Everything tastes like a distant blue-
As I inhale a scent swimming in pools of gray.
The back of my mind crackles  and flickers
Within a dim flame of black and white.
The air is restricted to catch it's warm breath.
There is  hesitance and reluctant dissonance
Which is sweet like clean dirt.

Nothing to believe, nothing to be still, no one to bury me.
A quiet cold confronts quite disgruntled complications,
And contradicts a subtle faded thought.
All my brights and dulls caress my body
Leaving a film of dust and desolation to shelter my mind.
Ripples of confronted perfection penetrate my chest,
And life grows distant as I become colorblind.

There is no serenity in slumber.
I'm begging somebody to shatter me.
All of me is captivated in confusion, and summer's sun has set.
I'm steady staring at a world on fast-forward,
Standing still with eyelids stitched open, and lips sewn shut.
Nothing forgives or gives in, and
All that is symptomatic is synthetic and systematically copesetic-
Like the lackluster of lament which lingers  lethargically above me.

But when breath stops short and suspends in the air,
And nothing is to beckon or call it back home,
One finds themself empty, and free-
*And nothing matters anymore.

Let's retrogress-
Feel the heat of your cheap breath on my neck.
I'll confess the regret,
But don't bet I'll be better yet-
Baby steps.
Thrilled by the chill of  ill-mannered rebellion.
Repressed representative for the  out-of-line question.
Guess it wasn't really about much-
Wasn't ever about anything.
I take the time to rewind,
I guess that's my crime;
Remind me to take
A minute- space it-
It don't matter.
Realized my eyes dazed with disaster.
But go faster.
The passion persuays the desire.
I lit this fire just to get higher,
To burn this broken world beneath me;
Teach these lessons which beseech me.
I didn't learn a ******* thing.
At least I could've been my best-
Maybe.

All of these things will leave me  some day.
And all of time will find it's been wasted away.
Everybody's body will decay-
And I know I won't care about anything.

And you don't know anything.
I still don't know anything.
No you can't know anything.
I still don't know.

Things to think
But not so much to say.
Little fragments that scatter sparkling static
Of weightless notion
Across open miles of flatness.
Yellow prickles of dry dying grass
Stranded in a distant field,
And nobody cares.
Feel the tension in the small muscles of my forehead
Wrinkling and releasing,
Elastic concentrated pressure.
Things to feel,
But not so much to express.
Barren road of endless thought,
Hinting the glimmer of existence
Amongst the desolate air
Dense with nothingness.
Thin streams of clouds whisp around a burning sun,
And spiral their moisture through rays of contradiction.
But nobody notices.
Still the words don't come.
They build up in the gaseous acid of the atmosphere,
And offer no consolation to anyone.
The comfort of being is bitten and pricked
By the dull sensation of an imaginary threat,
But it isn't real.
And there is no one place to belong.
And nothing to say about that.
To no one.

Word.
A pretty vs vicious
Sometimes inconspicuously meaningless
Infinite means of comprehending communication.
Someone once said
That what's felt in our heads
Wasn't meant to be let out
For have no doubt,
Nobody will ever understand you.
In attempt to sum my thoughts up
I got stuck in a wasteland
Of dismal debris
Leaving me to dissipate through the fabrics of existence.
Look what I have left
An abyss of familiar frigid distantness.
This is meaningless though,
It's getting older
I've spent too much time without respect for order.
Left to float here in between atmospheres
Creating cosmic desturbancess
Throughout desolate universes.
This curse is my burden
Burning me deeper with each breath
Just to check if I'm dead yet.
But don't bet it.
I don't stress it, anymore,
Still not sure if there's anything out there at all.
But inside there lies light living,
Burning just bright enough
To keep the bag of faded gray dust
Slightly a-glow.
Just know, I cannot explain this
With a *word.

Life- endlessly sweeping from shadows
A shuttering still-frame for no shame and pain to gain
Somebody's brain broke so I spoke
Up and shut the *******
Buck done been shot down
No ground to hold him
No cold hole to know him
Rotting
On the road like rage ****.
No intentions left mentioned for *******
Of deep destination, no
Choke of destiny to leave bleeding
Screaming alibis had drove on by
With bitter ailments of the eyes
Leaking black ooze of droop seeping
Unhearted blistered tear ducts.
What luck, huh?
Its never enough
Its never enough
Its never enough
Its never enough
Its never enough
Its never enough.
****** the flesh in it's skin bag-
No remorse for unfinished courses
Vanquished tranquility in unseen forces.
This divorce of life and death
Hesitated with breath and
Broke into silence.
*Nothing left.
Nothing left.
Nothing left.

The first whisper of a spring breeze chills the soft pink of my cheeks.
All the blacks and whites of winter's gray
Contrast gracefully with the fresh bright of a clear blue sky.
Calming, sweetly sick nauseous feeling
In my chest,
Like being lifted up and suspended
In between the laws of gravity.
An atmosphere of still consciousness awakes my every sense,
And I am able to feel something more than nothing...
Everything, constantly captivating my mind,
Like the wind biting at my flesh through my shirt.
Seems like I'm sleeping peacefully and I'm
Dreaming I've never felt more alive.
It's exiting until I consider waking up,
And where I'll be when the morning comes.
But with every crisp, innocent February sunrise
I can remember why I began to believe in beauty,
Love and music-
Nothing else could even compare in weight of meaning.
Only these things can exist in my reality-
When I realize this is all happening in "real life"-
whatever that means.
What I never admit is that sometimes a change is nice.
The fear comes from control over yourself and your life, when sometimes you just need to
Do what you feel is right.
And even though there must be something else
Out there that matters,
That is the most important necessity.
*Set yourself free...

Yes,
I cut myself.
And you know what?
I like it.
Yes,
I'm a cutter.
And you know what?
I accept that.
Embrace it, in fact.
Cause after 9 years of a blood-stained adolescence
These scars are just a part of me,
And these wounds are a lifestyle
That I choose.
My addiction to pain does not weaken me,
My lust for blood does not make me a freak,
My scars do not make me ugly-
I am beautifully broken;
And I'll cut myself on the shards of who I am,
But at least I haven't stabbed myself with them yet.
Yes,
I wear long sleeves and pants around friends and family
But when my cuts heal to scars
I do not fear to let them breathe and be
Exposed.
It is not for attention,
It's to tell the world that no one can hurt me
More than myself.
I am covered in scar tissue,
But I am one tough-*** ***** from hell.
And I really don't give a **** what you think about that.
I don't want to "quit."
Because I'm writing my story in silver-
And it comes out red.
It's the closest thing to "real"
That I can control.
So yes,
I cut myself.
And yes,
I am a cutter.
Don't be surprised to find more marks in my flesh
Because they are part of me
And I actually like that part.
I don't have to be in pain to inflict pain,
Don't have to be numb to want to feel something,
I don't have to be angry or guilty,
Bored or depressed-
Just because I am those things, I don't always
Have to cut them out.
Sometimes I just like the way it feels
And looks after;
Red blood on white wrists, and
I've got silver eyes.
See, this is my way of life,
And it's all I've ever known.
I know one day I'll die of suicide,
But this is just feeling something in the meantime.
I'm a cutter;
And I'll die a cutter.
Whoever finds my mutilated body
Will read my story,
And they won't understand,
But at least they won't be surprised.
My lust for blood does not make me a freak,
And my scars show the world I'm a warrior.
I'm fighting this endless battle in my mind
But each cut
Is a symbol that I've lived to fight another day.

The walls feathered, and everything loosened and stood out
No body questioned anything, none stood to strike a shout.
Oh how the calm of paranoia hushed through the day-
That is to say, maybe the air there was too thick anyway.
Grace had not started in, and there was no thought of creation.
It all makes you wonder...

*Does any of this exist?