Don't revisit old love,
There's a reason that it didn't happen,
Maybe you were too young, maybe you lost compassion, maybe it lost it's magic but it's something you should never go back to,
Especially if it hurt, especially if it ended with words that destroyed self esteem and composure and taught you to learn how to thrive by yourself, without the touch of their skin, without the feel of their lips, without the worry of how their drinking is affecting their health, and the way they react, and the way you react to how they injure themselves,
So climb away when its over and they've left you on your knees, after attacking your ribcage while you ask them to stop and you plead that this lacks meaning and you've torn us apart, caring too much for pointless opinions and not enough for what fell asleep in your arms,
And my body is caving, from all the disdain and the way that I linger on things that have faded, I'm jaded and faking the smile on my face, while I'm really just sick, no I'm twisted up like vines but I'm rotting, and rotting my mind with thoughts and reactions that stem from chemical distraction,
I'm laughing but really it's an act, I'm alone now, and that's okay, I think I'll keep it that way.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 2:20 AM UTC
I have all of these memories
that live within me, that feel like seconds ago.
I'm so attached to every moment, and I'm destroyed by what I've let go.
I've loved a human being, maybe two,
Spent time with men who deserve to die.
I've been empty, distraught, corrupt and you,
You are me, every night.
The same disdain, the pain.
The highs and lows of flesh and bone.
The strength and energy of youth and friends and fun and it all-
It all ends.
Or maybe that's how I feel,
Or think I do,
At my age with a boy and bills and cigarettes and a history of some of unorthodox illness.
Jan 21, 2015
Jan 21, 2015 at 5:17 PM UTC
I'm tired of myself,
mirrors drain me,
I feel lifeless.
Yeah my actions never help,
And you deserve better-
than a body on a stretcher,
Or ***** on the carpet.
Shame, you don't know where it takes you
Being intimate with darkness.
Sentient with the shadows;
Here's the best part, I'm a father with a battle, I brag about my scars,
And I love it every time I get to fuel my secrecy,
Separate lives, separate times, so who is this that I call 'me'?
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 2:09 PM UTC
A depression that's been present since the onset of pubescence turned a child that went to church into a child with some convictions.
A warped sense of the world has greatly altered my perception and since now I hardly bother with it all I just accept it.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 12:45 AM UTC
I still have the occasional dream,
Of things I can no longer do,
People I can no longer see.
I've cut them off from my thoughts so they have no where else to go but my subconscious. Subdued, taped up and packed in boxes and old drawers, the pieces purposely misplaced and pictures burnt and/or torn, but they're still there. My little hell that still burns behind my eyes, that takes residence in my skull, that I try my best to forget about. I try to distract myself, avert attention, but honestly things still thrive in there. Alive and well, my hell has full attendance
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 1:43 AM UTC
In the morning and in the evening,
Drive-time bulletins oceans away.
Between the mourning and seeking,
Gridlock still lives in yesterday.
It's all around me.
It's all around.
It's all around me.
And It surrounds.
I'm conscious of the difference in continental content,
But I'm so sensitive to casualties that will always be.
Everywhere where necropolis' thrive and crushed steel and plastic are taking lives.
Always so far away from me.
Always so far away from me.
Where we find fatal jackknives and pileups on express ways making mechanisms of bone marrow.
This is where,
The public expresses sorrow for the victims who died tomorrow.
Jun 23, 2014
Jun 23, 2014 at 12:21 AM UTC
You left us on a Thursday, but we decided to wait until the following Monday to do anything with you.
You left your room a mess, more than usual, with sloppy scribbles on the walls about accidents and incidents. Even though your mother always griped and reminded you to be tidy and firm you ignored her because, well, you'll always be who you always were. Your clothes all thrown in the right corners, the cereal bowls filled with mold under your bed. The way you stapled your character through tangled cables and caricature. I loved you every minute of it.
I remember you showing me your worst at the Friday night lights, behind the bleachers. Between cheering and littered beer and soda bottles, you told me something that destroyed my optimism about things. I didn't even notice the plastic crunched under my feet and some kind of snack bar paste that ruined my favorite sneakers. I always loved learning, but not after what you taught me about what he taught you. I guess that's what teachers are for. But he took much more than he ever gave to you on a chalkboard.
I didn't go to your funeral, I was too busy downing the wine in the parking lot I stole from the local supermarket.
And after everyone had left the scene, I was so torn up I went to your tombstone, alone, screaming.
It was later on, maybe eleven pm at night.
There wasn't anyone around, not a soul in sight.
Just you and I. Part of me hopes your spirit was there. Another part of me hopes you didn't witness my blood red eyes and dribbling nose. Anyone could have tasted the rage in the air.
I don't want you to see me how I was, how I am now.
I want you to be in peace at it's best, as one should when they're resting like that and such. It's just that, this was too much for me, it tore me to pieces, ripped me to shreds. I hope they bury me next to you. The decision has been a struggle. But I don't want you to be so lonely down there, so I'm coming to join you. Because now I feel unfinished, like half of a puzzle.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 2:58 AM UTC
Is there anyone
on the other side
of that door?
I'm in fear for my life.
it's much more than innate
it's the things I create
in the closet of my mind.
I design my friends
*with big black eyes, and dark histories*
and sharp teeth
and secrets.
I'm the author,
the artist,
the god,
in the realm that I hide in that's reserved in my mind.
I don't go outside
the terrors inviting, so I've convinced myself,
this is where I belong.
Just leave me alone.
This is where I belong.
I need to be alone.
Alone.
With my friends.
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 1:33 AM UTC
Expensive habits and defensive addicts are what engineers the user rabid,
Rapid heartbeat, zoning in and out.
Foaming at the mouth, clinging to my seat.
Shoot the family, hang the kids, frame the wife,
Any way you look at it there's always a darker side.
Are we talking lights and camera flashes or skull fractures and lacerations?
Most of my time's spent pondering once I hit the pavement,
Taste the blood. Touch the Earth. Hear the sky.
Taunt a love. Fail the search.
Lose your mind.
Face flushed, I pant and sigh, the steam just teasing my numbing sight.
Tease and tickle and ripple, slide,
The droplets slide along my skin that weeps, 'Too tight!'
Rip it off me, rip it wide,
One more line, one more line, and my chest is locking up while my teeth chatter and bite.
All I ever want is all the pleasure-
Probably the problem.
I don't want you all alive when they set down my coffin,
Coughin' up bits and pieces of blood and flesh-
Jun 12, 2014
Jun 12, 2014 at 12:37 AM UTC
So all rights and homage belong to god,
But who would want this body after they've left it to rot.
I've got a wicked set of morals,
And the baggage to match,
So before he cut the call the devil stated, "What a catch."
Rip the nails from your hands and hop off the cross,
We could use the wood.
Choke down your pride you ******* product with a cost,
A martyrs blood's a wasted good.
I can't keep the plug in the jug,
At least you can keep the change.
You can have the family love,
I'd rather trade it for the chains.
Does this pain you? Is this really pain?
Does this pain you? Is this really pain?
Bottom-feeder, bottom-feeder-
The garden burns as does the seeder,
Suicide swings along the feeter on the highway to hell, but I'm a nonbeliever.
**So you have your book and you've built your towers,
But does your faith constitute strength or does it make you a coward?**
I've been to a hundred holy places,
Heard a thousand sermons,
But most I value all the learning that I gained from all my searching.
Certain death, it's certain death, it's what they told me would happen if I got up and left,
And sure I'm troubled, I struggle, and I'm not the best,
But I'm sure there exists better answers than this.
Because what is a life,
To be governed by some verses that we can't know are right?
And you tell me that my faith is weak,
But you ignore any options, shut me down, and just claim deceit.
I want a refund, here's my receipt, because if I must bow down to something angry at me,
Then I might as well just off myself,
I'd rather die on my feet that survive on my knees.
I say all this, not out of spite, not out of resentment, I'm not mad at life.
**I'm just stating that it could be something more, something else,
Than a choice between heaven or hell.**
You wanna save me? But is this really saved?
Is there something wrong with who I am? Or will this god only love me if I change?
Is that it? Am I not enough to work? It's a concept I've struggled with since birth,
And if He's there and I don't have a choice, then why won't He answer,
I've never heard a voice.
Jun 10, 2014
Jun 10, 2014 at 12:12 AM UTC