Today I wake up and look into myself to see I am, in fact, a pessimist and perhaps on an occasion a cynical nihilist who’s vices are evident and collaborative with sarcasm and slight vanity.
Today I see the dryness of my hair and the dryness of my mouth from screaming my stubborn debate to the gods who do not exist.
Today I drag the sled of carcasses from my dreams to my ever-changing new site of hope and inspiration.
Today I skin a rabbit and hang the filthy fur on the clothesline the way they do in the movies, for I’m nothing but a clone of the girl next to me wearing my shoes.
Today I drip the wax from a melting blue candle on the tips of my fingers to mold my fingerprints in justification for my moral crimes.
Today I hum the joyful tune of a death march and dial Fear’s number on my phone like a beaten drunk widow.
Today I laugh along to another torture **** with the light hearted grin of an ignorant child in a vacant church sitting beside the priest.
Today I go to bed with the infinite love for my grotesque face and inevitable feeling of satisfaction knowing tomorrow should be my last.

Blue eyed boy with a beautiful crooked smile and unforgivable tendencies who's imperfections made him more admirable. Blue eyed boy with troubled history and a life before he was here. Blue eyed boy who let me braid his hair and tell him about my childhood. Who held my cold hands and bit my neck hard enough to leave a mark. Who will not be in his 8:20 am half asleep position in his usual seat when I return. Who I told I wished for nightmares because I loved to feel fear. Who told me he wouldn't wish nightmares upon anyone. It's too late for that now. I always wanted nightmares. Now I see they aren't killers and clowns, but a lovely blue eyed boy laying so still on the ground in front of you due to the candies you gave him.

there's something so endearing about hearing that song i used to love. a meer recollection, a dreaded reunion of unforgotten words, but never thought of. it's sensual expectations, and a beaming nostalgia of tears and cheers, from time so unthinkably distant from now. the very essence of remembrance, and the intamcy of the infinite chorus. a perspective of a lost love or
lost lyrics, it's a simple far sighted mess, in which i've engulfed myself into once again.

they don't understand,
and they never will.
our love isn't just afternoon tea with honey,
or sunrises on rooftops.
It's not *** and candy,
long drives at night,
star gazing or constellation counting.
Not breathless midnight strolls,
or screaming for our sins to wake up the neighborhood.
It isn't even our enveloped hands or public demonstration of affection.
It's your poetic kiss on my skin,
whispering choruses of lost love songs,
and tracing hearts on my back.
It's your acceptance to my flaws,
letting me know you love me anyways.
It's our word against their's,
because they don't know us,
and they'll just never understand.

Ghost;
your wavering scent of cannabis and coffee,
your cracked and bruised hands intertwined with mine,
your pretentious and morbid stanzas,
your black jeans and moth-eaten band tees,
your tight and "safe" embrace,
your 3 a.m. adventures.
Ghost;
your love for me.
Ghost;
you.
Alive;
my love for you.