nuclear winter.I want to pull the moon down,and load it in the barrel of my revolver.Leave you waiting for the splash from the tidal wave.I want to take your last breath,and pack it in the bowl of my smoke pipe.Leave you waiting for the burst from the ozone window.
It Wasn't MeI felt such a shamethat I found you lovelywhen you were crying.I know you can't forgive me,but please at least rememberthat It Wasn't Mewho made you cry.
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