born into this:
not into the lights.
not into the fame.
not into the hopefulness.
born into this:
the sewers.
the dark.
the hopelessness.
you found us there one night.
you:
calm and still,
almost understanding,
carrying purity
in your bones.
you weren't just sprinkled with it,
you were drenched with it.
you could tell by the ever changing color of your cheeks
that you:
the purest of them all,
made the water clear
just by your very presence.
were you born into this?
your voice like a hymn,
eyes like the sky
heart like the sea.
born into the sewers?
the dark?
the hopelessness?
you taught us
there was light in the dark
with your gentle hands,
kind mouth,
open heart.
But your purity made us feel
like ****** up
***** angels.
if you
also born into this
could be so so pure
why couldn't we be?
you pulled yourself out of the sewer
and into the lights
the fame
the hopefulness
while we just sat here to rot.
Thinking
We had to be as pure as you
to ever succeed
but
My voice is not a hymn
Eyes not the sky
Heart not the sea
But
My voice is a thunderstorm
my eyes a hurricane
my heart a tornado
i do not carry purity in my bones
not sprinkled with it.
not drenched in it.
i carry a fire.
my hands could ignite the sky
could light all the darkness
Still
when you offered to help
i agreed
although
next to you
I remained looking like
a ****** up ***** angel
it didn't matter
getting out of what i was born into
was not easy
i scraped my knees
got lost
hurt
but you:
pure as ever
kept holding my hand
even when I slipped down onto the pavement
and had to start over
even when I got into the fame
The lights
the hopefulness
i still wasn't pure.
wasnt soft
not always kind
but I used the fire in my bones
things sparked
My voice thundered
and people finally heard
People could tell
I had a fire in my bones
by the way I spoke
the way I looked
the way I felt
they looked at me
the way we used to look at you
never had they seen someone with such spitfire
born into this:
the dark
the sewers
the hopelessness
but
i didn't stay
didnt rot.
pushed myself out of it.
sometimes you guide me past the sewer
where we all lied before
and I remember all of my friends
who are still there
still rotting
still sad
because they did not want
to appear ugly
next to you

feel the presence of yr death,

taste yr ashes on the tongue.

early you went.

to join the mad,

the young,

the genius.

early you went.

that’s how the beautiful go,

blessed with yr holy madness and rage.

you

held hell hell hell.

but they saw

heaven heaven heaven.

your eyes swallowed with desire.

romanticized with pain

god, you had so much love

so much love.

los angeles would have killed you anyway,

I can still hear yr dog whistle from my bedroom, baby.

IT’S GETTING LOUDER.

IT’S GETTING LOUDER.

I CAN HEAR EVERYTHING.

I CAN HEAR EVERYTHING.

YOU’RE GONE AND I CAN HEAR EVERYTHING.

every word you chose not to speak,

every word you held on yr ***** tongue.

everything.

the words that meant something you never spoke,

that were not empty like yr veins.

like your promises.

like your heart.

killed yourself to make things fair

and the sick sad moral of this story
is to never love anything at all.
god is against us.
we pray to him every night,
our voices like hymns,
eyes like heaven,
but inside us we hold hell.
he gave us this hell.
nobody is pure.
nobody is true.
that promise we made to each other to never leave
that, was a sick sad lie.
we are a sick, sad lie.
return my purity
make me true
i lost everything before i was eighteen.
i lost everything before i was eighteen.
i am stranded at sea
lost in the sin of my sick sad dreams
an angel is on my shoulder
but the devil is housed in my body
skin full of sin
angel, why do you rest so perfectly on that skin?
i wanna **** myself to make things fair to you, angel.
if suicide was not a sin
i’d be dead
i’d be dead
i’d be dead
everybody is going to heaven, angel
everybody would go to heaven.
angel, i am a sick sad lie
heaven is a sick sad lie

i saw a woman on a willow tree when i was seven yrs old
and she disappeared into the summer air
am i going to be this way forever
am i going to keep believing in ghosts
i saw a woman on that willow tree
claimed she was an angel of god
eyes cut daggers
was she a ghost or was it in my head?
was she a ghost or was it in my head?
bless my holy sins and suffering
and give me something else to believe in
but leave her ghost to sit on top of that beautiful tree
so when i look up i can still see the empty space she occupied once.
i still believe in ghosts
and i can still feel you in the air
forgive me for my lack of reality
I love you