thought's broken,
mouth's chokin',
on the *******
i got hit with
during a may day
for god's sake
i let my mind fade
and ended up
wide eyed
and petrified
in a bed for the dead
but i was still alive.

trace the lines of your body,
with my hand by yours,
and take me to a different world,
unknown to most,
but known to most,
and tell me how to touch,
and tell me how to kiss,
and tell me how to love you.

because i don't know what the **** to do.

i'm trying to think of something to write about,
but you wont leave my head,
and i've already got half a library full,
of poems about you..

*****

you says things to me
that always catch me off my guard,
like the other day when we were in your bed,
and you told me i was "beautiful."
and i told you i couldn't respond,
or even think of something to say,
to the wonderful compliment you gave me.

but that one time that you told me,
you thought i was how a girl should be,
your idea of a girl atleast,
i went home that night and i wanted to die.

cold hands touch lips,
slip down a neck and fade into collar bones,
and completely sink below a ribcage,
and come back out alive,
along sharp hip bones,
still just as cold,
and still moving downwards,
but they warm up once they
                  reach their destination.

skin stretched tightly over bone,
web-like veins float on your surface,
blue like the cold in your heart,
my hatred of you re-surfaced.

i've tried to forget remembering you,
but i'm so forgetful,
i've tried to keep you in the past,
i don't want to grow more regretful.

there's a story of you on my thighs,
each line depicts a time in which,
you told me i was worthless,
and even a selfish *****.

i've got more seams then a puppet,
sewn up from other stories too,
but this poem was just a friendly reminder,
*that i ******* hate you.

i want you to go home and
look in your mirror. | .rorrim       g
                                                    n
and i want you to                i
tell me what you see.       k
                                   n
                         i
all you're t h
right now,
is how you aren't perfect.

well perfection is a myth,
a tale,
a legend,
a story told to young girls & boys,
so that they keep coming home,
and looking in their mirrors. | .srorrim