You're the kid that asks how the cotton candy skies got that color
except now it's all blood red
"I guess God killed all the angels" he said
and I think:
baby my wrists are rags, ripped up rags,
and needles give you bad memories,
and my minds a black, empty, hole but it's still so ******* heavy
just a weight that no matter how much you want to say you can, you just cannot carry
and you need to stay alive
because there's no spots for angels anymore when they die
but I just can't bring myself to say it
and he knows people only remember things about me
like the fact that I like whiskey, and my suicidal tendencies
a lining of lightbulbs
infused on the wire in my brain
he says Jesus was like any other psychopath ,
just a normal schizophrenic
and if there's a God
we pray for him to fix the problem he's created
what if heavens just like hell in the form of a maze
golden maps leading you to places you aren't any happier
acid trips into abandon attics,
blonde babes with tied up hair
and yellow teeth
cracked out, veins
complaining that the life they hated ever changed
he says I ruined the calm after the storm that no one lives to see
the ending of the bible
that no one has enough attention in them to read
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 9:12 PM UTC
Come back, coffee eyes
I need to tell you the story about the blue bowed baby
I boiled up in blood
and never got a chance to see smile
because I wouldn't let her into the world long enough to flash in my memory
I couldn't handle giving her an identity
Come back, coffee eyes
and hear why I hate ***
why I walk around undressed
so no one really wants me
pretty boys with gentle tongues trick you with their nervous sweats
they say they'll hold your hand
but they're gone before you're done lifting up your hair
wondering how life got this way
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 9:00 PM UTC
And then we had awkward first time *** on the floor next to your bed
and I promised I wouldn't stop loving you no matter how far you get
And I'm as bad as breaking promises as you're as good as breaking hearts
so I guess that makes one of us ******
I keep crying over all the stupid things we let ruin us
and how ******* stupid we were to think distance wouldn't **** us up
everything you do ***** me up
you hate to see me cry but can't help but love to be the reason
and I'm always happy for you but I hate to see you leaving
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 8:56 PM UTC
I hate how old people look when they drink water
I hate when a girl with Irish skin makes my chest hurt because she’s not mine
And I hate not knowing how I feel
I hate how pretentious all my ******* writing is
So here’s something honest
About loving your lips
And the way your head fits on my chest
And loving to kiss your wrists
But still not loving you
I ******* hate how much I love the Smiths
And how I can’t tell the difference between drugs and mental illness
And how scattered my brain is
But she’s still so stuck in all the pieces
I hate the back of your car
And the way it makes me vulnerable
And I hate when my mom cries because she’s watching something she created die
And she can’t help save him
And I hate when babies are boiled in blood
But I’d hate not giving woman a choice with their body
And I hate God for not being real but making more rules than politicians who just manipulate money and religion
And I hate to complain, but I do it anyway
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 8:47 PM UTC
"You can't write about anyone else" he says, and he is right.
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 6:07 PM UTC
The first time I felt my heart flop on a filthy floor was when I hit 6 months without seeing your face
but still heard your voice overtime I turned a corner
and it was the tone that gave me new feelings, not the tone that scared me
there's more days to come without you, and I could try but I probably won't succeed
you make me weak at the knees
You used to hate your hands but let me hold them because my eyes were brown like mud, and you like your girls *****
I laid in bed paralyzed the night you left
I thought the tides pouring out of me would be powerful enough to bring you back
but all they brought me was gagging and a $12 dollar flask
***** burns too bad
I swear you gotta cute voice
I wish I had it recorded
one day my head will stop making it's own noises
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 5:54 PM UTC
She watches **** at 3am, and has both ******* pierced
her nails are like white roses
and her palms like the thorn of every flower dead or alive
I feel like if I *** in her mouth she'll keep me inside her forever
I have to google "how to get hard" with every girl that's not her
she's a dead head, barley leaves her bed
keeps a rusted flask under her pillow
and a knife to rip her beat up wrist
there's nothing glorifying about her image
It isn't beautiful the way she pukes on the floor and can never find bandaids
and on sunny days she'll get this feeling in her stomach
that makes her run to the nearest drug store frantically pushing everything out of the counters, looking for scar cream
when she goes long enough without sleep she'll text everyone she knows an apology for something she did three years ago
and I will always love her, but I cannot marry pills and blood
and all the people know her as a crazy, crying *****
she was born with a different heart beat
as she was counting days left, the other little girls were counting sheep
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 5:49 PM UTC
Anyone who calls it a curse to bruise easily has not felt the way their blood vessels smile and squeal when they jump
like when the keys of a piano can't hold itself up
even though you have the gentlest of fingertips and they make melodies out of the comfort of your pain,
but can't get themselves to speak when you're on to the next one
I won't be in high school forever
one day you will see all parts of me
and it will feel as misplaced as the skin between my teeth
coming out to blanket the pearls beneath my braces
and it will be so hard to wash myself off smelling like your skin the mornings that I want my mother to be the only human in the world that loves me
I have watched things from mosh pits in sketchy clubs
to lesbian body shots at house parties
and can say with my honest eyes that the inside of frames
is the only thing that makes memories in my mind
or a collection of words, but not the kind you say
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 1:19 PM UTC
They say home is where the heart is
but I never knew my home had the capability of flicking me off a cliff, watching me tumble, but still keeping every safe inside closed tight
and I never knew it hurt more to get locked out in mid spring, during a park picnic, and airplanes above you;
but nothing inside you
and my house is a brothel in war zone
but my heart developed a case of agoraphobia after fully soaking into you
Feb 17, 2015
Feb 17, 2015 at 1:13 PM UTC