the gas station on the corner
stands bright in the night,
a silent confessional for a pack of regret.
as if it'll get me through one more
night of blue.
tides crash in like clockwork,
dripping seconds down my cheekbones,
and i'm really just trying to find someone who isn't washed up.
no one can tell me what to do.
and i tried to tell you what i meant,
of all the time left unspent.
your eyes rolled into the back of your skull; nothing's hollower than the truth.
one more night of empty-headed blues.
i crater low while the moon sits high,
but the sun will have to breathe.
i know it'll come around,
i just can't live to see;
bear to be a victim of a clockwork tease.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 1:04 PM UTC
Amid a symphony
of sighs,
I'm ready for
a change.
I'm —
so bored
with painting graffiti
on my insides.
So carve me into
a work of art;
tell me
what you wish to see.
Paint on the smile
I lost before —
you're the only one
who can get it just right.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 6:17 PM UTC
dis'member the sheets?
sliding in the park,
hearing my own laugh,
like i'm little, like the first time:
we were kids.
seeing you (smile)
through soft brown,
(so tan)
i'm a speck of dust
in your vision,
instigating flood,
"did i get it?"
no
but i wish you would.
watered-down love,
rolling around in mud:
we are kids.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 6:11 PM UTC
swallow the pill.
"this makes me happy?"
i smell our flowers
growing tired,
so tired of
late-night run-ins;
so bored
with sad memories,
but i would't trade them
even for the biggest diamond
for
your finger,
for
we are
the universe,
constantly expanding
our consciousness
of
the past,
last has yet to come;
i'd wait through the apocalypse
to see this through
and through
again
and
again
with you
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC
we need to start talking
about something —
a n y t h i n g
before i lose my head,
before you drop the knife,
slicing down, wearing thin
like my blood tonight.
how many shots were fired?
we never needed inhibitions anyway.
glowing drinks, hand in hand,
and i know
the elephant following you
will crush you soon enough.
how many times have i sworn?
i lost count,
you don't care.
i never stopped.
please just *******
say something —
A N Y T H I N G
before i take the plunge,
before you pull the plug,
shutting down, aging skin
like our hands tonight.
i love you and you love me.
how many times have i told you?
you lost count,
i don't care.
we never stopped.
so let's talk about something.
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 12:13 PM UTC
smoke passes through the screen,
trapped inside at my own will.
and all you can say is “quit.”
quit pouring water into those lungs
before you completely submerse.
quit dyeing them black,
week-old bunches of grapes.
teeth-studded knuckles biting my face,
watered-down blood at your own will.
and all i can do is beg.
beg you to stop pulling these threads
before i unravel to my knees.
beg you to erase the past,
maps of mistakes on my cheeks.
another sad teen,
romanticizing addiction just to fit in:
and all i can think is help.
help me
color inside the lines again.
help find the shore,
lost in this sea of brainwaves.
and all you can say is “quit.”
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 11:22 PM UTC
it makes me sick
knowing
how many hearts,
broken.
so much weight,
dragging
it behind me
in a fake prada bag.
pound by pound,
falling down.
then the pack's
finished,
last puff —
flick,
and i
don't have a
G O D D A M N
cent to my name.
so desperate,
clawing for change.
who wore it best?
you said you knew.
but you
don't have a
G O D D A M N
clue.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 10:58 PM UTC
everything's living and dying,
especially us:
peeping toms,
we see flowers wilting
on the window sill,
grass sprouting beneath our feet;
throwing stones
just to see
who can crack reality first.
sirens echoing,
luring young men
to their deaths.
you can try
to
outrun them,
blindly stepping,
c r u n c h i n g:
"isn't it kind
of
disrespectful
to walk on to dead leaves?"
desperate enough
not to care.
peeping tom
sees flowers wilting
on the window sill,
buried remains sprouting beneath his feet.
biting nails
d
o
w
n,
feels like a punishment:
being ******
"who even
gives a ****
everything's living and dying,
especially me.
Mar 21, 2014
Mar 21, 2014 at 2:24 PM UTC